"We just philosophize, complain of boredom, or drink vodka. It's so clear, you see, that if we're to begin living in the present, we must first of all redeem our past and then be done with it forever."

~ Anton Chekov, The Cherry Orchard

Zandra hobbles to the front door of Carey Manor in bare feet, using a battle axe as a crutch, wearing a makeshift bandage around her right calf, favoring her left ankle, wearing dried vomit like a doily on her purple gown, and balancing an unlit cigarette between her lips. She's quite the creature to behold, and she barely manages to get the door open.

Before Zandra stands a young woman wearing the uniform of a local grocery store. The rising sun is a few slivers above her shoulders. She recoils from Zandra.

"Hear me out. It's like I said on the phone yesterday—or two days ago, I forget—this is a little strange. I promise I'll make it worth your while," Zandra says.

The young woman takes another step away from the front door. She says, "I'm supposed to be at work in 10 minutes."

"But you're here. Thank you," Zandra says. She takes the unlit cigarette out of her mouth and flicks it away. "Look, I, uh, I ripped you off a few years ago. Let's not relive the details, OK? But I was wrong to do it."

The young woman purses her lips. "OK."

"I set you back a lot. Years. And now the economy is tanking. It must be tough for you right now," Zandra says, clearing her throat. "Your kids must be, what, four and six now? I forget their names."

This is even harder to do than I thought.

"Yeah," the young woman says.

"Still living in apartment 201?"

"Yeah."

"That's a shithole of an apartment."

"Yeah."

"Come with me," Zandra says.

It's slow going, and the distance is long, but Zandra guides the young woman to the 200 terracotta Civil War soldiers guarding a stretch of the well-manicured lawn. The impressive detail of the soldiers is unchanged by the elements, as if each were cast that morning. Together, the 200 soldiers form a square. Zandra, out of breath, stops at one of the corners.

"Maybe you know about this, and maybe you don't, but one of the late Gene Carey's wives hid some money on the property. No one knows about where, but I do. Don't ask how. There's some in each of the corner soldiers," Zandra says.

"What are you talking about?" the young woman says.

Zandra passes the axe to the young woman. "Hit that soldier."

"Are you serious? I don't know who owns these."

"Look at me. I look like roadkill. All I can be is serious," Zandra says.

After I figured out Sunglasses, he became the mark. The "discreet assets" were going to be mine, not his. He's going to have Carey estate lawyers so far up his ass, he's not going to have time to realize I took his treasure out from under him.

But should they be mine?

The world shits on all of us. Sometimes, you've got to throw a little shit back...

The young woman takes a swing. The axe head doesn't make it through the terracotta on the first swing, but it does on the second. The soldier isn't solid. It's hollow. And when it crumbles, a small, cloth bag appears beneath the shards.

"Open it," Zandra says.

The young woman does. Her eyes widen. The bag contains several gold coins.

...even if that shit hits you in the face.

"Untraceable, and very valuable. You can get a good price for each one. If anyone asks, you inherited them," Zandra says. "Just don't mention Carey Manor, and don't mention me."

"You don't want them?"

"No."

The process repeats three more times in each corner. The young woman is a mixture of stunned and overwhelmed with joy. Feelings aren't Zandra's forte, so she sends the young woman on her way with four cloth bags and no further conversation.

"Now you don't need to worry about being late to work," Zandra says. "Get out of here. I need to call a cab."

Zandra returns to Carey Manor to help herself to a quick shower. The rental will be up soon, and with it a lot of questions for Sunglasses.

A short cab ride later, complete with a drive-by of Sneak Peek's charred remains, Zandra stands on a corner of downtown Stevens Point. A cool, light breeze on her face changes direction.

Sometimes things happen for reasons you don't realize until they're over. And sometimes you find out you weren't the star of the show the entire time like you thought you were.

Zandra takes a quick inventory. Other than the lawnmower knife, she can count an empty pack of cigarettes, a sparkless lighter, and a government ID as her possessions. Zandra walks down a row of cars parked outside a bar.

One of these is probably unlocked.

THE END

***

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