Nothing's Free

The room was barely lit by a little gloomy cloud-filtered sun through one window. There was a rustling sound that was part crumbling bricks and part scurrying rats. James pulled the comforter up over his head to hide from the cold. Home sweet squat.

The couple in the room upstairs started arguing in Russian, and the kid down the hall shouted, "shut up," in Czech and put on loud punk.

"There's hot water in the thermos, if you want to make tea." said Lara.

He heard her footsteps up to the bed. (A worn mattress on some wood pallets.) Then silence. He poked his head out. One of his eyes was badly bruised and swollen.

Her hair hung down as she bent forward, and in a very calm, controlled voice said, "You did it again." She held up a small lockbox. It was empty. "It doesn't matter how many hours I work; we'll never get out of here." Her eyes watered with restrained tears. She crossed to the door.

He started to stand up, but his head spun. He stumbled and he fell back in bed. He was still drunk from last night's binge.

Silhouetted in the doorway, Lara looked him up and down. "I have to go to work. And I have a hard choice to make."

James said, "Please. You know I can't survive without you." She was gone.

___

Riding the tram, watching the scenery of the city of Prague, James thought about what he'd do if Lara left him to fend for himself. He'd spent his life falling back on his looks and charisma. Every time he fucked up and lost another job, he could charm someone into taking care of him. He wasn't that fetching young man anymore but he didn't have any other plan.

He tucked his tongue into the gap between his teeth, and scratched his graying beard. His skin was tanned, and you could see deep creases around his good eye. He used a small knife to clean his fingernails.

At the far end of the tram car, he saw a pair of undercover transportation police asking people to show their tickets. He stood, hoping to get off at the next stop before they got to him—but his movement attracted their attention. They tried to box him in, and spoke to him in Czech. James shrugged and said, "Sorry, American."

"Ticket and passport," said the older of the pair, in English.

James said, "Oh, yes, of course," and started ruffling through the pockets of his leather jacket and inching toward the door. When the tram stopped, the officer put his arm in the way, but James nimbly ducked under it and slipped between people, jumping off.

Even after two years here, James hadn't learned more than a few words of Czech. He blamed being tone deaf. Or maybe his brain was just fried.

He pulled down his knit cap over his ears, zipped his coat up, and started wandering. He'd had no destination in mind, but found he was in Dejvice, the neighborhood where the embassies and large palatial homes of dignitaries were. It was a pretty place to wander, but not the best for begging. There were few people on the street. A man flicked away a cigarette before going into a shop, and James picked it up. It was still lit.

He headed to a small park, really just a patch of grass on a corner with a couple of benches, and he sat down on one. He thought about Lara. He didn't understand why she'd put up with him. She loved his stories but mostly, he had hurt her. And she'd rescued him so many times, talking down angry bouncers and getting him out of fights. She wasn't a drinker but still hung out with him at the bars. Mysteriously, somehow, she just seemed to like him. Maybe even something more than that.

Then he noticed: On the other bench, there was a leather bag. Just sitting there.

He looked around. No one was nearby.

He crossed to the other bench and sat next to the bag. Looked around again. Unzipped it.

Inside was a pair of gloves, a wallet, a small notebook, and a folded magazine.

He took out the wallet. There were a couple of crown notes inside. Enough to get him cigarettes and a perch on a stool in a warm bar for the day. He tucked them into a pocket.

The gloves were small, he pushed them aside. The notebook was nice. A little black pocket-sized thing, with good paper. He flipped through it, and there were numbers on the lower corner of each page, but the pages were otherwise blank. Lara would like it. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

When he tossed the wallet back into the bag, the magazine moved, and he could see money. US dollars. Hundreds. In bundles. It was $20,000.

James froze.

$20,000 would be life changing. They could get out of the squat. Finally leave the country if they wanted. Go...anywhere. But.

Who leaves $20,000 in a bag on a park bench?

No one good.

He looked at the office building across the street. There could be people behind the glass watching.

Had he seen that car with the dark windows pass before?

Yes, that money could help them so much. But at what risk?

He pointedly closed up the bag and quickly walked away, jumping on the next tram heading downtown, where Lara worked. Two large men in dark overcoats got on at the next stop. They made him nervous. Were they looking at him? Were they purposely NOT looking at him?

His head was pounding and he was sick from his hangover. He wasn't able to think clearly. His peripheral vision was gone on one side because of his black eye.

___

James darted into the restaurant where Lara was a cook, and headed to the kitchen. The owner gave him a dirty look, but James ignored it.

He was out of breath.

Lara told the other cook on the line she was taking a quick break, and came over to him. "What's wrong? What did you do?"

James told her about the bag on the bench, and the money inside. She lit up, hopeful.

"But I had to leave it," he said.

"What?"

"It was a pay off. Or a bribe. Probably to the mafia. Or, or it was a sting. If I'd taken that money, I don't think I would have gotten far." He reached into his jacket, and pulled out the notebook, "Maybe I should have put this back, too. But...I thought you might like it."

She took the notebook, pushed aside the elastic band, and flipped through it. She appreciated that he'd thought of her, but it really wasn't much. He'd rarely given her anything at all. She sighed.

"Thanks," she said as she put it in her back pocket. "Hang on." She grabbed him a baked potato off the hot line and walked him to a table. To one of the waitresses, "Jana, can you get him a cup of coffee. I'll pay for it."

Jana rolled her eyes, but went to get the coffee.

"I'll see if I can get off work early and maybe we can go someplace and talk," Lara said.

She headed back to the kitchen, and as she passed Jana said, "No beer. Just coffee. I'll tip you when I get paid today."

Jana said, "You're a stronger woman than I am."

As Lara went back into the kitchen, the two men in dark overcoats, who had been on the tram, walked by. They looked in the window, came in, and asked to be seated at the table next to James.

They hadn't looked directly at him, but James still felt threatened. He jumped up, then ran outside to quickly, he ran right into a railing, and flipped over it, landing on his back.

When he opened his eyes (or rather, his eye, since the other was too swollen to open), the men were walking toward him. Lara was in the doorway, right behind them, but focused on James.

They said something in Czech. As he had on the train, James shrugged and said, "Sorry, American." The two men scooped him up by the elbows and walked him toward a nearby alley.

Lara looked shocked. James furrowed his brows and looked back toward the restaurant, hoping she'd go back inside and not follow.

In the alley, they pushed him against a wall. "I didn't take the money!" James said.

"Little black book," said one of the men.

"I... threw it away," said James.

The other man tried to punch James in the face, but James ducked, and the man's fist hit the wall with a crunch.

The next punch, however, hit him squarely in the stomach.

"Give it. Little black book."

"This book?" Lara stood at the end of the alley, holding it up.

They turned. One of them held out his hand.

"How much is it worth?" she said.

A thug punched James again.

"You think I care what you do to that loser? Easiest if you just pay me. Or do you want the American lady to start screaming for the police?" She stepped back, so that she was almost in the street.

One of the men walked toward her, his hands spread. He reached into his coat and took out a money clip.

As he did, the other man took out a gun, and pointed it at James.

The man with the money tossed it toward Lara, and made a "here" gesture with his fingers.

She darted forward, took the money, dropped the notebook and stepped back again.

The man took the notebook and flipped through the pages. He nodded yes. The other man pocketed his gun, and both walked away.

Lara waited until the men rounded the corner. Then she stepped into the alley and counted the money. US dollars. Nowhere near the $20,000 that had been in the bag, but several hundred.

She walked up to James, who leaned against the wall for support.

"Thank you, Lara, you saved me. Again. I don't know..."

She cut him off. "You'll have to find out. I'm done. I'm not even going back to the squat."

Lara turned and walked away.