The Good Book

"Yeah, hi. Um, I'm calling because I think there's something wrong with my account," Walter muttered, fighting against his sleep-addled mind's want to hang up the phone.

"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, sir? How can I help?" the customer support agent spoke like she was reading from a prompt.

Accepting the inevitable, Walter swallowed back his regret and cleared his throat. "Sorry about that. I'm calling because I think there's something wrong with my bank account. The savings account, to be exact."

"Right, just a moment for me to verify some information on my end... okay, I'm looking at it now, what seems to be the problem, sir?"

"Uh..." was all Walter could think to say. "Could... could you tell me how much is in my account?"

A pause. Then a sigh. His support agent was annoyed about something. "Well, sir. You appear to have a total of $423 in your checking account." She spoke slowly for him, which Walter appreciated.

"Yes..." he muttered to indicate he was following along.

"And a total of... $20,176.89 in your savings."

"Right!" he shouted, almost tripping over the dirty clothes he had yet to gather from his bedroom. "That's the problem!"

Walter was certain he heard her say under her breath about wanting his problems. "Why... where did the extra $20,000 come from?" he asked her as nicely as he could.

Another sigh. "Something called "The Good Book Lottery?" Congrats, sir. You won some lotter-" his support was interrupted by the sound of his phone dying, then shutting off.

"Oh, thanks for nothing, I guess," Walter huffed. The groggy 21-year old sat on his bed, unkempt and greatly disturbed by routine tossing and turning. He sat with his head in his hands, simply wondering about his newfound fortune. None of it had made sense to him. The young man looked around his room, not any better than for his half-hearted attempts at cleaning it. Clothes and shoes were strewn about, same with the self-help books he promised himself he'd read. Crumbs from fast-food adorned his carpet and a few half-emptied water bottles caught the light from the Sun's rays outside.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a defeated sigh. "You're doing fabulous," he dryly reprimanded himself, apathetic. Walter nudged an empty water bottle with his foot and patted his body. He looked down at his zipped burgundy hoodie and noted something sticking out of its pocket. He distinctly recalled not having anything there before passing out on his bed. He scratched his head while pulling the object from his hoodie, revealing itself to be a little black book.

"Wait..." Walter's mind staggered. Holding the book, he was reminded of its eccentric owner. "Oh, wow," was all he his stunned mind could think to say.

He remembered now. "The Good Book Lottery".

Yesterday was supposed to be as forgettable as all the other days before it. Another day spent slaving away at Walmart wishing he was someone else, somewhere else. Watching the Sun race across the horizon and the sky darkening in response. Relishing the moment his time was up and he was free to go. His coworkers wished him well and he did the same for them.

"Another day, another dollar," Walter would shout out as he left his workplace. "Make you wanna holler." They would usually laugh with him.

As he sat in the parking lot in his 2001 Cadillac, he wondered who would miss him if he just drove off and simply never returned. He also wondered why he kept forgetting to take his antidepressants. He shrugged the thought off. "Tomorrow. Always tomorrow." He twisted his key and his engine burst to life. As his headlights flared, Walter saw him.

An older man with greyed hair and pale skin waved at him. He was dressed finely in a red pinstripe suit and a warm smile, like he knew the younger man all his life. Walter, of course, had never met him. Still, he politely waved back.

The older man took the wave as an invitation to approach closer. As he sauntered over to the driver side window, Walter lowered it. "Always wondered when I'd get mugged," he joked to himself.

The older man's voice brought him back to reality. "Hey there, buddy," he spoke, a heavy Midwestern-styled accent flavored his words. "Looking a little upset there about something. Penny for your thoughts?"

Walter blinked. "Uh, no thanks? I'm doing okay." He sighed, not meaning to sound harsh. "Just a long day."

"No, no. I understand completely. Strange man shows up in the middle of the night asking for a glimpse at the inner machinations of your enigma of a mind." The older man sighed. "I'd be a little off-put too. Say, do you know where Harvey is?"

Desmond blinked again. "Over in Jefferson Parish? Yeah, its about 30 minutes in that direction over there," he replied gesturing with his hand vaguely over his shoulder.

"Fantastic! Could I trouble you for a ride in that direction over there?"

"I don't know if I should do that," Walter replied honestly.

"Please? I'll pay you for your time. It's really important."

"So important you're asking a total stranger that smells like dusty boxes for a ride? Right..." Desmond thought to himself. Then he thought about all of his important plans doing absolutely nothing his mother's home.

"You'll pay, huh? Sure, man. I got time," the tired young man answered.

The older man smile got even wider. "Well, I sure do appreciate it," he said as he crossed over to the passenger side and entered the car. He had some fancy cologne that made Walter's eyes water. Noticing the reaction, the older man lowered the passenger window.

"Sorry about that. I might've overdone it with the cologne."

"No kidding." Walter cleared his throat. He pulled out his phone and asked for an address. The older man told him and moments later, they were off to his destination.

"My name is Martin, if you were wondering," the older man in fine suit said. "Martin Edward Cade. Names are important, you know."

"Right," Walter answered, his confusion not ceasing. "Name's Walt."

Martin nodded, seemingly content with that. They rode in silence until Martin pulled out his phone and began texting, his fingers making a light click sound on the buttons. Sometimes, he would grumble and close his eyes for several moments.

Walter decided it would be better to leave him to his own devices for the duration of the trip. Adjusting the volume of his Bluetooth earphones, Walt let the sweet tone of Kiss The Sky by Shawn Lee's Ping Pong Orchestra try to lift his spirit.

After what felt like forever, the location Martin gave him revealed itself to be a cul-de-sac area. Homes slightly elevated to protect against flooding lined their surroundings. Walter pulled the car to a slow halt in front of the house in question.

"My daughter's in there," Martin spoke out. "A woman a little older than you. Has a little tyke about ye high," he said gesturing with his hands. "My grandson," he whispered, a hint of pride in his voice. He sighed. "Been so long since I seen her. I'm doing a couple months in and out of rehab and she goes out and has a kid and decides she's gonna be a better parent than I ever was. Isn't that crazy? Where did she learn how to do all that by herself? Definitely not from me." He stared straight into Walter's eyes as if waiting for an answer.

He blinked. "I... guess she learned what not to do from you?"

"Ha! Yeah, I really hope she did." The older man seemed amused at the idea.

"What's her name? Since they're so important and all that," Walter asked.

"Heh, Jessica Marie Cade. My little girl. Couldn't be any more proud of her. I took to the drink something fierce when her mother passed. Clean now though, of course" he said, digging in his pockets. He pulled out a shiny badge that read "1 Year of Sobriety" in gold lettering. "She said I couldn't hold my grandkid until I handed this to her."

"Wow. Well, congrats, man. Sounds like... a hard fight."

"Oh, buddy. You have no idea. Worked out in the end though. Just had to... persevere. I couldn't go to my Maker and my wife and have to explain why I didn't get to hold my grandson."

"What's his name?"

"Martin Jesse Cade. Handsome little fella."

"Is she, uh, awake? Waiting on you to show up?"

Martin gestured to his phone as he said, "Yeah, I think she's happy to hear from me."

They sat in a comfortable silence. Walter checked his watch and saw an hour had passed in each other's company.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Walter. It's time for me to take my leave," Martin spoke, smoothing out the wrinkles on his red pinstripe suit. "I can't thank you enough for all that you did for me tonight."

"It was nothing, sir. I'm off the next two days and had no plans."

"Hmm," was all Martin said. He seemed deep in thought. "No. It was everything to me. I owe you."

"An Uber or a Lyft would've cost you. But I'm not an Uber or Lyft, so we're good."

Martin's eyes widened. "Generous of you. But I owe you."

Walter chuckled. "Look, I really-"

"What's your name?" Martin interrupted him to ask. "Your real name. Your full name. The thing that gives you power and presence. The thing that was given to you by your mother the day she had you."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Walter Arthur Quinn, sir."

Martin smiled. "That's a fine name indeed. Be proud of it. And if you aren't, make it something to be proud of."

"Easier said than done," Walter replied.

"So much easier said than done," Martin replied. He reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out some object. "But it wouldn't be worth it if it were easy. Light, please," Martin requested.

Walter clicked on the overhead light and saw the object in question was a little black book.

"Walter. Arthur. Quinn," the older man muttered while scrawling his name into the little black book. Walter could see Martin's name on it, and the names of several other people before he closed it. "Can't give it to family or someone close to me. Has to be a stranger. Those are the rules for this thing," Martin said gently like a considerate teacher.

"Huh?" was all Walter could thing to ask. The younger man watched as Martin placed the book to his lips before stepping out of the car and throwing it over roof of somebody's house. Martin leaned back down to look through the passenger window and placed his hand on Walter's shoulder. "It'll make sense tomorrow, I think. Took me a minute to understand too. I mean, the very concept breaks the known laws of reality."

"Huh?" was all Walter could say.

"You aren't a bad guy, Mr. Walter Arthur Quinn. I wish you the best of luck in life and with your fortune." Then Martin walked off and up the stairs to his daughter's abode. Walter watched as he stood before the door and gripped the railing of the stairs. Walter could feel the nervousness exuding from him.

After a minute, the older man straightened up and raised his to wave at Walter over his shoulder. Walter returned the wave before driving away.

"Stay clean, man," Walter muttered before turning up his lo-fi music and setting a course for home. He briefly wondered if he had just met God before laughing the idea off.

As he sat on his messy bed and flipped through the pages of the little black book, Walter could see the names of many other people written before seeing his own beneath one Martin Edward Cade. None of it made sense to him. He reached for his bottle of antidepressants and took two of them.

Maybe it didn't need to. For the first time in a long time, Walter felt a little more in control of his life. He wondered if his mom was awake enough to join him for a late breakfast. Walter would pay, of course.