Roy's Lucky Day
It wasn't a lack of effort in trying to find work, but it was now apparent that no company intended to hire a feeble, arthritic man with poor eyesight and a bad back to work in their warehouse when they could hire strong young men. Roy had worked in non- union construction for most of his life, but that sort of work was out of the question now. Today was Roy's birthday. When he awoke this
morning, he knew it was not going to be a day of celebration; Cora sneered at him as she
left the house. Birthday Boy came in fifth! The loss felt like a hot shotgun blast in his chest. As he approached the stairs to the street, Roy
saw a homeless man, filthy and shriveled on the cold cement floor--not looking for a hand
out, but just living in a world that no one with a home, family, or kind inner voice could
ever imagine. Everyone rushed past the loathsome beggar when his stinking fumes shot up
their nostrils. But Roy felt compassion for the man. He didn't think him weak of
character, but instead an obvious reject of the uncaring modern age--a victim like
himself. He placed his last three dollars in the derelict's jacket pocket, thinking:
Blessed are the merciful; for As Roy crept up the steps the derelict turned his head and looked in Roy's direction. His emaciated cheeks glowed spiritual. "Luck be with you, mista." Roy slogged through the thick cold rain for six long blocks to his apartment building in Woodside, Queens. His neighbor, Mrs. Melnick, still energetic and lovely for her years was at the elevator, umbrella in hand. Hearing the squishy sound of feet on the marble floor, she turned and saw Roy. She had a warm smile for the poor soul. "I'd put on warm, dry clothing as soon as you get upstairs," she said with grandmotherly concern. "You could easily catch pneumonia in this weather." "If I died--it would be God's mercy." Mrs. Melnick frowned. "You didn't get that job today?" "Nobody wants to hire a washed up old fool." "Don't say that." "It's true. I'm old and obsolete." "I'm certain you'll be lucky tomorrow." He laughed pathetically. "Luck is for other people." "But you are a lucky man. You have your health. A lovely wife. People who care about you. The right job will come along. You'll see." Roy accepted her kindly words, but he knew it had been his fate to be born under an unlucky star. And no amount of praying and church attendance had changed his life sentence. Roy parents were both abusive alcoholics; his mother spent most months in mental hospitals; his father at the race track and bars. Unlike the other kids, he wasn't born school smart; he couldn't read or write well, or remember important things; he dropped out of high school in the tenth grade and sought manual labor jobs where he could be successful. Cora seemed to be a lucky catch when he was twenty-one, but she changed when she couldn't have children. All too sudden she became bitter and mean and after forty years of a loveless marriage Roy withdrew into himself. He did enjoy watching sports on television, drinking scotch, and placing a few dollars on the horses. Mrs. Melnick offered to make him a cup of hot tea when they left the elevator; but he declined. "Cora will be home soon. I have to make her dinner." After changing into warm clothes, Roy drank
scotch while watching their ancient television with its blurred color picture. Around
seven-thirty, he prepared a cheap steak that was as hard as horsemeat, with pasta. He
believed Cora purposely bought it to make him suffer for not working. Cora came home near
eight; her clothes were sopping wet (her old umbrella finally broke from a gust of wind).
As usual she was in a foul mood, but seeing what she believed to be Roy's phony forlorn
expression, her mood soured further. Six days a week, ten hours a day, she cleaned office Roy put the food on the table. "I'm under consideration." Shouting over him. Her words came at him like hurled spears. "Stop with the lies! I've heard them for six months now. They didn't hire you. And they're never going to hire you. You're worthless for stock work." Her face snarled crimson. "Now its time to take any job that pays decent. Look what I have to do. I ain't proud." Shrugging his shoulders. "You're right. I'll look in the paper again. There must be something I can do that wouldn't have me standing all day." He put the food on the table and sat down. The sorry piece of meat on the plate mocked him. He had to chew hard. Cora watched his pitiful effort. "When you get a decent job, you can buy yourself a filet." While chewing on a hard chunk of meat, Roy suddenly felt something horrifying occur in his mouth. He spit the meat into his hand. A blackened, bloodied tooth was embedded in the leathery crud. "Shit!" he shrieked. "Goddam shit!" Feeling the warm blood welling up in his mouth, he got up and spit the sickly blood into the sink. Fearing an uncontrolled hemorrhage, he quickly placed a piece of paper towel in the hole to dam the bleeding. Cora held a smug expression. "Now youse see I was right. You shoulda taken care better of your teeth. Now you'll lose them all." Roy sighed deeply. He went to throw the bloodied tooth in the garage. Cora could not be more snide. "Instead of throwing it away why don't you put it under your pillow and maybe the Tooth Fairy will give you a dollar. A whole dollar. Today is your birthday. That'll be your present." Roy held the tooth in his hand and stared at it. Then, he put it in his pocket. After dinner Roy washed the dirty dishes. Then, he sat down and circled the scant job ads for a night watchman. Cora dropped a birthday card onto his lap with a sneer. When he got a job she would celebrate both events, and maybe get him a gift. Roy appreciated the card though there was no
mention of love. He put it on the table. After watching television for an hour, feeling
particularly tired and depressed, he went to bed. Cora turned off the light without a
word. In the dark Roy put the fetid tooth under his pillow like a naive child who still
believed in Santa Claus, super heroes, and mythological Roy awoke with Cora's alarm. When she went into the bathroom, he looked under his pillow, expecting nothing but disappointment. His eyes burst open! His jaw slacked. In place of that decrepit incisor was a golden tooth! Glistening! Fearing that he was hallucinating Roy gently touched the golden tooth to test the reality of its existence. It was real! The cold metal was bigger than his tooth and far heavier. He examined all its sides. "Cora! Cora come here! Look at this!" Cora reluctantly came back into the bedroom. "What are you carrying on about?" "Look at it!" "At what?" "The tooth!" "So?" "It's gold! Gold! Solid gold!" He danced about the room. Sneering at him. "Fool's gold." "I found it under my pillow! Right there. Just laying there." His cheeks were flush with euphoria. "Like you said would happen." "Sure. You better put it back where you stole it before the police lock you up." "I didn't steal it! The Tooth Fairy must have put it there." He bounced in his hand. "It must weigh three ounces." He made some quick calculations in his head. "At the current price of gold that must be nearly eight--nine hundred dollars." He examined the golden tooth under a light. "Well, I guess you've finally struck it rich," she said sarcastically, believing it was some sort of scam. Roy had a sudden insight. He rushed into the bathroom and counted his teeth in the mirror. He had a gold mine! Roy did not look for a job that day. Instead, he visited a gold dealer and had the tooth appraised. As he ascertained on his own--it was, in fact, pure gold. Roy strutted through the streets, adolescent elation put a bounce in his arthritic step. That evening Roy prepared for a self induced extraction. First, he gulped down several glasses of scotch. Feeling numb throughout his body, and sufficiently courageous, he then took a ball of twine, scissor, cotton, kitchen chair, and sat by the front door, which was a heavy metal variety, spring loaded. He measured about two yards of the twine and cut off the piece. With Cora sneering from the living room, he tied one end of the twine tightly around a loose molar, and the other end to the door knob. He opened the front door, held it open with his outstretched toe, and sat down. "Now you've really lost your mind," Cora yelled out meanly. Swelling with defiance. "Shut up! I'm making us rich!" He closed his eyes. And pulled his toe away from the door. It slammed shut! The string went taut. RIP! The molar flew out of his mouth. Roy yelped from the sharp pain and jumped about for a minute. Tasting the warm metallic blood in his mouth, he quickly shoved the cotton into the hole. That night he put the tooth under his pillow; his heart hammering with anticipation. Thoughts of wealth and status supplanted old wishes to die in his sleep. Roy awoke before Cora's alarm. With two fingers crossed, he peeked under the pillow. There it was! Glistening! Another golden tooth! He danced around the room. Each evening in a ritualistic manner Roy
extracted one tooth and placed it under his pillow. And each morning the miracle took
place. By the end of the month he amassed about twenty-five thousand dollars worth of
gold. Unable to immediately part with the teeth he played with them as if a child's
toy--for hours, counting them over and over again, tossing them high in the air to feel
their hefty weight when landing in his hands , piling them up into a golden mountain,
making long golden snakes and golden roads to imaginary magical kingdoms, with a child's
rapture. Cora was appalled Finally, Roy decided it was time to sell some. And buy things! And have fun! Gleaming with pride, the first thing Roy did after cashing in ten teeth was go to church and make a donation in appreciation of his good fortune. Then, he went to the dentist and had dentures made. For the next week he spent money as if he owned the goose that laid the golden eggs. He purchased new clothes, leased an automobile, bought a big screen television with surround sound, and ate at fancy restaurants like everyone else. Though Cora was strongly insisting they invest the money for their retirement, Roy wasn't listening. The teeth gave him power. It was finally time to live and she wasn't going to spoil it. Cora reluctantly accepted his gifts but her disapproval was constant. Three months later, knowing that Roy only had ten teeth left, Cora carped, "so big shot, whatta you gonna do when you have no more teeth? You'll still have no job. And we will still have the same bills to pay." Roy had given their future considerable thought. "I think I'll buy a business. It's something I've always dreamed of having. A card store. With candy. And toys. Something for everyone." Thinking. "I just need . . . maybe forty thousand dollars . . . and a small business loan. You could quit your job and come work in the store." For the first time in his life, with solid gold in his pocket, and luck--solid luck--he felt nothing was impossible for him to achieve. "You shoulda thought of that before you squandered away the gold." Roy was fed up with Cora's haughty, know-it-all attitude, but kept quiet. The following day he went to a bank to inquire about business loans, but the man said they really only lent money to people who had collateral or sufficient personal capital not to have to borrow. That made no sense to Roy, but that disappointment did not end his dream. He had ideas! That evening Roy came behind Cora in the bathroom while she was brushing her teeth. "What do you want?" she said with annoyance. "I need a tooth from you," he said firmly. "Sure. Over my dead body!" she snapped back. She continued to brush. Swelling with rage he begged fervently. "I just need one. Just one! It's a test. I'll put it under the pillow and if the Tooth Fairy gives us a gold one, then you can have the dentist painlessly extract the rest." Roy's emotions were strung taut. "In a month we'll have over forty thousand dollars. I can buy a card shop. We'll be rich!" "No!" she barked sharply. "You know nothing about running a business. Besides, you're a big baby. And you'd only go bankrupt. And I'd be toothless. The answer is No! Go get a real job like other husbands." Cora thought she was going to finish brushing her teeth, and so it was understandable that she should be surprised when Roy's cold clammy fingers clutched her throat and squeezed. Incensed by her unreasonable attitude Roy's impulsive gesture was simply to shut her mouth. But without realizing it, he was not only choking her into submission, he was causing her head to furiously rock forward and back as if she were nodding 'yes' to a flurry of subliminal questions. "You will give me a tooth!" he kept shouting. But suddenly, something unexpected happened to her brittle neck. SNAP! Cora let out one long horrified gasp. Then, her head lolled in his hands. When he let go of her neck, she collapsed to the floor. Breathless, Roy reeled back, staring at Cora's lifeless body. Gulping terror, he raced to the kitchen, falling over the coffee table to reach his bottle of scotch. He drank until he was so inebriated there was no longer a coherent voice in his head condemning him to hell. Two hours later, thinking his logic was making sense, he assessed his dilemma. Lacking any motive for murder, he absolved himself of any guilt by concluding Cora's death was a tragic accident. Since he never intended to kill Cora, and no one could have foreseen an old fragile spinal column breaking as it did, he felt strongly that God had forgiven him. Believing Cora was in heaven made him feel even better. At the same time he decided not to notify the police, fearing he'd fall victim to the judicial system's prejudices against real abusive husbands. Instead, he forged a scheme to save himself and his dream. At midnight, after rummaging through the hall closet for pliers and a screwdriver, he went into the bathroom and extracted all of Cora's wonderful teeth. It was hard work for arthritic hands, which were in excruciating pain, but he did it. Roy placed one of her lovely teeth under his pillow, drank more scotch, and went to sleep. He awoke around noon. With hopeful anticipation, and still feeling luck was with him, he lifted up the pillow. The dead tooth glared at him! "Noooo!" he howled, slamming his fists into the pillow. Unaware of the powerful aggression amassed in his unconscious from all the frustrations throughout his life as well as a virulent greed crushing his sense of decency, Roy was surprised--but more terrified of his sudden violent flare up. By noon Roy's angry mood slid into a depression. A half a bottle of scotch didn't help. When the telephone rang he refused to answer it; it could only be Cora's boss, one of her sisters or a friend. Before dinner Roy dismembered Cora's body with a saw and knife so he could inconspicuously take her out of the building in small plastic bags after dark and place them in the trunk of his car. Careful not to be seen, he drove through the county dropping bags into different trash dumpsters. During the ride several theories entered his mind about why the Tooth Fairy had not rewarded him. Priding himself in his logical thinking, he reasoned that the Tooth Fairy might not exchange a real tooth for gold to a member of the same family--or, a tooth had to be extracted while the person was still alive. A new scheme was devised in his escalating madness. It would take a force of will to fulfill his dream. Understanding that Mrs. Melnick was a widow and lived alone, the following evening Roy rang her doorbell. His broad smile masked his malicious intent. Mrs. Melnick looked through the peep hole. "It's Roy." Mrs. Melnick unlocked her door. "Is anything wrong?" "No. Cora asked me to ask you if you could help her pin a dress." Roy thought she had lovely teeth. "Certainly. Wait a moment." She took her keys. Wearing a flowered house dress, she followed Roy into his apartment. With the television on a high volume he raised his voice. "She's in the bedroom." Terror and excitement had his cramped fingers trembling--his frail heart was beating frantically with upsurging pain. Mrs. Melnick knew the apartment and went toward
the bedroom. She stood at the doorway, looked in, but did not see Cora. A moment later Roy
came up behind her and whacked her over the head with a hammer. Twice. Mrs. Melnick Focusing his immediate attention on his future
card shop rather than on his shame, Roy lifted Mrs. Melnick onto the bed. He tied her
hands and feet with old ties and placed her on the bed. He got on the bed and sat behind
her; she between his legs. He leaned her head back against his cheek, breathed in her
sweet essence, which calmed his frayed nerves. Since he had decided that he must kill her,
he felt less ashamed fondling her body. It was a long time since he had held a woman--Cora
had not allowed any tenderness in the last years. He didn't care that Mrs. Melnick's skin
was aged, she felt soft and warm to the touch. For a moment he allowed himself the
allusion that his neighbor would forgive his assault, and join him in funding the card
shop. Maybe even marry him. A lonely old man's foolish Mrs. Melnick moaned. She was regaining consciousness. Anticipating her screaming for help, and her contempt and loathing, Roy placed his right hand over her quivering mouth and nose. His left hand cupped her breast, and he squeezed her against himself. He couldn't see her eyes burst open when she realized she was being smothered to death. Or her confused terror. Or her horrific suffering on her face as her chest heaved and heaved--screaming for air. If he had he might have felt guilty enough to stop. But in his warped thinking he was pleased that he felt no joy in smothering a living person to death. And he rationalized that she could now be united with her husband in heaven. When her horrific convulsions calmed, he gently placed her in the bathtub. After drinking himself into a stupor he worked diligently gouging out each tooth in her mouth, careful not to break any. Then, he went into her apartment, took all the money he could find, gold jewelry, and sedatives. Before he went to bed, despite his fatigue, he cut and sawed her into small pieces in the bathtub, placed the pieces in black plastic bags, placed her molar under his pillow, and passed out with a sedative, writhing in arthritic pain. Roy awoke at nine. Holding a deep breath he pulled away the pillow. Her dead tooth laughed at him! "Noooo!" he shrieked, flailing about the bedroom, punching walls. An oppressive despair welled inside him. Around five o'clock the doorbell rang.
Reluctantly, he looked through the peephole. He saw two police officers. His first
reaction was they had come to arrest him, but he quickly dismissed that illogical thought.
Logically, he figured they were just looking for information on her disappearance. He
combed his hair with his trembling fingers, straightened After closing the door Roy furiously packed, taking only the essentials of his past life with him: clothing, toiletries, important papers, photograph albums, memorabilia, and his tools. Disposing of Mrs. Melnick posed a problem now that the police were lurking about. After triple bagging her body parts, which he crammed into the refrigerator and freezer to keep fresh, he took a week to carefully dispose of her body throughout Brooklyn. As soon as that was accomplished he packed up his car and abandoned the apartment. Roy drained his meager bank accounts, cashed in all the remaining gold teeth, and drove south on I 95 for Florida. His mood had lifted when days earlier he had realized that all was not lost. What he accomplished was accomplished--he had narrowed the reasons for the Tooth Fairy not exchanging the tooth for gold and he would put his new plan into action in a southern city. When nearly asleep at the wheel he checked into an economy motel in Richmond, Virginia. The following evening he drove into a poor
section of the city, located a street with prostitutes soliciting customers and picked up
a black prostitute who was fortunately high on drugs. After he flashed a wad of hundred
dollar bills she happily went to the motel with him. She drank Southern Comfort and he
scotch until both were thoroughly inebriated. Roy hadn't had a blow job in more years than
he could remember and never ever as fantastic. And because of that he felt terribly
selfish having to whack her over the head with his hammer. But he swore to God that he
would not kill her. Roy cleaned and polished her tooth. "Now you be a good girl, and go to sleep. After the Tooth Fairy exchanges this tooth for gold in the morning, I'll let you go free. And I'll give you three hundred dollars for your trouble. But if you make a fuss I'll kill you. I'll kill you dead!" She turned away, planning her revenge. Roy placed her tooth was under his pillow. For the first time in days he went to bed feeling confident. In the morning, he turned on the light, crossed his fingers, and peeked under the pillow. The whore's tooth mocked him! Roy went ballistic. Unable to hold back his volcanic rage, he grabbed his leather belt, wrapped it around her neck, and strangled her with a vengeance--as if she was the cause of all the bad luck in his life. This time it felt terrific. He drank throughout the day, pacing about like a caged animal, a dark despair had crushed all optimism. The housekeeper trying to enter the room almost gave him a heart attack. He yelled at her to go away. After midnight, Roy put the prostitute in the trunk of his car drove and south on the thruway until reaching Emporia where he found a deserted country road to dump her body. He could care less that she would be found at daybreak. Roy continued on to Savannah. Thinking. And thinking. Using all his logic. Finally, he came to a startling discovery. He had made a terrible mistake. He had been offering the Tooth Fairy a woman's tooth! Obviously, the tooth must come from a man for a man. That was the logical answer! He was now smiling. Roy checked into a motel and slept until well after dark. After eating a fried chicken dinner in his room, he visited various seedy bars, frequented by lonely drunks, until he saw a man that met his criteria for success. It was at the Magnolia Bar and Grill that he met Clint Wilcox, who was about his age, height, weight, and race. Within a half an hour Roy learned Clint was divorced, that he had lost his high paying job, and his mind. Roy paid for Clint's drinks and listened to Clint's rambling tirades about heartless people. Around two in the morning he offered Clint plenty more to drink back at his motel. Clint eagerly accepted and they both teetered out of the bar. Once in the motel room, they drank until Clint passed out. The alcohol was the anesthesia. Roy didn't need to bind or gag him. With only his fingers Roy pulled out a loose tooth from Clint's mouth. After washing the incisor, Roy placed it under his pillow and went to sleep. At sunrise Roy was through with silly praying, he just ripped away the pillow. The dead tooth jeered at him! Roy laughed. And laughed. And laughed until his chest screamed from the pain. And hot tears ran down his sunken cheeks. Roy left Clint asleep on the bed. He placed a ten dollar bill in his pocket, walked out into the sun and drove to exhaustion. Roy chose to rent a room a dilapidated rooming house in the Cuban section of Miami. He used a false name, paid in cash, and the next morning abandoned the car downtown. In the months that followed Roy kept to himself, remaining inebriated most of the time; the oppressive heat, and crushing depression slowly sucked the life from him. He had no desire to look for work, or even groom himself. His appearance was that of a grisly beggar, reeking of cheap wine, urine, and rancid perspiration. The thoughts of owning a card store and being rich became a lost memory. He hoped to die--soon. Then, one afternoon, a teeny spark in his logical mind was ignited when he nearly tripped over a one legged beggar on a street corner. Instead of walking away, he found himself staring at the poor bastard. That was when the logical answer to the great mystery of the Tooth Fairy came to him. Why did he ever assume it was the Tooth Fairy? With a burst of energy Roy hurried to a store,
purchased a meat cleaver, and hurried back to his room. Quite drunk, he sat down at a
table, and without fear or common sense he tightened a tourniquet around his left pinky
finger. He raised the meat cleaver high in the air and gave a WHACK! Roy screamed into a
towel until the ice in the bowl squelched the With his bloodied hand wrapped in bandages, he staggered into bed. He placed his finger under his pillow. And passed out. Roy was semi-conscious when he heard people talking around him. "Well, he certainly is a lucky man, Dr. Parnel," Nurse Corbett said, standing to the side of the bed. "I've never seen anything like this. Gangrene in all his extremities. By all rights he should be dead." "What drives a man to chop off his fingers and toes?" the doctor wondered. "He is obviously quite insane, I guess like Van Gogh." "He will need long term nursing care. He can't be sent home without any feet or arms." Roy shrieked madly. Roy was never charged with murder; Cora's body was never found and there was no conclusive evidence to link him to the disappearance of Mrs. Melnick. He was never linked to the murder of the prostitute in Virginia. Roy's landlady gleamed with joy when she
discovered a stash of ten gold nuggets shaped like fingers and toes hidden under Roy's
mattress when cleaning his old room. She bubbled all the way to the gold exchange. Bruce Stevens is a published writer, having had short stories featured on the web in Dragon Soup E-zine and Anotherealm E-zine. June 2000 HofP |