Richard looked around nervously. He was in unfamiliar territory in broad daylight. And in a black neighborhood, no less. He stood out like a sore thumb, and this made every ingrained criminal instinct in him stand up and shout bloody murder.
He walked toward the house, inwardly thankful no nosy neighbors were outside watching him. After another quick glance around, he deposited the envelope with the ticket and note into the large mail box mounted on the door, being as quiet as he could.
Richard turned and was walking back down the sidewalk when a little dog started barking in the house.
Aw, hell. Oh well, maybe no one's home. There's no car in the driveway and—
He heard the front doorknob turn and the door squeak open. Richard cringed as he heard a forceful voice, almost a yell, "Hey, you there! What are you doing in my yard?"
He turned to see a black man about six and a quarter feet tall with wide shoulders and a respectable, almost rotund, build. He was in a T-shirt, sweat pants and massive white Adidas shoes, and took up most of the doorway in which he stood. He reminded Richard of Will's uncle on that Fresh Prince show, only not bald and darker-skinned.
"You the Reverend?" asked Richard, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah."
"Reverend Reeves. And your name, sir?"
"Uh, Richard."
"Well, uh-Richard, that still doesn't answer my original question. What are you doing here?"
Richard swallowed audibly. "Look in your mailbox, Mist-- I mean, Reverend." The Reverend began to reach into the mailbox, and then eyed Richard suspiciously. "Ain't nothing gonna blow up on me or anything?"
"Not no, but hell no," Richard snapped, scowling. Preacherman looked a little annoyed at that little comment, but right then Richard didn't care. He didn't like appreciate the man's accusation at all.
Somewhere inside the, house the damned dog was still barking. The large man closed the front door and took the manila envelope cautiously out of the box, not taking his eyes from Richard as he spoke: "You know, you ought not to be sneaking around a man's house like that. It's a good way to get shot." Richard sneered as Reeves opened the envelope and took out a Thrifty Grocery sales paper and the Mighty Dolla game ticket.
"What's this?" Reeves asked.
"What it looks like. A ticket. A winning one. Don't throw it away or nothing. That's money you're holding in your hand right there."
Reverend Reeves looked for a moment at the paper, then at the ticket. His jaw dropped open. He started to say something, closed his mouth, and then finally got out, "Is this... is this some sort of prank? If it is, it's not--"
"No sir" Richard spat, irritated again. "It's real, unless they went through a helluva lot of trouble to fool me too."
Richard didn't expect a medal for giving away the ticket, would in fact have been very happy to leave with the Reverend thinking the present was from God himself, but he didn't appreciate the Reverend riding him at all. All my life I was a butthole, a social parasite, and the one time I decide to do something nice I catch hell for it.
Reeves, through an impatient sigh, "Please don't cuss like that, okay? Not with me. I can understand you just fine without that."
"Sorry," Richard almost snapped.
The Reverend either ignored or disregarded Richard's curt reply. "But.. why? Why are you giving this to me?"
"Your church got burnt down. Figured that'd help rebuild it. Am I right?"
"Uh, yeah. Yes sir." Reeves said, "Believe me, I'll make sure it will."
As he nodded affirmation, some larcenous part of Richard's heart suddenly shouted: What was I thinking, giving that money away, especially to some church I don't give a damn about? I could have found some way or another to cash it. Too late now, Richard, no wonder you didn't make it as a crook...
"Urn, Mister..." started the Reverend, expecting Richard to give his last name. Richard looked up from a busy anthill, his thoughts interrupted.
"Just Richard will do."
"Well, Richard... thank you." The Reverend looked nonplussed, not sure of what else to say, almost not there. It was probably how Richard himself looked that moment he first thought twenty thousand dollars just fell into his lap, he reflected with a good bit of envy. Richard realized he was becoming angry at this man, at the whole world, and wanted to get the heck out of here.
As Richard turned to go, he heard "Wait."
He turned and sighed, bracing himself for a sermon or some further admonishment.
"Let... let me ask you a question, Richard. Why didn't you just hand this to me personally? Why the sneaking off? I'm not sure I'd feel right if I couldn't thank you face-to-face."
Richard looked down and shrugged like a ten-year old.
"I hope you understand why I was acting like I did while ago." the Reverend continued, apologetic but blunt. "I don't know you from Adam, and I find a strange white-- a stranger in my yard. I picked up the phone at three the other morning and heard someone say 'Nigger, next time it'll be your house'. As far as I knew just a minute ago, that was you that called me. What I'm trying to say here is I'm scared for myself, and my wife and little girl. Do you see where I'm coming from?"
Richard's heart softened a little in spite of himself, and gave a slight smile and a nod to let the man know he understood. This man had been through hell, Richard reflected, some stupid rednecks burning down his church and then harassing him. He found he couldn't rightly be mad at the man.
An awkward silence fell over the two for a few moments, as they fidgeted around nervously but said nothing.
"Well, take care," Richard said finally, breaking silence. "I'm gonna head home. Had a long day."
Without ceremony he turned and walked across the lawn toward his pickup parked next door in the ruined church's parking lot.
He had gotten in his truck and was just about to turn the ignition key when Reverend Reeves, who had walked halfway to the truck, shouted, "You're welcome to come by the church anytime when we get it built. More than welcome, Brother Richard! And your welcome in my house, too. Thank you again, and the Lord thanks you. God bless you, Brother Richard."
Yeah yeah, whatever. Richard smiled reflexively and waved in reply, cranked up, and started the drive back to his house. "Brother Richard." It sounded kind of funny to him. He drove away. He appreciated the sentiment and all, but the only reason he did what he did was because he couldn't cash the ticket himself. He wasn't going to try and convince himself that he was someone who was in the habit of giving money to strangers out of the goodness of his heart. He just didn't have any use for the stupid ticket himself, that's all.
Then why didn't I give the ticket to one of those nice hookers up in Jackson, like Marlaine or Tanya? Or both? I could have gotten the ride of my life every night for a month...
Putting that out of his mind, Richard could come by once they got started building the church and help; he needed the work, and it wasn't like they couldn't afford to pay him for his trouble now. Richard chuckled as he realized he had maybe found a way to get his hands on some of that ticket money after all.
And once it was built, he even might come by to see it once in a while. Reverend Reeves might be insulted if he didn't, and he saw no need to hurt the man's feelings.
He rolled the window down once he turned onto Highway 45, being it was a pretty day and all, and sped up as he headed toward home where Chess would be laying around. He felt drained but good, better than he had in a while.