What Do You Have To Lose?

Mahli could hear the news anchor from the Kitchen: “Delilah Davis, owner of DDA, was found dead in her living room last night…”

"Damn, that makes three people in the last 3 months" Mahli thought as he took a bite of an old donut and slid it back into the refrigerator.

This news made Mahli smile. DDA was an accounting firm that rivaled Mahli’s own firm, MAA. He figured with her gone, his company would thrive as hers suffered, raising his profits in the process.

Two other wealthy business owners were found shot in their homes two months ago. After they were found, local law enforcement contacted Mahli to see if they could provide a protective detail to him. He had turned down the protection. It was more important that his shareholders and prospective clients saw his strength in the midst of tragedy.

Today was Mahli’s day off but he had left his briefcase at the office the day before, so he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to stop at Jerry’s, his favorite bakery, to grab a new batch of donuts.

There was a homeless man writing in a small black notebook leaned against the bakery’s wall. Mahli had noticed the man at the spot almost three weeks ago.

Mahli held a strong dislike for anybody looking for a handout, mainly because he felt they should get up and work for what they wanted rather than asking for it, just as he did. He even went as far as to bar any charity organizations from requesting money from his company.

Mahli was intrigued by the man with the notebook because he’d never seen him ask for anything despite Mahli coming to the Bakery in a distinctly white Mercedes-Benz S Class Coupe. Ignoring the vibration in his pocket from an incoming text message Mahli approached the man and asked “Good morning sir, what are you always writing in that book?”

The man looked in his late fifties, with a long winter-white beard and matching hair, both of which appeared to not have been properly groomed in months. His eyes were a dark blue framed by deep crows feet, and he was dressed in a ragged black long sleeved shirt and pants.

Before replying, the man closed his notebook and looked at the Mercedes, then looked at Mahli. “The answer to that question will cost you about twenty thousand dollars and a donut.” He said.

“Twenty thousand dollars?” Mahli answered.

“Yes sir, and a donut.”

“You must be out your rabid ass mind if you think I’ll give you a dime, let alone twenty thousand dollars. Normally you homeless people disgust me, but you’ve definitely taken it to a new level.”

“And the donut?” the man asked, giggling.

“And ask your mother for a donut!” Mahli shouted and walked away.

The man didn’t say anything in response, he just turned his back towards the wall and resumed scribbling in the notebook with a smile on his face. Mahli went inside the bakery.

Mahli walked into his building holding a box of two dozen donuts. He ate one, placed five in a container and dropped the remainder in the lounge before going to retrieve his briefcase. His phone vibrated again from a text message, this time he didn’t ignore it. It was from his mom checking on him, but the one he ignored earlier was from an unknown number that read:

DOUGH IN THE BL THIS TIME. PW: Attack Chopper 51

-G

Using prior knowledge, Mahli assumed “Dough” meant money. He couldn’t figure out what BL meant. He googled local businesses to see which ones had the same initials. To avoid wasting time driving everywhere looking for money that may or may not be there, he decided he would only search places that were on the way home. He found three businesses along the route with the same initials: Barry’s Laundry, Big Lots, and the Bison Lounge.

Mahli stopped at Big Lots first, then the Bison lounge. He approached every worker and asked if they knew about Attack Chopper 51 to no avail, so he continued his trip to Barry’s Laundry.

Mahli, discouraged but still holding on to a tiny sliver of hope, parked in the last open spot near the Laundromat, which was in front of Jerry’s Bakery. He spotted the man from earlier, still fixated on his notebook as he walked to the Laundromat.

The only person inside was a burly man behind the register. He wore a dirt collared shirt with a nametag labeled “Hi, I’m Paul”. Both arms were covered in what looked like Mahli to be some kind of tribal tattoos as well as thick knots of muscle.

“Can I help you with something?” Paul asked.

“Uhh, yeah. I came here to see about an Attack Chopper?” said Mahli.

Paul stood up and stretched his arms as if waking up from a long nap. He towered over Mahli by at least a foot. “An attack chopper you say?”.

“Yeah… Number fifty-one.” Mahli responded.

There was a brief silence while the two stared at each other. Mahli became increasingly intimidated as seconds passed.

“Fifty-one.” Paul finally said in his deep, Baritoned, voice and pointed in the direction of the dryers.

“Huh?”

Paul sat back down, without responding, and rested his head on his hand as he resumed his work. In the back of the building, there were two rows of ten dryers with small metal numbered plates above each one. When he reached the sixth row of dryers Mahli noticed the plate that was numbered as fifteen had been turned upside down to where the five, though inverted, was on the left. Inside of it was a single black object that was tumbling, loudly, as the dryer spun.

“I guess this is the closest to fifty-one I’ll get.” Mahli thought. He opened the dryer door, noticing there wasn’t any heat coming from it. He reached to pull out the object, a duffle bag with something large and heavy in it. He hoped it wasn’t anything illegal, but the thought of what he’d find inside kept him optimistic.

After throwing the strap over his shoulder, Mahli looked over towards Paul, who was still engrossed in his work, then rushed back to his car with his eyes held down.

“That was easier than it should’ve been.” he whispered to himself.

Once inside his vehicle he unzipped the bag enough to see rows of one hundred dollar bills tightly wrapped in plastic, which sent Mahli into an ecstatic frenzy. He started his car, shifted it in gear, and sped the whole way home. He parked his car in his garage, grabbed the money and ran into the house, forgetting to close the garage door behind him.

Once inside Mahli emptied the bag on to the floor, hearing a loud ‘thunk’ along with the piles of cash. Mahli froze for a long moment before moving some of the bills aside and spotting a small pistol lying among the mess.

With a shock, Mahli’s mind was flooded with the possibilities of what the money could be connected to.. For a moment he thought about calling the police to turn it in, but that thought was overshadowed by the realization that whoever sent the text might have sent it to the wrong person. He couldn’t think of any way anybody could know he had it.

After calming down, Mahli moved the gun to the kitchen table and spent the next hour and a half counting the money, totaling exactly twenty thousand dollars. Since the bank was already closed, he slid the bag of money under his bed, made himself dinner, and laid down early so he could make the deposit as soon as possible, his heart racing

Mahli woke to the sound of his doorbell. He quietly walked towards the front door in near-total darkness and looked through the peephole to see a police duo. One of the officers was a taller black male, the other a shorter Hispanic woman. Mahli shifted his gaze over to the kitchen table and noticed the gun was missing. He didn’t remember moving it.

“Is everything alright officers?” he asked, after opening the door visibly shaken.

“Yes sir.” one of the officers said. “We were told to keep an eye on your place and as we were passing through, we noticed your garage light was on with the door open. Everything okay?”

Mahli stood up straight and took a deep sigh of relief. “Yeah, everything’s all good here. I must’ve forgotten.”

“Alright sir, be careful. We will be making rounds periodically throughout the night to keep a lookout on your house okay?”

“That’s fine. Thanks.” Mahli said as he closed the front door and reengaged both locks on the front door. Then he walked to close the garage door. He didn’t remember turning the garage light on but quickly dropped the issue before flipping the switch.

Mahli nearly drifted off to sleep before noticing a dark figure sitting in the chair in the far corner of his room. His hand shot up quickly to turn on the lamp next to his bed, revealing the homeless man from earlier. His hair and face were now immaculately groomed, and he was dressed in a black adidas tracksuit still clutching his notebook, his foot on the duffle bag of money. Paul, from the laundromat, was standing in the closet holding the pistol.

“Hello Mahli, remember us?”

Mahli’s felt his heart plummet, sweat forming on his forehead. He struggled to speak, so he nodded his head instead.

“It would seem you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“I- I was going to turn it in tomorrow!!” Mahli replied.

Paul approached Mahlli and pointed the gun at his head. “Shhhhhhhhh. No need for explanation.”

Mahli raised his hands in the direction of the gun, as if they would stop the bullet if the trigger was pulled.

“You know, you rich people are so interesting.” The man started. “Each one of you is different in his own way, and as much as you try to hide your vulnerabilities, they’re always out in the open for people like me to see.”

“Vulnerabilities?” Mahli manages to squeeze out.

“Oh yes, for example...” the man started as he opened the notebook and flipped through pages as he read off names “Paul Nealy, 46. Net worth 3.5 million. Eric Anderson, 39. Net worth 4.7 million. Delilah Andrews, 29. Net worth 7.2 million. And you, Mahli Black, 40. Net worth 10.7 million.” he closed the book and looked back at Mahli “Do you know what all of you have in common? I’ll give you a hint, it doesn’t involve your net worth.”

Mahli, silent, couldn’t think straight enough to answer. Eventually the man got tired of the silence and spoke up.

“I asked each one of you this question and received no answer, So I’ll answer it. you’re all selfish pieces of shit.”

Tears started to well up in Mahli’s eyes. He did his best to stay show strength, but the terror was too great.

“I’ve been watching each one of you for the past year.” he continued, “and not once did you show any concern for those who were less fortunate. You’ll step on or over whoever you want just to get richer. You disgust me.” The man paused briefly as he took a bite of the half-eaten donut in the refrigerator and spoke with his mouth full “Can you tell me why you took the money without telling anybody?”.

“Uh-” Mahli said. Searching for a safe way to answer with a gun pointed at his head so he answered honestlu “I figured I had nothing really to lose in the situation.”

“Well, you were wrong.” The man says as Paul tosses the gun over to him. He pointed the gun at Mahli, tears flowing heavily from Mahli’s eyes.

“You have lost…” the man said as he chambered a bullet “your life” and then pulled the trigger.