The Win

“Caller12, you’re on the air! What’s your name?” asked the chipper morning-time radio-jockey..

“Hello Rod, Love your show. I can’t believe I got through! My name is Helen”

“ Believe it Helen, and you’re lucky caller 12, You get a chance to answer our grand-prize mystery sound question. First, tell us a bit about yourself.”

“Ok., I’m a widower, no children, sadly. I’m a retired court recorder of 23 yrs. And I volunteer at a hospice.”

“Iit sounds like you’ve devoted your life to helping others Helen. I wish you luck for our grand-prize mystery sound worth a whopping $20,000! Helen, what is that sound?”

She heard the radio play the sound of a wet, sloshing noise - like grinding mulch. It played for three seconds. Still, it was vaguely familiar and she was certain she’d heard it before.

“A citrus juicer?” asked Helen tentatively.

“You mean those juice-by-hand devices with half a lemon you twist to squeeze the juice out?”

“Yes, that.”

“Great guess Helen, one we haven’t had. If you’re right you will have won our massive $20,000 Grand Prize. I’m looking at my producer, the only one who knows the correct answer. And... oh Helen…”

“Yes?”

“YOU HAVE JUST WON $20,000!!”

“Oh my God!”

“Helen! You found the mystery sound. Citrus squeezer. CONGRATULATIONS!”

“Oh… Oh wow!”

“Helen, the listeners want to know, what are you going to do with that money?”

Helen tried to calm her nerves. “I’m going to have the time of my life Rod.”

Jake dropped his phone on the side seat in disappointment. Running fingers through dark hair he looked at his mirror. At 22yrs old he was handsome in the traditional ways, square jaw and high cheekbones, fluffy eyebrows. But below the eyebrows deep-set ochre eyes and worry lines creasing unblemished skin denoted a young life of sadness and struggle but also a strength of purpose. His last chance. He needed that money. ’ He would say “Lemon squeezer Don” and his problems would be over.

“We will have that check for you to pick up tomorrow morning at our station. Congrats again Hel-“ Jake switched it off. Not your 20 grand, he thought. Mine. He took out his little black notebook from his pocket and rummaged for a pen. He began writing notes. Maybe there’s one last chance.

At 7am Jake sat in his vehicle to see who walked into the building. He didn’t know what Helen looked like. But compared to the stern faces of those returning to the office, it immediately struck him when a fit mid-fifties woman with light brown hair came off a bus. She strode to the building, confidant and beaming with a smile about to burst out laughing. This was her, Helen.

Ok, thought Jake. I’ll just follow her to the bank so she can deposit the money. When she comes out, I don’t have to hurt her, I’ll simply scare her. I’ll tell her I know who she is and that I just need some of the money. Like, a quarter of her winnings and she’ll never see me again. Easy. He gulped. Sure.

He noted her arrival 7.52am. Then watched her come out an hour later, the same smile. She strode off in the opposite direction toward downtown. Just as he thought, she turned into Stoddard’s Bank.

Jake pretended to read a flyer- WANTED; guitarist for awesome band. Suddenly the revolving doors spun to reveal Helen in her flowery summer dress and a burly security guard escorted her to a waiting silver taxi.The guard discreetly handed over a thick manilla envelope. “Are you sure you want to cash in the whole check? It’s a lot of money to be carrying around” . He took no notice of Jake 5 feet away. Helen proclaimed “This is meant to be used, not hoarded.” she called as the cab sped off.

“Aw crap!” Jake took off to his beaten-up scrap-heap Please start, he thought. With a sputtering cough the engine caught and Jake floored the gas pedal, which is to say he maxed out at 45mph - 50 going down hill. But luckily he caught site of her heading over bridge rather than onto the expressway where he would never keep up. The cab turned on the road where most car dealers congregated into a used motorcycle dealership, Jake wrote 9:22am when a loud rap startled him. “Looking to trade her in for a two wheel model?” asked a younger salesman in a lavender tie that hurt Jake’s eyes to look at. Unable to explain his being there Jake nodded. He could see Helen inside pointing to a lime-green Kawasaki with $9,300 on it. The salesman helping her was rubbing his hands together.

“But I haven’t got much. What do you think I could get with a trade in?” Jake asked his sales assistant. To Jake’s great astonishment he found himself handing over his old keys for the keys to a 150cc used Vespa that would save him in petrol costs and reach 60mph which meant freeways were now open. Jake had tried selling his rust bucket prior without getting any offers over $500, yet here he got $1500 credit which returned $130 to his pocket. He only had to wait five minutes before Helen in her neon-green helmet with matching motorcycle started to go. Jake was putting the info into his notebook. 10:15am. He figured nobody paid full sticker price so maybe 9 grand, which still left $11,000 plenty for his needs. He donned his own helmet as he cautiously followed his prey, He let out a groan when she turned down a road with a sign greeting arrivals. The sign read: Special Force Skirmish Paintball.

The time was 10:47am when a loud cheer went up from the patrons gathered. “Did you hear that buddy?” asked a late-twenties redhead with a mullet. He noticed quite a few mullets actually. “That lady is paying for all of us! We all get the next bout free!” Helen was standing with a stocky man with bulging muscles counting hundreds into his open palm. “There's a good 40 people here right? $99 for an hour and half session, here’s $4000.” Helen finished counting notes into the meaty fist. He didn’t offer change. He called out “Ok squads, you’ve got a benefactor. Get yourselves into gear. I want even numbers. We start at oh-eleven-hundred!” The crowd of mostly men were scrambling to get themselves ready, many going up to personally thank Helen. A couple staff members were walking about collecting personal details off people. Before Jake could slink away a girl of about nineteen appeared waving a form under his nose. “Have you given your details yet?” she asked. “Yep. Sure have. Over there,” Jake lied while pointing in no particular direction. “Then you need to be suited up,” she said, nearly exasperated that she would have to explain this. “Red or blue team?” Jake didn’t want to go around shooting balls of paint at random strangers. Then again, without an actual car to hide away in the prospect of inconspicuously trying to sit around on a scooter for 90 minutes as his hapless victim slaked her thirst for mindless violence was not an ideal alternative. He saw Helen picking up a blue helmet. “Red team” he told the girl, and went to get ready.

A summer dress wasn’t the best attire for a paintball session. Luckily the facility had an array of, mostly camouflaged, dress ware. Helen greeted her pack in well-fitting blue-jeans, a navy blouse and a grey flack-jacket with black leather gloves. For a slightly older woman, she was still able to draw the eye of most of the men, and a couple of the ladies, in her team.

The next 90 minutes were an exhilarating blur of terror, adrenaline and the grim satisfaction of fantasy warfare. He wished he had worn more layers as golf-ball sized welts started forming on his arms and chest. Jake was fairly certain that some of the more sadistic players, the ones who came with their personal arsenal of latest generation automatic weaponry far better calibrated and powerful than the standard rented guns, were freezing their paintballs to get maximum carnage.It was the one that struck him on his left hand knuckle that hurt most of all. He tried to stalk his eventual victim, as practice for the eventual confrontation. But it was evident that the blue team was not going to let a single ball of paint come into Helen’s barrier of self-assigned protectors. As the one footing-the-bill, she became the presumptive Queen of the Blues.

It was 12:12pm when a laughing Helen finally said goodbye to well-wishers thanking her. Jake had to make his move soon as the envelope was getting smaller by the moment.

Jake’s stomach started to grumble. Unfortunately it wasn’t some cheap fast-food place Helen turned into. She pulled her Kawasaki into the valet of Le Petit Chateau. No other eating establishment within view, Jake sighed again and found a park.

.

The Maitre D’ looked at him like he wiped a massive booger on his podium, yet Jake was begrudgingly shown a spot at the bar. He was about to ask how much tap water and side salad would be when he was informed that thanks to an anonymous patron his food order would be gratis. After double-checking that gratis really meant that he didn’t have to pay, Jake ordered the steak and sauteed veggies, souffle for dessert. As he finished he had a realization. 35 patrons and averaging the cost at $150 per person, this was five grand from the winnings easy! He opened his notebook to tally, maybe $2000 left! That wasn’t enough! He saw Helen leaving the restaurant and ran to catch up to her.

Despite her not facing him she said sweetly “Hello Jake.” She turned around and smiled.

“How do you know me?”

“I’m older but I’m not blind. I saw you since that heap car. So glad I could help you find a replacement.”

“I…” he didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, tears running down his cheeks, it all came out. “I’m so sorry! You gave me so much today. Feeling the wind in my hair on my Vespa, the thrilling war games, this unbelievable meal! And I was going to try and take your winnings. Your winnings” he said again softly,

“Oh Jake, of course you weren’t going to harm me, that isn’t you.”

“How do you know?”

“As a court recorder for over 20 years I got to know who the good people are and who the truly evil ones are. Most are just desperate and get caught up in something they shouldn’t have. In my role I also made many police friends and I called in a favour to do some background on you. I saw your PleaseFundMe page for your sick mother. I know you are trying to do anything to get her that operation money.”

“But then, why waste so much on giving the people at this restaurant a free meal? They can afford it easy!

“You misunderstand. I paid for your meal and mine, but nobody else.”

“So does that mean you still have…?” he didn't dare to even hope.

‘Nope, just a few hundred left.”

“Oh no! But that’s ok. I still had the time of my life, thanks to you.

“As did I. And I needed to have someone to share that with. And that was you. Which is why I put the rest of the money into your FundMe page already. Thank you Jake.”

Shocked, Jake just stepped up and embraced her with a mighty hug, the tears still flowing, now down both faces.

“There’s a fair across town and I still have $300 bucks to blow by the end of the day. Care to come with me?” asked Helen

Jake smiled at her. “Let’s do it.”

The End