In Debt
It is estimated that there are more than one hundred and seventy-eight million credit cardholders in the United States today. The average age a person gets his or her first credit card is twenty years old. It has been said that with age comes wisdom. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but it is a fact that with age comes more credit card debt. The typical American has three and a half credit cards, and the average household debt is more than fifteen thousand dollars. Now that figure may not seem excessive, but when you add the credit card debt to mortgage or rent payments, car and student loans, utility bills, the cost of food and clothing and other incidental living expenses, this can amount to serious debt.
Leif Hendrick could not remember a time in his adult life when he did not have debt hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles. Through careful budgeting and working the occasional second job, he managed to make it to his forties without having to resort to declaring bankruptcy. Unfortunately, his yearly wage increases did not keep up with the rate of inflation, and the amount of his debt increased steadily.
Seeing that thrift and hard work were not putting a dent into his financial burden, he began to think the only way to get out of debt would be to hit the jackpot at a casino, win the Publishers Clearing House sweepstakes or be lucky at the Powerball lottery. Of course, the odds of actually getting such a windfall were not in anyone's favor. However, there was a small percentage of the population that actually won at gambling. Leif might be one of the lucky ones.
He started out small, buying five dollars worth of scratch offs each week. Over the course of six months, he actually made a profit of fifteen dollars.
Not much, he thought, but it's a start.
Hoping his luck would remain, he switched to purchasing tickets for the Mega Millions and Powerball lotteries. After winning a thousand dollars, he increased his spending tenfold. Unfortunately, this did not increase his chances of winning the jackpot. His financial woes, in fact, were soon compounded because he began spending more on tickets than he could afford.
Leif's real financial troubles began when he graduated from playing the lottery to trying his hand at the slot machines. As his debts continued to mount, he switched to blackjack, craps and roulette.
By his forty-fifth birthday, his credit cards had been maxed out, his car repossessed and his electricity turned off. Worse yet, the bank threatened to foreclose on his house. His wife had left him and would have divorced him had there been any money or property for her to get in the settlement.
As if his life was not bad enough, he owed close to fifty thousand dollars to Marcello LoRusso. If Leif did not repay what he owned, Marcello would claim his pound of flesh—and then some!
When LoRusso showed up at his house and demanded payment, Leif was able to buy himself more time.
"I'll have your money in another week. I swear it," he lied. "I'm getting the full amount from my parents. They've taken a second mortgage on their home, and they're giving me the cash."
The loan shark snarled, and his steely gaze sent a shiver of fear down Leif's spine.
"Seven days," he said. "If you don't have my money by then, you'll be dead on day eight."
According to the Bible, God created the universe and everything in it in six days, and on the seventh day he rested. In six days, Leif Hendrick did absolutely nothing. Without a cent to his name, there was no way he could make fifty thousand dollars, so he did not bother trying.
On the seventh day, he woke to a dark, dreary morning. The wind rattled the windows in the house that was soon to belong to the First National Bank, and the rain pelted against the glass panes with a steady cadence.
As I see it, he thought, staring up at the textured ceiling, a feature left over from the Eighties, I have two choices. I can either kill myself or make a run for it.
Waiting around for Marcello to exact his vengeance was not an option. Leif did not mind dying, just as long as it was relatively painless. Loan sharks specialized in pain; it was the best way to send a message to future customers.
His options in regard to suicide were few. He no longer had a car, so carbon monoxide poisoning was out. With no money, he could hardly afford a gun or sleeping pills. Hanging himself with a rope from the rafters of his attic or slitting his wrists with a straight edge razor both seemed too painful.
I could throw myself in front of a bus, a train or even a speeding car. Or I can go down to the river and drown myself.
Since neither one of these ideas appealed to him, he considered running. However, without money or a means of transportation, he would not get very far. It suddenly occurred to him that he was thinking like a member of the middle class. He did not need to purchase a plane ticket or have bus fare to get away. All he had to do was find his way to the nearest highway and stick out his thumb. There were always people willing to pull over and give someone a ride. He might even be lucky enough to find a long haul trucker who wanted some company.
Leif retrieved his backpack from the attic and filled it with as much food and clean clothing as he could carry. Then he put on his old hooded rain jacket and headed for the front door. When he opened it, his jaw dropped, and he froze with fear.
"Hi there, Leif," LoRusso said with a malicious smile on his bloated face. "You planning on going someplace?"
As the loan shark crossed the threshold into Leif's house, three burly men, who looked like extras from The Sopranos, got out of a Lincoln Town Car and quickly crossed the front yard.
"Well?" Marcello asked. "What have you got to say to me? What cockamamie story are you going to give me this time?"
"Why lie now?" Leif replied. "I haven't got the money, so you might as well go ahead and kill me."
"Kill you?" LoRusso said with a malevolent laugh. "That won't get me my money back."
"What are you going to do then? Break my legs?"
"I don't see that getting me fifty thousand dollars either."
"So what will you do to me?"
"I'm going to give you the opportunity to make enough money to pay me back."
"Do you want me to kill somebody? What have you got these goons for?"
The three brawny men bristled at the insult but made no threatening moves toward him.
"You're a gambler—not a very good one—but a gambler nonetheless," Marcello explained. "I know a group of extremely wealthy men who take wagering to the next level. To them gambling is an art."
"I don't see what this has to do with me," Leif said uneasily.
"They don't waste their time betting on horses or on the outcome of a poker game. They bet on life and death. If you're willing to risk it all, you can earn the money to pay me back and walk away a free man. Who knows? You might even make enough to get yourself completely out of debt."
"What are these guys into, Russian roulette?"
It was a poor attempt at humor by a desperate man. When Marcello answered affirmatively, Leif's face turned an unpleasant shade of green.
* * *
When the Town Car pulled into the cracked, weed-overgrown parking lot of the abandoned factory, Leif's heart began to race with fear. Perhaps the story about having the opportunity to save his skin was just that—a story. Maybe Marcello was playing a heartless cat-and-mouse game with him, allowing him to experience hope only to snatch it back.
"Pull around back," LoRusso told the driver. "There's an entrance to an underground parking lot there."
As they drove through the opening into the cavernous underground parking area, Leif's hopes rose again. There were several cars there, none of which sold for under a hundred thousand. Ramone, the driver, parked next to an Aston Martin One-77 whose price tag was nearly one and a half million.
"This way," Marcello ordered, and two of the three henchmen escorted Leif none too gently to a steel door at the far end of the parking lot.
When the door opened, it was like Dorothy stepping through the black-and-white world of Kansas into the brilliantly colored Land of Oz. The large, well-lit, modern room reminded Leif of an operating theater found in teaching hospitals. There were two men in the center of the room and about three dozen others seated in chairs in the gallery, looking down at them. The identity of the seated men was obscured by shadows, but Leif knew they must be the high-rolling gamblers. Those were the ones who drove the high-priced cars in the parking lot.
In stark contrast to the wealthy spectators, the two men in the center of the room were not likely to drive away in a Ferrari or a Koenigsegg. One of them, who looked like he spent most of his time down at Gold's Gym, probably drove an SUV. The other one—well, he looked like he was in the same boat as Leif. His eyes had that desperate look in them, as though he did not have a dime to put in a parking meter much less a car for the parking space.
"Now that we're all here," Mr. Gold's Gym announced loudly for the benefit of those in the gallery, "we can begin."
Having delivered Leif, Marcello LoRusso nodded his head to the emcee and left, taking his enforcers with him.
"For the benefit of our players," the bodybuilding master of ceremonies continued, "we'll go over the rules."
He reached under the table and brought out a silver platter on which were two Ruger pistols and ten bullets.
"Gentlemen," he said to Leif and his opponent, "would you examine the guns and make sure the chambers are empty."
Both men complied with his instructions and confirmed that there were no bullets in the guns.
"Taking turns, you will each put one bullet into your gun, spin the cylinder, put the muzzle to your temple and pull the trigger. If one of you is unlucky and does not survive the first round, your component will receive fifty thousand dollars, and the game is over. Should you both be unlucky, twenty-five thousand dollars will be sent to the two men you own money to. If you both survive, you will go on to round two."
Although the rules of the game were fairly straightforward, Mr. Gold's Gym continued his explanation.
"For round two, you will each put another bullet into the chamber. Since you are doubling your odds of blowing your brains out, the pot will double as well. If one of you dies, the winner will walk away with a hundred thousand. Likewise, the pot will continue to go up if we go on to more rounds. In round three the pot will be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, round four it will be five hundred thousand and on the off chance that someone makes it through the fifth round alive, he will receive one million dollars."
A million dollars! Leif thought.
He quickly did the math in his head—while he still had one on his shoulders. Five bullets divided by six chambers meant he had an eighty-three percent chance of dying and a seventeen percent chance of living if he made it to round five. When compared to the odds of winning a lottery, it didn't sound too bad. Besides, what choice did he have? If he did not participate in the deadly game, he would be sent back to Marcello LoRusso.
I'd sooner get a bullet in the head than be left to the mercy of those three professional bone-breakers.
"Are there any questions?"
"Yeah," Helmut Jurgens, Leif's desperate opponent replied. "Let's say, we both get killed on the third round. What's the payout then?"
"The two hundred and fifty thousand dollar pot would be split between the two of you. Since you'd both be dead, your creditors will be paid and any money left over will go to your next of kin."
"It's good to know my wife and kids will get something if I don't make it."
"I've got a question," Leif said. "What if we both survive the fifth round?"
"That's highly unlikely," Mr. Gold's Gym replied with a smile that could curdle fresh milk. "In fact, it's never happened before in the long history of this game. But, should a miracle occur, the game will end in a draw, and you will each be given one million dollars."
"Good luck—to both of us," Helmut said and reached out his hand to shake his opponent's.
Under different circumstances, the two men might have become friends, but Leif knew one of them would surely be dead by the end of the game and he hoped it would be Helmut.
"Gentlemen," the emcee called to the multimillionaires and billionaires in the gallery, "please place your bets, so that we can begin."
A silver dollar was tossed in the air to see which man would go first. When the coin came down heads up, it meant Helmut would pull the trigger before Leif.
"Round one," the host announced, "is for fifty thousand dollars."
Helmut picked up his gun, put a bullet in the chamber, spun the cylinder and put the muzzle to his head. Then after a brief moment of hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
Click.
There was an audible sigh of relief when Helmut realized he was still alive.
After the wealthy men in the gallery placed their second bets, all eyes turned to Leif Hendrick. It was his turn. He repeated the same procedure as his opponent had and got the same result. Never had he heard such a beautiful sound as the hollow click of the empty chamber.
"Round two," Mr. Gold's Gym declared, "is for one hundred thousand dollars."
With a one-in-three chance of getting a bullet, the odds were still in the competitors' favor. After the betting was done, both men loaded, spun, aimed and fired. Again, there were two survivors.
"Round three is for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
Out of the corner of his eye, Leif saw a pretty young waitress serve drinks to the gamblers who were betting on the game.
I could use a drink myself, he thought, wondering if he would ever taste a cold beer or a juicy steak again, or even if he would ever walk out of that well-lit, modern room again.
With a fifty-fifty chance of instant death, Helmut was no longer so quick in loading the gun and spinning the cylinder. His lips moved as he mumbled a silent prayer and put the muzzle to his temple. He continued praying as he squeezed the trigger.
Click.
There was a faint smile on Helmut's face. He knew that if Leif took a bullet, he would be able to turn his life around. After paying off his debt, he and his family could live a normal life. He watched closely as his opponent prepared the gun, aimed and fired.
Click.
In the gallery, another round of drinks was served. The wagering become more heated as the ante went up.
"We now proceed to round four," Mr. Gold's Gym declared. "If one of you survives, you will walk out of her with half a million dollars."
With a bullet in four of the six chambers, the odds were that one or possibly both of the men would die in this round.
Helmut reached into his pocket and took out a snapshot of his wife and children. He kissed the photograph and picked up the Ruger. His eyes on his wife's face, he pulled the trigger.
Click.
Leif stared at his gun, unwilling to touch it. Four bullets were inside it, waiting to pierce his skin, go through his skull and penetrate his brain. Perspiration beaded on his forehead as he opened the cylinder and put in another bullet. When he put the muzzle to his temple, he felt his heart pounding in his chest, and he found it difficult to breathe. His hand began to tremble, and he didn't know if he would be able to fire the gun.
"We're waiting, Mr. Hendrick," the emcee said impatiently.
Heartless bastard! Leif thought. I'd like to see him put a loaded pistol to his head and pull the trigger.
He closed his eyes, fearing he would never open them again. His finger moved.
Click.
Leif was so relieved, tears feel down his cheek and he began to laugh.
"And now, gentlemen, we go to the final round!" Mr. Gold's Gym announced.
Corks were popped from champagne bottles, and glasses were refilled as the high rollers in the gallery tucked thousand dollar bills into the waitress' pockets.
"I don't suppose I have to remind our two competitors that this is for one million dollars."
Helmut began praying again, aloud this time.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God," he intoned, "pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."
As Helmut put the fifth bullet in his gun, Leif was reminded of Fredo Coreleone at the end of The Godfather: Part II.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."
Helmut's voice grew in volume as he placed the muzzle of the gun against his temple. He glanced at his wife's picture and then closed his eyes.
"Holy Mary, Mother of ...."
There was no click this time. Instead, a loud explosive sound echoed through the room, followed by shouts from the men in the seats as they claimed their winnings and placed bets on the outcome of the final shot in the deadly game.
Leif frantically tried to wipe Helmut Jurgens' blood and brain matter out of his eyes and off his face. When he saw what was left of his opponent's head, he leaned forward and vomited on the table.
"It's your turn, Mr. Hendrick," the blood-spattered emcee said.
The goddamned ghoul! Leif thought angrily. Helmut's death doesn't even bother him.
"We're all waiting."
Leif's knees were weak, and his hand shook uncontrollably as he reached for his Ruger. When his eyes fell on the photograph of Helmut's wife and children, he vowed that if he survived the game, he would give them a hundred thousand dollars.
"What's taking so long?" a voice called from the gallery. "I've got a hot date in Paris tonight, and it's not polite to keep a lady waiting."
Leif could not believe his ears. The callous multimillionaires and billionaires were actually laughing!
Human life means nothing to them, he realized. They might as well be watching a dog fight.
"Please, Mr. Hendrick," Mr. Gold's Gym said with impatience. "We don't want to keep these important gentlemen waiting."
Leif finally picked up the gun. When he placed the fifth bullet in the chamber, he began sobbing. How had things gotten so bad? He had never wanted to be a rich man like the monsters in the gallery. All he had wanted to do was pay off his credit cards, his student loan, his mortgage.
When he felt the metal of the muzzle against his temple, his fear turned to terror. Certain his life was about to end, he lost control of his bladder and felt warm urine running down his legs.
"If you don't take your turn, Mr. Hendrick," the emcee threatened, "you will be disqualified. Not only will you not get a cent, but we will be forced to hand you over to Mr. LoRusso. And if you think all he'll do is break a few of your bones, guess again."
A lifetime of anger, frustration, despair and hopelessness welled up in a single act of rage.
"Screw you!" the desperate man shouted and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Leif swooned and fell onto the table, his face landing in a mixture of blood, brains and vomit.
"Well done, Mr. Hendrick. Congratulations! You've just become a millionaire."
The gruesome contest over, the wealthy men in the gallery finished their drinks and either collected or paid their debts. Mr. Gold's Gym put a duffel bag containing one million dollars in cash on the table.
"Here's your money, Mr. Hendrick."
Leif did not respond. In the absence of smelling salts, the emcee poured a pitcher of ice cold water onto the man's face.
"Come on. Wake up, Hendrick. It's time for everyone to leave. Take your money and get the hell out of here."
When Mr. Gold's Gym placed his index and middle fingers on Leif's carotid artery, he felt no pulse.
In one of life's cruel ironies, Leif Hendrick beat the odds at Russian roulette, yet he died of a heart attack brought on by fear. On the bright side, in death, if not in life, he was completely debt-free.
It's all about the Benjamins, Salem--not the Georges!
