When Desperation Meets Opportunity Chapter 6 — A #NaNoWriMo 2015 Story
By: Josh Gauthier
Tags: Traveling, Fiction, NaNoWriMo

Chapter 6 — Maggie

I kiss Brayden on the forehead and begin to read him “Green Eggs and Ham” to bring upon sleepiness. I’m not sure if he likes the book or not, but my mom doesn’t have a huge selection and I didn’t think ahead of time to bring any that I had. It doesn’t take long for Brayden to pass into his dreams. That’s always been something he’s been good at — falling asleep quickly! Just in case, I finish reading the book, quietly put it back on the bookshelf near his bed, and tiptoe out of the guest room. We haven’t had many sleepovers at my mom’s, but typically Brayden gets the guest room and I simply take the couch.

As I head into the living area just after 9pm, I notice my mom is still awake, reading a Food Network magazine. Not really my cup of tea. I’m more of a Cosmo person. The pure frivolousness of that publication helps me escape the reality of day to day life.

“How’d he go down?” she asks.

“Perfect, like usual. I have no idea how I got so lucky.”

“You certainly did. But, it must be genetics. Never had any issues putting you to bed.” She cracks a smile as that positive thought crosses her mind. I smile as I look out the picture window into the night. It doesn’t hold long, as I begin to think about what I need to do tonight. Why did Mr. Man pick this particular task for me? I’ll find out soon enough.

My mom sets down her magazine, and stands up. “I’m headed to bed Maggie. Whatever you are up to tonight, be safe. I’ll cover for you if Brayden wakes up and asks any questions. But you have to promise me something. Sometime soon, you have to tell me everything. I want to be there for you, but if you are going to just shut me out, then maybe we don’t have anything keeping us together.”

I stare at her, biting my lip, trying to determine the best response while subsequently attempting to quell my frustration with her. “First of all, we’ll always have Brayden. Regardless of how you feel about me, that is your grandson and you should be a part of his life. Secondly, I’m not shutting you out. I simply don’t know that much about what is going on yet. Mom — I promise you that if I can, I will tell you everything. You don’t think I know how hard it is going through life alone?”

Emotion overcomes me as tears flow down my face. The stress of everything occassionally overtakes me, and this is one of those times. I put my head into my arms and try to pull myself together. Unexpectedly, I feel the embrace of two arms wrapped around me. A hug, the first I’ve received in longer than I can remember. This moment could last forever and I wouldn’t hate it. Nothing compares to a hug from mom.

However, as soon as this spontaneous display of apparent affection appears, it is gone, and mom heads down the hallway to her bedroom.

Since I still have just under three hours until I need to be at the jail, I decided to take the risk of setting my phone alarm and getting some sleep. In the midst of the craziness of today, I somehow forgot that I am exhausted. Some sleep will do me good. Oversleeping would be bad, so I set three alarms just in case. You can never be too careful. Besides, I have no idea what I am dealing with or what would happen if I went back on our agreement. It probably isn’t too late to back out, after all, this is a test of whether or not I can be trusted. Then again, Mr. Man made it clear it would be very worth my while to do this. It has to be — I’m using pretty much everything I’ve got in savings to do this. To bail out someone who I’ve been assured is innocent.

— — -

My nerves prevented me from getting much sleep, but I must have dozed off at some point because my alarm startled me. I quickly shut it down, and rock myself back and forth to try and shake loss the grogginess. The jail is only about five minutes from here, so I’ve got some time. Even though I ate plenty for dinner, I decide to go make myself some toast and coffee to settle my queasy stomach.

Once I’m finished, I drop my dishes in the sink. Even though I’m literally going to the jail, I still manage to walk myself to the bathroom and apply some makeup and fuss with my hair. To an outside observer, this would seem pretty odd, I’m sure. But, in my defense, I feel a lady should always represent herself well, no matter where she is going.

The time has come. I put on my shoes, double check to make sure I have everything I need, and head out the door. Bail has not been something I’ve ever had to pay for before, but in doing some quick research, it looks like they won’t accept checks. Somewhere I’ll need to factor in some time to stop by an ATM and withdraw the $300 I need.

It is so quiet out. Not a single car on the streets. No wind to speak of. Stars shining brightly. Almost like the calm before the storm. I take my time driving, going as slow as I possibly can to delay the inevitable. Am I really doing this? Bailing out a stranger? Stranger things have happened, right?

Just a few blocks from the jail is a bank, so I pull in and drive up to the ATM. My brain freezes for a moment as I try and remember my PIN, but it comes to me and I get the money without issue. I probably shouldn’t have, but I can’t help looking at the receipt. Balance remaining: $200. That’s it. It hit me just how important doing these tasks has become. I’m barely afloat. More accurately, I’m drowning with nothing but a straw to get air. This money is important, and I sure hope the Man comes through for me.

After pulling back onto the main road, and driving a few hundred yards, I have finally reached my destination. The time is just about midnight, so driving at the speed of an 80 year old didn’t make me late. I park, and make the slow walk into the front office. This is a first for me — I’ve never once stepped foot in a police station or jail. My mom would probably be surprised to hear that. She must have assumed all sorts of things about me. Maybe one day she’ll get to hear how things really went down.

As I enter the station, the lights are almost blinding. My eyes, barely adjusted to the darkness, now scorched by the scintillating brightness of this place. Are they trying to fight the darkness of crime with their energy bill? Makes me wonder where more of our tax dollars go to…

A young man is at the front desk, of the jail. He is behind some glass with only a speaker to talk through. “Hello, what can I do for you tonight?”

I don’t know the person I am making bail for, so I sure hope he doesn’t ask any detailed questions. “I’m here to place bail for a man named Rodger.”

“Ahh Rodger. Thought nobody would come for him. He’s been here almost a week. His bail is only $300 — you’d think most family would cover that. Are you related to Rodger?”

I reply as quickly as possible — “Something like that.”

“Hmm. Alright then. I’ll need $300 cash. If he shows up for his court date next week, then you’ll get it back. We’ll send a check in the mail — it usually takes 4–6 weeks to arrive. My apologies — but I don’t get to write em. Just the way the system works.”

Well, if Mr. Man is true to his word, I shouldn’t have to wait that long for reimbursement. Regardless of the money, it still hasn’t made sense as to why this is the mission he sent me on to prove I’m willing to follow through with this tasks. Is it because it is something that most people wouldn’t do? Is it the simply act of spending a ton of money (for me, anyway) without any reasonable expectation of getting that back, for someone I don’t know? In any case, I’m here now. I open up my purse and dig for the money I withdrew from the ATM. $300 in just three bills. Seems like nothing. Could go up in flames easily, or simply blow away in the wind. Yet, to me, $300 is a month of food. My stomach lurches towards me throat as I hand the money to the officer. For an awkward few seconds, I hold on tightly, before loosening my grip and letting him have it.

“Now what?” I ask, visibly trembling. My focus was on paying the bail, but I hadn’t really thought about what happens after the fact. Does he leave with me? I can’t hardly just leave a man here if no one has even tried to see him in almost a week.

He answers, letting out a small yawn before forcibly swallowing it back down. “I imagine he’ll need a ride. Most people who post bail usually give them a ride, but you can take off, and we’ll help him get a cab where he needs to go.” Look at that — a way out. I could leave now, and ignore whatever else this night could’ve thrown at me. I could be back at my mom’s place, $300 lighter, but safe and within feet of my son. However, the stupid part of my in the back of my head is telling me that I have to stay. I have to see this through. It is part of the deal. Mr. Man didn’t say as much, but I can’t afford the chance that there isn’t something else I’m supposed to do to get what he is willing to pay me.

The officer has now disappeared into the bowels of the jail, so I find a metal chair to sit in. It certainly feels sturdy, so they must feel that chairs that won’t break easily are more important than comfortable ones in this particular waiting room. Maybe they should call it the empathy room instead.

After a few minutes, I hear the loud clanging of locks being undone, and the door to the right of the desk opens loudly. Out walks the officer, and beside him, nothing of what I expected. Here is a man who might break six feet on his tip toes. He is wearing a simple polo — nothing extravagant but certainly not shabby. His jeans are probably Old Navy, or something at the mall. They fit nicely. He looks a little dirty, but that is probably on account of the week in this concrete bunker. The girl in me can’t help but judge his facial features — he is a bit rounded, and probably has a few more pounds than he should, but he isn’t ugly, that is for sure.

The officer walks him over to me, and takes off Rodger’s hand-cuffs. “Alright. Here he is. His court date is next week Thursday. Rodger — make sure you are back here. This girl just paid your bail.” I’m nervous, but bring myself to look at Rodger during the exchange. He is looking back at me, but I can tell he is a bit nervous as his eyes dart back and forth around me, and to the ground. When the officer mentions I paid his bail, I notice a hint of surprise on Rodger’s face. What on earth was he in here for? Now I’m more curious than anything.

The officer turns his attention back to me. “If you need anything else, just let me know. If you stop by or call, just ask for Officer Dale.” We’ll find out soon Dale if I need to call you on that. He tips his cap, and walks back to his post. Now, it is just me, sitting, with Rodger, standing, just a few feet away. After waiting for at least a minute, I suppress a yawn of my own and decide that is my opportunity to speak.

“Hello Rodger. My name is Maggie. This is going to sound weird, but someone asked me to pay for your bail on his behalf. I don’t know him, and I’m sure I don’t know his real name. So, that is why I’m here, and not anybody else. I can drive you somewhere you need to go…” as I say those words, chills run down my spine. This guy was just in jail, and I want to take him in my car? Am I crazy? “…but I want to know more about you first. Why were you here?”

He walks over to a seat and sits down, with a chair between us. He looks at the floor and holds his hands together. He puts his head down on his hands, and for a moment I don’t think he is going to say anything. It almost looks like he is about to fall asleep. But, he picks his head up and, staring across the room, begins to speak.

His voice sounds tired, and a little higher than I’d have expected. “It wasn’t my fault. Just the wrong place at the wrong time. I was downtown last Saturday night with some friends, and we were enjoying some drinks at The Fat Cow. You know the place?” I nod. I’ve never been there. Brayden isn’t old enough to drink yet so I’ve decided to stay away from those types of places for the next 17 years. Yes, my life revolves around my son. So sue me.

“Well, it was closing time, and the owner was trying to get people out. My friend, Kevin, had way too much, like usual, and he was getting punchy. He yells at the owner ‘Hey Mikey, come on, we’re your best customers. Let us stay another hour!’ Mike, the owner, doesn’t really appreciate being told how to run his business, especially at closing time. After all, it is almost 2 in the morning. He just shakes his head and tries to stay cool. Then, Kevin jumps the bar and gets in Mike’s face, puts his arm around his shoulder, and pleads with him in the way only a severely drunk man can. Mike, pretty angry at this point, forcibly removes his arm and loudly tells Kevin he’ll call the cops if he doesn’t back down. Guess what happens next? Kevin starts to walk away, then rushes over to the draft spouts. He puts his head under the Miller, and flips the top and just starts drinking right from there. Mike rushes over, and pushes him away, then shuts off the spout. Kevin goes sprawling to the ground. Mike then calls the cops. Then, umm hey? Are you still there?” \

He notices that my eyes had shut, and I just about dozed off. It is an interesting story, but it has been a long day. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m interested, really. Just been up a long time. Continue, please.”

“Okay, uhh, where was I? Oh yeah, so Kevin is trying to stumbling to his feet, and he keeps slipping on the beer that he got all over the floor. Mike has since called the cops and they would be arriving any minute. We ask Mike if we can help Kevin to his feet and take him outside. He nods, clearly beyond done with us. We pull ourselves over the bar, lift Kevin up and pull him over. Kevin lays on the bar a while and makes it difficult for us to pull him to the other side. I didn’t think much of this at the time. Finally we get him outside, and the cops arrive. I’m wearing a jacket, because it was pretty cold last weekend. The police ask MIke what happened so he told them. He also said he thinks Kevin stole so bottles, so the police search him. He doesn’t have anything on him. Mike mentions outloud that maybe we helped him, as Mike was clearly upset we didn’t do more to stop this from happened. The cops search my other friend, and he turns up with nothing. Just then, I check my coat pockets, and sure enough, Kevin had slipped two bottles of Spotted Cow in there. I swore up and down I didn’t take it, but Mike wasn’t having any of it, and we were all too drunk to really plead our cases well. Because my other two friends didn’t have any clear evidence of wrongdoing, they let Joe go, wrote up Kevin, and then took me to the precinct. I thought for sure the others would be back for me, but clearly I underestimated our friendship. I know they don’t make much. but you’d think they could afford $300 to bail me out between the two of them.”

Poor guy. He seems genuinely wronged here. I find it hard to believe he’s get put in jail over this, but consider the situation and how drunk everyone was, it is possible words got twisted. In any case, I do feel more relaxed about helping this guy out. I offer my support.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. What are you going to do about the court date next week?”

He looks up, and then back at me for the first time in a while. “They’ll get me a public defender, and we’ll do our best to settle this to a misdemeanor, so eventually it’ll be off my record. The only really chance I have of true innocence is Kevin and Mike both coming in here to say what really happened. Thankfully, this will be off my record after two years. I’m barely making ends meet working as a bank teller. After missing the last week of work, and for the reasons, I’m sure I won’t have a job to come back to.”

I understand the feeling. I understand what it is like to have your life turned upside down by one rough night. Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have stayed over at my boyfriend’s house. But, I never said yes. I wish I could have fought back more. I wish I would have screamed. But I loved him, and thought maybe if I just let him, he’d calm down. Well, all I can say these years later is at least I have Brayden.

What should I say to Rodger? “Well, Rodger, how can I help? Do you need a place to stay? Some food? Is there somewhere I can drop you?

“Well, I have an apartment on the north side of town, probably 10 minutes from here. I’m really glad you came here tonight, so you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. I’d understand.”

I reassure him. “You’ve been through a lot. I have so many more questions. Wait, hold on a second…” I get up and walk over to Officer Dale. “Can I have a pen and a piece of paper?”

“Sure” he says, handing me a post it note and a black sharpie. I scribble down my cell phone number, and hand Dale his pen back. I walk back over to where Rodger is sitting. “If you ever need anything, please call me. I’m not looking for anything, but it sounds like you could use a friend, and we could all use more of those.” I hand him the post it, and he takes it, smiling at me. I then motion towards the door, and he gets up and walks with me.

We don’t talk the rest of the way to his apartment. He does say a few words, but they are mostly “turn here” and “turn there” and “stop, this is my place”.

As he opens the door to get out, I decide to ask one more question. “Rodger, as I mentioned earlier, some random person asked me to bail you out tonight. Do you have any idea who would have known you were in jail and would have wanted you out?”

He sits, half out the door, then exits the car and leans back in hanging on to the side of the car. “Maggie, I really don’t know. I haven’t seen my parents in years, and the best friends I had completely screwed me over. Whoever it is, it’d be great if they could hep me on Thursday. Good night.” And with that, he shuts the door.

Just then my cell phone buzzes, and I get goosebumps. I look at my phone, and of course, it is Mr. Man. Weirdly, I was hoping something was wrong with Brayden. After an unexpectedly pleasant exchange with Rodger, now I’m facing the reality that this crazy guy is somehow watching me. How? Where is he? I look at the message:

Well done Maggie. That wasn’t easy what you did, but you handled it like a pro. Enjoy my thanks when you get back to your house. I’ll be in touch soon about your first task.

It is already past 1am. I should go back to my mom’s and sleep, but I’m curious to see what Mr. Man’s idea of thanks is. Driving 15 minutes out of my way when I’m already dead tired is a dangerous proposition, but curiosity keeps me awake.

I arrive and park the car. Then, I run inside the apartment building. Where would he have left something, and how could he get it to me that quickly? How many people are involved in this? My tired brain is struggling to grasp these really important questions, so I focus on my number one mission — what did he give me. I check the mail box first — empty. It must be upstairs. I walk up, stumbling slight. Upon unlocking my door I hear the sound of wood scraping on paper. There it is, an envelope.

I reach over, and open it up. Anticipation is welling up inside of me, but I”m careful to open the envelope along the top flap. I can hardly believe my eyes as I pull out the items inside. There is more money here than I’ve ever seen in my life. I stumble over to a table and begin counting. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred. All hundred dollar bills. I keep counting.

When I finish, I can hardly believe it. Am I just tired, or did I really just make ten thousand dollars for a couple of hours of inconvenience? How will I explain this to to Brayden? It is probably best for now that I hide this somewhere, and deposit it into the bank when I need to.

As badly as I want to curl up in my bed, I really must get back to my mother’s house. For a moment tonight, Brayden wasn’t my single focus. I don’t like that feeling, but I suspect this isn’t the last time that Mr. Man will get in the way of my son and I.