Truthful Lies

 Two hundred million dollars, and that was after Uncle Sam received his cut!

Dennis Wilderbee sighed, shook his head, and tucked his Powerball ticket into his wallet. He knew he would not win but the fantasy of it was very intriguing. Even a man such as himself, seventy pounds overweight and balding, could land any number of beautiful women with that kind of money.

After replacing the wallet into his inner pocket he tugged at his jacket. He hated wearing suits. They were always binding and pinching, especially around his waist, but today was an important day. The Mayor of New York City was sending a representative to his firm, and after his last victory in court Dennis knew the Mayor would become his next client.

The scent of brewing coffee filled the small cafe and sounds of striking laptop keys and idle chatter reverberated throughout the room. Somewhere in the kitchen plates clattered and orders were called out. Wait staff rushed from one table to the next and the line at the counter only became longer. The place was as busy as ever but that did not excuse their incompetence of delivering a simple cup of coffee. It has now been over twenty minutes and he was needed back at the firm.

With an irritated sigh Dennis gazed out the large window overlooking third avenue. As always the street was crowded with cars and people were not shy with their horns, as if the annoying sound would magically clear the way. Those who decided to walk did not fair much better since both sidewalks running along the avenue were as hopelessly crowded as the street. People diligently pushed past one another while making their way to who-knows-where. Getting anywhere in this city was a chore upon itself but Dennis believed it was a worthwhile sacrifice. There was serious money to be made in this city for lawyers such as himself.

Dennis once again checked the time and turned to search for his so-called waitress. Of course she was once again nowhere to be seen. He could picture her out back having a smoke, laughing with her friends, while his coffee sat cooling on the counter. A quiet curse escaped his lips and he drummed his fingers on the table. What was taking them so long? He decided to give her five more minutes before storming out and posting an unpleasant Yelp review later on tonight.

“Well. Well. Well.” Dennis’ fingers stopped drumming. It could not be her. Not today.

A hand lightly brushed his shoulder as Ismelda Lovell sat herself at his table. She had not changed at all since he last saw her. She still had her black hair woven into a tight braid over one shoulder and a red scarf wrapped tightly about her head, the end of which hung over her other shoulder. Strings of beads draped down her neckline and over her low-cut dress seemingly made from the same material as her red scarf. Dennis tightened his lips as he looked into her piercing green eyes and her deep brown skin, of which was as flawless as he remembered. She was indeed a gorgeous woman, but he also knew nothing good could come from her unexpected appearance. She called herself a Gypsy, but to him she was just crazy.

Dennis collected himself and took a breath. “What do you want Ismelda?”

“I want the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars which is owed to me. Which you stole from me with your lies.”

Dennis expected she would say as much. “You know as well as I the court has already spoken. Your case was lost and it would be in your best interest to simply move on.”

She slammed her hand onto the table, drawing a few interested looks. “Move on? You wish me to simply move on? My mother is dead. The insurance was about to pay what I am rightfully owed until you interfered. Until your lies convinced the broken justice system of the phantom loopholes you presented, of which rendered my claim null and void. How am I to move on? I have nothing.”

Dennis held up his hands. “Well what can I say? You should have settled out of court.”

Ismelda quickly stood, leaning over with both hands on the table. Her chair clashed onto the floor drawing yet more looks.

“They were going to give us ten grand,” tears formed within her eyes, “the funeral costs alone was twenty.”

Dennis shrugged. “I told you cremation services are only a few hundred. Maybe you should have considered that.”

Her jaw clenched and Dennis’ confidence of her not attacking him in public began to waiver. But she begun to relax, took a few deep breaths, and actually smiled.

“I thought I would give you one last chance and I did. But you have only proven to me just how worthless of a man you really are.”

She leaned in close to him and seized his collar, Dennis flinched. “Nalace De’ Aamonda.” She whispered.

Ismelda released him with a shove. He brushed and straightened his jacket.

“What was that supposed to accomplish?” He asked.

“You are now unable to lie.”

Dennis laughed and hoped it did not sound nervous. “Whatever you say. Guess I have just been cursed by New York’s finest Gypsy.”

Ismelda did not say anything but her look unnerved him. “Goodbye Mister Wilderbee. Next time we meet you shall have a slightly different attitude.”

Dumb Gypsies, Dennis thought as she walked out into the crowded street.

“Is everything alright Sir?”

Dennis turned and found his waitress holding his long overdue coffee.

“It’s fine,” he said snatching the coffee from her, “took you long enough.”

“I apologize for the wait. But we are...”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Dennis interrupted. He took a sip of the coffee and the damn thing was lukewarm at best. “What the hell is this? This coffee is ice.”

The waitress bit her lower lip. “I am sorry Sir. I will replace it right away.”

Dennis moved to hand the coffee back but hesitated when the cup suddenly felt cold. He glanced into the cup found the coffee was completely frozen as if it had come directly from the freezer. He numbly handed the cup back and her jaw dropped.

“I...I truly do not know what happened,” she stammered, “I will get this replaced right away. Of course there will be no charge.”

Dennis watched her rush off into the kitchen. What the hell just happened? He ran a hand over his head as he thought of any possible scenario. Somehow that stupid Gypsy pulled one of her parlor tricks. That must be it. Just some asinine Gypsy trick.

The door to the kitchen slammed and his waitress, dressed in a blue coat, stormed out into the street.

“Your coffee Sir.”

Dennis looked and found a different woman with his coffee. He took it and found it to be steaming hot, just as he liked it.

“What happened to my other waitress.”

The woman sighed and looked at the exit door. “She was fired for pulling that foolish joke on you.” She looked back at him. “I hope there are no hard feelings and of course your coffee is on the house.”

Dennis shoved the table back as he slowly stood. “Yeah...well it better be. And I hope you are not expecting a tip.”

He did not wait to gauge her reaction nor did he care. He needed to get back to the office and could ill afford to waste much more time. But Ismelda’s words yet plagued him.

Dennis forced the frozen coffee and Ismelda from his mind as he walked. He needed to be at his best to wow the Mayor’s representative. It would be another sure-fire victory for him, he only had to land the client. For perhaps the hundredth time today he thought out the case details.

Some low level business owner had his establishment looted and burned during yet another riot and intended to sue the Mayor’s office for the poor handling of the entire situation. Dennis did feel for the man. He was an elderly immigrant who came to America and after going through the proper channels, obtaining his citizenship, and applying himself he was able to build a small business within America’s greatest city. But now his place was nothing more than a pile of charred wood and the man was likely penniless. Which meant he would be forced to settle with the same kind of cheap lawyer Ismelda had. While the Mayor would have the one and only Dennis Wilderbee.

Dennis agreed with the business owners assessment of the Mayor, but he was a lawyer and was required to do whatever it took to win the case for his client. Regardless of what the Gypsy said he could lie and he would lie, if it meant winning in court.

Up ahead Dennis noticed a beggar leaning against a building. He was dressed in filthy rags and a gray beard reached down to the middle of the man’s chest. Dennis shook his head. He hated having to encounter beggars. Maybe the great Mayor should do something about this cities homeless so he would not have to run into them on a daily basis.

“Can you spare some change fine Sir,” the beggar reached out with a rusty tin cup.

“Sorry,” Dennis said shuffling past, “I do not carry cash. Only cards.”

The man lowered his cup and frowned. Dennis inwardly smiled. Cannot tell a lie. Ismelda was as dumb as they come. After-all, he was a professional liar and no Gypsy curse would ever change that fact.

As he neared his office building Dennis noticed the newspaper stand on the left was displaying the latest issue of Game On. He had been waiting for that issue as it had an interesting piece detailing a new innovative gaming console, something which was said to give both Sony and Microsoft freights.

Dennis grabbed the magazine and began to thumb through it.

“Cash only,” the man said pointing at his credit card machine, “damn things on the fritz again.”

“That will not be a problem,” Dennis opened his wallet. “I have plenty of cash.”

Dennis looked into his wallet and his brow wrinkled. His cash was gone. He had two hundred dollars in cash but now there was nothing.

“No cash huh.”

Dennis glanced toward the voice and found the homeless man standing on wavering legs. The bastard actually followed him.

“Didn’t you just say you had no cash,” the beggar’s words were slurred, “but now you do. Maybe you need it more than I do. Maybe you eat so much you need all the cash you can get your fat, grubby hands on.”

The beggar reached into his coat and Dennis stumbled backward fearing the man was pulling out a gun. Instead the beggar removed a can and Dennis instantly relaxed.

“Maybe you eat so much you need this soup a bit more than I do.”

The beggar threw the can and Dennis scrambled to get out of the way. In his effort to avoid the projectile his ankles slipped on the curb and he fell onto the sidewalk, spilling his coffee out onto the concrete. The soup can flew past him as he fell and he heard a sharp thunk followed by screams. People hurriedly backed away and Dennis saw an elderly woman lying still on the sidewalk, blood pooled from beneath her head.

“Someone call 911,” a man called out tearing off his jacket and pressing it tightly against the woman’s wound.

Dennis struggled to stand and quickly sought out the homeless man with visions of the mans filthy hands reaching out towards him, but the beggar was nowhere to be seen. Among the panic Dennis returned the copy of Game On and slowly backed away before briskly walking toward his office.

Once away from the chaos he slowed. His breathing was ragged and his knees ached. This was getting to be too much. Ismelda’s smile and hate filled green eyes once again invaded his thoughts. No. The coffee was just a trick the bitch pulled on him and he was merely mistaken about his cash. As soon as he reached his office he would put this ridiculousness to bed.

Dennis rushed into his office building, past reception and quickly took the elevator to the twentieth floor. Once he was alone in his office he checked the time and saw the Mayor’s representative was not due to arrive for another hour. He had time to calm himself and come up with a concrete game plan.

Dennis sat on his desk, his mind feverishly working to find a suitable test to prove how absurd Ismelda’s threat was. His eyes widened as an idea suddenly came to him.

He picked up the phone and dialed Brian. His dutiful assistant picked up after the first ring.

“Say Brian,” Dennis said. “Do you know of a good exterminator?”

“No but I can look into it. Why do you ask?”

“Its probably nothing but I just saw a roach run across my floor.”

“Copy that, consider it done.”

Dennis hung up the phone decidedly pleased with himself. Now he can put this Gypsy nonsense behind him and focus solely on the Mayor’s case.

Just as he was pulling out his chair a scream tore through the office. Dennis threw open his door and saw Jenny on the floor beside her desk. Hundreds, if not thousands of roaches were flowing from her open desk drawers while she hysterically tore at the insects sweeping over her. Others rushed to help but Jenny was inconsolable and fought her would-be saviors as much as the roaches. Eventually she was freed from the bugs and Brian and Joseph quickly escorted her from the office.

Movement then caught his eye and Dennis saw a single roach scurry across his floor.

“Fuck,” Dennis muttered to himself. He would have to reschedule with the Mayor’s office. But he knew his more important concern was that of Ismelda’s so-called curse. Regardless he knew he could no longer write this off as mere trickery, coincidence, or forgetfulness on his part. He must figure this out.

As expected the office was suddenly closed and all appointments were rescheduled. Dennis kept his gaze downward as he walked back to his apartment ensuring he spoke to no one. Once he was safely back in his apartment he threw himself onto the couch and turned the television on. He pressed his palms tight against his face and carefully considered the days events.

Since Ismelda left the cafe he told the waitress his coffee was ice, then it was indeed ice and she was fired. He lied to the beggar about not having cash and not only was his cash gone but there was an old woman likely in the hospital right now, if she even still lived. Then he lied about seeing a roach only to have the office overflowing with the damn things and traumatizing poor Jenny while also likely killing his chances to represent the Mayor in court. What did all of this have in common? More importantly, how could he stand to benefit from this?

First of all each lie turned out to be true so technically the Gypsy was correct when she said he could no longer lie. But under each circumstance someone suffered. Dennis’ eyes lit up, but he did not suffer. Sure he was out two hundred bucks and he may not represent the Mayor but he could easily recover from that.

Dennis abruptly stood as an idea suddenly struck him. Could that actually work? If so what kind of repercussions would he face. Excitement overtook him as he removed the Powerball ticket from his wallet. The drawing was now ended, if anyone had won they would likely know by now. But there was a chance it would work for him. It must work.

He pulled out his cell and called Brian.

“Brian, you will never guess what just happened.”

“What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Yes everything is okay,” Dennis laughed. “I just won the Powerball. Two hundred million dollars.”

“Wow, really,” Brian responded. “That’s great. Hey, when you leave the firm can I have your position?”

“Yes Brian. I will definitely recommend you.”

Dennis hung up on Brian and searched for the winning Powerball numbers. Checking his ticket his excitement grew as each of his numbers came up. It was true. He held the winning ticket. But then he noticed something else on the ticket. There was a small red stain on the lower left corner, but that did not matter. He was now a multimillionaire.

A hard knock came at the door causing Dennis to jump.

“NYPD,” a man yelled out. “Open up Mr. Wilderbee. We know you are in there.”

Swallowing, Dennis slowly turned the doorknob then the door was flung open and two police officers rushed in pinning him to the floor. He was cuffed within seconds.

“What is this about?” Dennis screamed.

“You are wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jenkins,” the officer said removing the ticket from Dennis.

The officer then handed the ticket over to his partner.

“Congratulations Mr. Wilderbee it looks like you have the winning Powerball ticket. But there appears to be a bit of blood on its corner. I don’t suppose this blood belongs to Mrs. Jenkins does it?”

Horror overtook Dennis as he realized his winning ticket had come from a murder victim. He doubted even a lawyer as good as himself could keep him from prison with this kind of evidence.

“What is going on officers?” It was that bitch Ismelda.

“Move along Ma’am,” one of the officers answered.

As the police officers carried him out Ismelda bent close to his ear.

“Ras’ Aamond,” she whispered. “Congratulations Dennis. You can lie once again.”