Free Money

-- Dave Hudson

What happened to me happened because I was stupid. I got sloppy. There were no special circumstances; I wasn't screwed over by some punk. I fucked myself, pure and simple. I'd been going strong here for the last four years. Maybe "strong" isn't the right word, but I'd been making a living, which is more than most guys like me could say. I came out here for the air, fewer people, fewer buildings, and I could be close to the ocean. I've been to the ocean once in the four years I was here. It was nice to know I could go there any time I wanted. The real reason I came out here, though, is because Maxine Van Boldrick told me to. She didn't say this place in particular, just a place like this.

I'd always been careful not to mention Maxine Van Boldrick to people. But I guess I can tell you -- it doesn't really matter at this point. I received a letter from Maxine about four and a half years ago. It was a sprawling letter, almost ten pages. She told me things were going to change for me on a certain date and she would help me prepare for my good fortune. She had a vision when she saw my name on some list. She mentioned a cracked sidewalk, and the sidewalk was cracked in front of the apartment building I lived in on 1014 Downing in the Denver capital district. She also said I was lonely, stressed out, had no one to confide in and was having some rotten luck. She was right. When I got to the end of the letter, I realized she wanted money -- ten dollars, plus two more for shipping and handling so she could send me a silver coin with some ancient good luck symbols on it. I felt hurt that she would write offering to help me get out of the slump I was in and then just want money. She was just like the rest of them, just like me. I put the letter in a drawer and forgot about it.

My luck got worse. I lost my job. I was the top telemarketer selling lifetime magazine subscriptions to farm country housewives. I had job security; I was the best at what I did. People love the fact that you can cancel at any time, that there is no obligation. That's the part you have to play up. One day I show up to work an hour late, as was my habit, and there was a police lock on the door. No more work. I found out from Gina, who ran the confirmation agency we used, that my boss and his wife were not paying any bills or sending out the magazines. They were big cokeheads. It was a scam.

I kept thinking about that letter from Maxine Van Boldrick. The most memorable part was Maxine's statement that awful things were going to happen to me and my family if I didn't respond. What if it was true? She was, after all, a professional psychic. She had even worked with the FBI doing profile work. A serial killer was arrested because of her. Did I want someone with those kinds of powers working against me? I mailed my money just two weeks before the date of my great transformation.

I waited, money almost gone, rent not paid. I drank cheap beer, smoked generic cigarettes, and worried about the impending eviction. The day the silver coin came was one of the best days of my life. It arrived on the exact day she had mentioned my change was going to begin. Along with the coin came a letter telling me what to expect. I was going to have money, I was going to find true love, I was going to find happiness. That night I went out and drank like I hadn't in a long time. I mean really drank. Shots with rum and coke chasers. I even bought a round of drinks for the bar. I spent every dime I had. The next morning I felt bad, physically but not spiritually. I'd slept with that coin in my hand, so I felt pretty optimistic. Even when I was throwing up what little coffee I had managed to get down, it seemed like it was going to be a good day. And it was.

After throwing up, I decided to go see my landlord. One of the points Maxine Van Boldrick had made in her letter was that I needed to confront things more often, take control of my destiny. I was going to knock on my landlord's door and tell her I didn't have the rent and I wasn't sure when I was going to have it and she was just going to have to trust me to come up with it. My landlord wasn't home but her door was unlocked. I decided to leave her a note, but first I had a look around her apartment.

My landlord's name was Susan Childs. She was a widow and a decent, fair lady. I had never had any problems with her and she had none with me. Her apartment was comfortable and looked the same as it did when I had filled out the application for my apartment years before. Everything had its place. I guess when you get old and lonely you need to fill your time with stuff, like cleaning and organizing, just moving around so you don't die. Susan was probably at the store buying some window cleaner. The windows looked like they hadn't been cleaned in several days. The coin book was easy to find. It was in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet all the way to the back. I was going through the files to see if she had one on me. My last name is Yancy; the coin book was inches away. The thing weighed about twenty pounds, a big leather three-ring binder with plastic sleeve pages. Every inch-square slot had its own coin, some of which seemed really old. Stealing had never occurred to me before. But I was blessed after receiving the silver coin from Maxine Van Boldrick. I took the coin book upstairs and forgot to leave a note for my landlord.

What I did was I went to a different coin dealer each day with a pocketful of coins. I thought it would be suspicious if I showed up with all of them at one place. On some days, I would walk away with only thirty dollars, wondering if I'd been ripped off because I didn't know anything about coins. On better days, I would walk away with five hundred bucks or more. My luck was really changing. I paid my rent. After three weeks or so, all the coins were gone and I was about five thousand dollars richer.

Then I received my third letter from Maxine Van Boldrick. She said I needed to change my environment, move to a better place, somewhere less oppressive. So I came out here. After the Greyhound ticket, meals, drinks, and assorted expenses, I had over four thousand dollars. I told my landlord in Denver I would give her my new address so she could send me my deposit, only one hundred and fifty dollars, but nothing to scoff at. It could be years before she noticed the coin book missing and she wouldn't even think of me. There was also a good chance she would die and never notice its absence. I don't know what happened, but I never heard anything about it. I was in the clear. Free money. I found an apartment on a quiet tree-lined street with cracked sidewalks out front. The first thing I did after that was write Maxine Van Boldrick and let her know where I was. My days were spent awaiting her response.

I should tell you now that with each letter I received from Maxine came the suggestion that I send an additional ten dollars. This was her fee for more research and chart reading to better help me. It was a fair request. If Maxine was the key to my good fortune and happiness, then sending her ten dollars was the least I could do. I sent her fifteen after my first rush of wealth.

While I was waiting for my letter I found other things to do. I walked a lot. I got a library card. There were always books I had wanted to read but had never had time; The Tibetan Book of The Dead, Chariots of The Gods, Don Quixote. I also started hanging out at this off-track betting place near the fair grounds, only about three blocks from where I lived. This was the beginning of my gambling education. I started learning how not to be a gambler. There's a way to play to win. There's a way to make a profit. Free money. This was the stuff Maxine Van Boldrick wanted me to learn.

Horse racing is a hard gig. It really is gambling. I've met lots of different people with different systems; if it works once every five times then they think it's good. That's bad odds. I found that if I made acquaintance with people who lost on a regular basis then I could increase my chances of winning. Find out what they were betting and bet differently. That was my system. Don't play the horses against each other, play the losers against yourself.

The Butler twins were both grotesquely overweight and worked as stock boys at the local Target superstore. The only way to tell them apart was Mark was nearly bald and wore a baseball cap and Luke had a full head of hair, cut trucker mullet style; short grease wave in the front and long seventies in the back. There are some things that cannot be explained by genetics. They both lost on a regular basis and I bet the favorites they passed up on. My system only increased my odds enough so I came out even most of the time, half the time I covered my drinks for the evening. Still not very good odds. And like I said, horseracing is a hard gig. It was a way to pass the time.

Maxine's letter came and it was worth the wait. She really outdid herself. She gave me lucky numbers to use on certain days, told me where my moon was and how to better deal with people. It was a wealth of information. I put her advice to use right away. If, on a given day, my numbers were five and seven, I would buy seven lottery scratchers and bet on the fifth race or the fifth horse (depending on what the Butler boys were betting), or maybe the one to five odds horse. Believe it or not, my numbers worked. I would come out even or ahead, and if I lost money it was because I was doing something wrong. I had to stay focused and keep on track.

Most people don't understand the difference between gambling and working. There is a difference. If you were to buy one lottery scratcher a week you would be gambling. The odds would be against you. If you buy ten two-dollar scratchers at a time, your odds increase. It's simple math, they even print the odds on the back. Another thing to remember is always buy your scratchers from the same place, unless you've recently won a lot of money there, then go somewhere else, but have a regular place that you always come back to. Don't play the lottery, play the store and the roll of tickets, that's how you win. If you buy ten tickets off a roll at one to eight odds of winning a cash prize, chances are you'll break even. If you don't win anything, buy the next ten. If you still don't win anything buy another ten from the same roll. You'd be surprised; I've spent twenty dollars and walked away with seventy-five, many times. The trick is, don't stop until you win. That's it. Don't accept the fact that you're a loser.

I found poker rooms along the main strip, across from the auto dealerships. There are laws against gambling in this state, but it's not hard to find gambling dens. Five dollars buys you into the room and you play against people, not the house -- they just get the cover charge. I lost heavily at first. I watched to see who won on a regular basis and who did not. I made friends with the losers. After about a month, I had a weekly game set up with people who lost more than I did. This increased my odds of winning.

Anthony owned a chain of liquor stores; he was a good businessman, but an awful poker player. He didn't mind losing -- he had money to burn. None of the people I found for our weekly games minded losing. They were all looking for something to do; searching for friends. They all had one thing in common -- money. That's why I picked them. The biggest loser, and my best friend of the bunch, was Ray. He made no secret of his occupation. He was one of the heaviest speed dealers in the county. He was always on the stuff, always making bad decisions. Ray was a cool guy though -- he had a great sense of humor. We even saw each other outside the games a few times. We went miniature golfing. I liked Ray.

A letter from Maxine Van Boldrick told me to reduce risks and to concentrate on my strong points. I stopped going to the off-track betting shop. I didn't think I would miss the Butler twins. I was right.

I bought a car -- not a new car, just a car. Six hundred dollars for an '81 Toyota Tercel. The upholstery looked like wild animals had spent a night locked up in the thing, but it ran. In the first month, the money I saved on taxis almost paid for the damn bucket. Oh, that last letter I received from Maxine told me something big was coming my way. She was right. She always was.

Maxine Van Boldrick told me money, happiness, and true love were on their way and I was due my pie. I had started making money. I was happy, but where was my true love? I didn't feel its absence.

I'm not half bad with the ladies. It had never been a problem for me. I've had my share of trysts, but never anything serious. When I got to thinking about it, I realized I'd been carrying a photo of Maxine Van Boldrick around with me for quite some time. She was a handsome woman. I'm sure the photo didn't do her justice. The photo was on a postcard that came with the first letter. The postcard listed all the stuff she had done, her qualifications, and had a picture of her in the left-hand corner. I don't know why, but I cut the picture out and put it in my wallet. She looked like she was twenty years my senior, but age doesn't mean much when you believe you've found the person that's right for you. I began including letters whenever I sent her money -- short letters about me and polite questions about her life. I wanted to play it cool, not rush things.

The big event that Maxine told me was going to happen started when I met Sylvester one Tuesday at Wild Jack's. This was a weekly game I started attending. I didn't always win, but I didn't always lose either. It was something to do. It was different than my other games because these guys didn't like to lose. They were a more professional bunch. They were either lawyers, doctors, or local business owners. They were used to getting what they wanted and were very upset when they didn't get it. They were spoiled. Except for Sylvester.

Sylvester owned a computer supply company and was one of those computer whizzes. One night, when we were both tanked, he told me something astounding -- a secret between friends. He'd been counterfeiting money for the last year. He would bleach all the dye out of one-dollar bills and print twenties, tens, and fives onto the same bleached bills. He had all the latest high-tech computer equipment available. He didn't spend any of the funny money though. He said it was too risky. But in the event of an emergency, he had a two-hundred thousand dollar stash in a suitcase underneath his bed. It was his insurance. From twenty thousand dollars in bleached singles he made two hundred thousand phony dollars; one hundred thousand in twenties, fifty thousand in fives, and fifty thousand in tens. That's quite a secret to share with a person you barely know. But people have always trusted me. Maybe it's because I listen.

So I became better friends with Sylvester. Late one night we ended up at his house and I cased the place out. He left a window open in his bathroom. No one saw me crawl through it the next day while Sylvester was at work. There were two elm trees and a garden shed blocking the view. Maxine always warned me not to be too greedy. She said it would be my undoing. So I only took one hundred thousand dollars. I knew Sylvester wouldn't come home because he worked a half-hour away, and I told him I might stop by for lunch with him. I was late for lunch.

The money looked real. I was very careful with it. In the morning, I would use fives to buy cups of coffee, gum, or any item under a dollar. The tens I would use for cigarettes, small food items, and anything else costing under four dollars. The twenties I would use in bars. I always selected crowded, dark dives in different locations, even if I had to drive a considerable distance to find one. The change I received from my purchases was pure profit. Free money. I was careful to always keep the bogus money on a money clip and the real money in my wallet. Then I fucked up.

I sent Maxine one hundred dollars (real money), along with a letter. I told her how I really felt. We were at that point in our relationship where I was sure she understood. She had done so much for me -- more than anyone else ever had. I never read her return letter.

I don't know how it happened, but Ray was on a winning streak that night. He was betting high and holding the cards to back it up. I had never seen him do so well. Finally, it became a showdown between the two of us. It was just like in the "Cincinnati Kid" -- everybody else folded and Ray and I would go at it. But he kept winning. On the last hand, I thought I had him with three kings. He raised the bet. I didn't have the real money to cover it, but I had a thousand on my clip. I was convinced he was bluffing. I got sloppy and greedy. I threw the funny money in the pot. He called. I lost. Does it matter what Ray was holding? I don't think so. All that matters is I lost. On my way out of the place, I notice Ray and Sylvester in the corner of the bar. Ray's giving Sylvester money, counting it out into his hand. Maybe Ray's paying back a debt. Who knows? But it didn't look good.

People have dreams about being naked in the middle of Times Square, or the local mall. Most people are afraid of humility. I've had those dreams. Being dragged naked out of bed by three guys with guns and thrown into the trunk of a car is the third most humiliating thing that ever happened to me. I knew these guys worked for Ray. Lying in the trunk of the car, I'm thinking different things. Mostly, I'm wondering why Ray would do this for a measly thousand dollars. It doesn't matter. He did it, that mattered. My second most humiliating experience was being forced onto my knees, naked on the shoulder of Branch Creek Road, crying and begging, before being shot in the head execution-style. I guess the most humiliating thing that ever happened to me was being found dead and naked, with a hole torn through my head, my face frozen in a bloody grimace. That's nothing to write home about.

I never found out how much Maxine cared for me. I could have been her true love. But you probably knew this would happen, didn't you? I am so sorry, Maxine.

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