Dumb Luck - Chapter Four

In case you're wondering, I will be wrapping this story up soon. I've got enough ideas swimming around in my head to write quite a bit more on this, but I think I'll do that outside of the blog.


One of my blogging buddies Travis, gave me a suggestion that might help in following the dialog of the story a little better. So the style here might be slightly different than the previous posts, but the story itself continues on in the same manner. BTW is there any way of indenting a sentence on blogger? Not knowing how to do that is a bummer. As a result I'll be putting in a space between lines instead.


If you're new here or haven't read the first three chapters, I would encourage you to go back a few posts and start there. Enjoy.





Like a light bulb going on, something came to Darren. As he walked towards his house he remembered the Jeep was still registered under his late grandfather Nigel's name, and more importantly the documentation for it had a completely different address on it than his own.

Talk about dumb luck. He thought. Any kind of luck right now, as long as it's not bad.

Even with this bit of good news, he knew it wouldn't be long until either the authorities or the family would be able to connect the dots and follow a paper trail back to him.




He was now standing in front of his home and as far as he could tell, it was just as he'd left it earlier that morning. Everything seemed quiet, but if he'd learned anything from this adventure, it was to not get too comfortable about any situation.

Obviously the police weren't around or they'd be all over the place by now. Probably getting a search warrant right now. he thought.

The Bennetelli's on the other hand, didn't have to play by the same rules. In fact they didn't have to play by any rules at all. He wondered if one of them was inside right now waiting for him.

Why would they do that though? he wondered. If they'd have found the money, they would have just taken it and left . . . right?




Now the only thing standing between him and what he hoped was still a bag with a half a million dollars in it was fear, a tremendous amount of fear in fact. With a deep breath, followed by a heavy sigh, he swallowed the lump in his throat and headed up the driveway. Gently making his way through the side gate he eventually made it to the back door.

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and fumbled for the right one. His hand was shaking so much he could barely control it long enough to find the slot in the lock. With a bit more persistence he was able to open the door and slip inside.

Once there, he half expected a light to come on and be met by the wrong end of a gun barrel. He stood there motionless in the dark, waiting . . .

He could hear the "tick-tick-tick" from the clock that was hanging on the wall of the kitchen just ahead of him. I sounded so loud against the quietness.

As he counted, 58 . . 59 . . 60, he felt it was safe enough to move on.

Still not ready to turn on any lites, he worked his way through the lower level, shutting the few blinds that had been left open. Now for the upstairs.




Like a b-rate horror movie, the fourth step up moaned out a, "creeeeek" as he put the weight of his foot on it. Any hope for a stealthy entrance was blown now and anybody waiting upstairs would be ready for sure.

That's it! he thought I'm not going out without a fight!

So with a Comanche style war cry, he bolted up the stairs, around the corner and into the bedroom, catching the lite switch on the way in.

"COME ON!" he shouted.

Now he really felt like an idiot. He was the only one there to enjoy his theatrics. At this point he began to laugh. It was one of those types of laughter that comes from an overload of emotions, and it was soon replaced by tears.

Nearly out of breath he glanced over at the closet and saw the duffel full of money sitting in exactly the same spot he'd left it.

I don't have much time, he thought, I've got to figure out how to get this bag of money out of here.

Since his only type of transportation was probably being searched by the FBI at this very moment, he also had to find a way of getting to where he was going next. This presented another problem . . . where to go? He hadn't even thought of that until just now.

Being on the run was not something he was accustomed to.

"A quick shower, a few clothes and I'm outta here." he said out loud.



After showering and filling-up a separate bag full of clothes, he took both bags down stairs and put one on either side of his favorite wing back chair. Sitting down he tried to gather his thoughts. Formulating an escape plan on the fly was not what he'd expected to be doing on a Friday night.

I should be out with my buddies shooting pool, he thought, or better yet, on a date with Nikki from the marketing team.

He sat back, closed his eyes and tried to come-up with some sort of solution to his latest problem. Before he knew it, both physical and mental exhaustion had taken over and he was out. Now the precious little time he had was wasting away as he sat there sleeping.



An hour and a half later he was jarred from his slumber by the "DING-DONG" of the door bell. Like a fighter coming out of the corner for the first round, he shot up out of the chair.

He heard, "THUMP-THUMP-THUMP" on the front door along with the muffled sound of his neighbor Ryan calling his name, "Darren . . . Darren . . . open the door man!"

Jumping to the door he pressed his eye up to the peep hole. When he looked out and saw that Ryan was alone he opened the door and pulled him in with a, "Ssssh . . . Shut up would you!"

Tripping over the threshold, his neighbor fell down right in front of the green duffel bag that lay next to the chair. As he got up, he looked at Darren and said,"It's you isn't it? That's the bag they've been showing on the news tonight!"

"What are you talking about?" Miles replied.

"Oh man, I knew it was you. . . They were talking about all that money, then they showed a picture of your Jeep with the out of state licence plates on it. . . I looked in your driveway and it was gone, but I saw a lite on at your house. . . Holy shit, I can't believe you really did it!"

His neighbor was talking so fast he could barely keep up.

"Then. . . Then they showed that drawing of you. . . I knew exactly who it was. . . Man, you were on every news channel. . . Everybody's looking for you!"



Darren Miles was caught and he knew it. No amount of back peddling or elaborate story telling was going to get him out of this one. As quickly as that realization hit him, something else flashed through his mind.

"Ryan, do you still have that old Buick you're trying to sell?"

"Yeah, it's over in my garage."

"What are you asking for it?"

"Oh wait a minute, I don't know if I want to get involv.."

Cutting him off Miles shouted, "HOW MUCH DAMN IT!"

He quickly replied, "I was hoping to get fifteen-hundred for it, but. . . "

Darren knelt down, grabbed a hold of the bag and unzipped it. Reaching in he picked up one of the bundles and handed it to him.

"There's at least five-grand here. . . Let's go!"




To be continued.