Chapter 3 – A Hand with Golden Cards

Nicolette’s apartment.

Present time.

I was about to inspect the hand when I heard something move behind the bushes.

“Ahhhh!!!” I screamed again when I saw a body attached to the hand.

It turns out, it’s not a severed hand, just a homeless guy who fell down the bushes.

“H-help p-please,” he pleaded.

He weakly crawled back to the steps then handed me three golden cards, issued by Grand Royale Bank, before completely passing out on my front door.

“Oh, please don’t be dead,” I prayed while checking his pulse.

His pulse was strong but he’s unconscious. Maybe due to dehydration or extreme hunger. I immediately went inside to get warm water and I came back just in time to see him coming around.

He started feeling his surroundings and that’s when I realized, his eyes are white; most probably due to cataracts. I slowly walked to his side carefully grabbing his walking stick and giving him a glass of water when he suddenly held my hand.

“Can you help me to the bank, please? I can give you money,” Steffan, the homeless guy, requested. I wanted to object and tell him it’s illegal to use someone else’s bank card, but I was moved by his helplessness. It’s as if I’m the only one who could help him. Or I’m the only one who paid attention to him.

“Okay, let’s go to the bank,” I finally decided after checking the time.

We went to the bank not expecting anything but to my surprise, the manager said all cards have funds. And even bigger surprise, is that he can transfer it to my name.

All $300,000 of it.

“Oh no, it’s not mine. This is for that homeless guy over there,” I shakily pointed at Steffan who was sitting at the waiting area.

I explained to the manager how Steffan got hold of the cards to remove any doubts on his side. Lest he decided not to award the money to him because of his current state.

As Steffan mentioned on the way to the bank, he’s been homeless for a few years now because of a car accident that damaged his eyesight. He used to work in a tech company as an entry-level staff and was about to be promoted when it happened. He was orphaned at a young age so it’s not his first time being homeless. When I asked him about his friends or other relatives, he just pointed at his appearance and I immediately understood. Some people are only good because of what they can get from you.

I was still discussing with the manager when I heard a commotion but I immediately ignored it. When it happened again, the manager caught my attention before pointing at Steffan, who was clearly in distress.

“What happened?” I immediately asked.

“Someone touched my privates,” he declared mortified as he described what he imagined the woman looked like.

After looking around to match the description, I saw a woman just outside the bank hailing a cab. But when I went out for a chase, the cab already drove off.

I went back to the manager demanding a security footage review and threatened him with a police report when he refused, until he finally gave in.

The footage clearly showed the woman touching, playing with Steffan’s privates, twice, before sitting on his lap, grinding and everyone could see how uncomfortable it was for him. But no one came to his aid despite asking for help. And it was heartbreaking to witness.

There’s an inner rage building up inside me when the review ended and I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now. All I know is that I won’t let him face this ordeal alone.

When I came back to the sitting area, he greeted me with an innocent smile and I had to bit my lip to control my emotions. How could he still smile despite what happened?

“I got your money. You’re now $300,000 richer,” I reported hoping to lift his mood but he just stayed calm as if the amount didn’t matter to him. “We can file a report to the police if you want. I’m not sure you will be compensated but at least you will get justice for what happened,” I added. To my surprise, my concern was met with a scoff as if I suggested the most ridiculous idea.

“Let’s just go home,” he said softly and I obliged.

Our ride to my apartment was spent in silence but when we reached my front door, I had to ask about his plans.

“You can afford to get out of the streets now, Steffan. Would you like to look for an apartment?” I asked while turning the knob of my front door.

 He didn’t reply at once.

Instead, he sat on the steps and started breathing fresh air, tapping on his surroundings, maybe realizing his life is about to change. I sat beside him to accompany him in his reverie when he finally spoke.

“I’ll be your tenant. I heard the old man complaining that you missed paying your rent. I can pay the whole rent and you can take care of the utilities and our food,” he offered after some thought.

I wanted to object thinking it’s unfair to charge him for the whole rent but with my current situation, it’s actually a big help. I told him about my concerns and to show him that I’m not taking advantage of him, I promised to re-pay him once I’ve found a new job.

Once our arrangements have been settled, I invited him inside and gave him a tour of the apartment. It was actually a spacious apartment since it was built seventy years ago. The only complain he could have is the outdated design but seeing he’s blind, he definitely wouldn’t mind.

I started with his room, the common toilet and bath, my room, and the storage room where I keep the gifts from my fans.

I felt an indescribable pride when his face lit up when I told him about my fan mails and gifts but it’s a subject we can discuss during dinner.

After I cleaned up, I immediately busied myself in the kitchen and prepared three dishes. As soon as I placed the last dish on the table, he appeared in the kitchen out of nowhere. And I swear, if my jaw is not connected to my skull, it would have rolled out on the floor as soon as I laid eyes on him.

The tank top did nothing to hide his muscular pecs and wide shoulders. His grey pants emphasized his narrow waist and height. I haven’t even started with his bald head and shaven beard, revealing his smooth skin but rugged features. Straight eyebrows, sharp nose, and strong jaw. Few healed cuts indicate the hardships on the street but it greatly added to his masculine character. I can’t help but stare into his cataract-filled eyes and wondered what colour is hiding underneath.

I realized I’ve been staring for a long time and although he couldn’t see my actions, I still consider it rude.

“I’m sorry, I stared at you. You look like a different person after cleaning up,” I admitted while inviting him to sit.

“Oh honey, you can stare at me,” he commented innocently but I could feel my cheeks burning up with just a simple reply.

I decided to change the topic and our conversation flowed effortlessly until we reached the fan mail topic as I explained to him the nature of my work.

“So, rejections after rejections they finally decided to accept a docu-series about extinct animals. That’s where the fans came from,” I added.

“Maybe you need to use a different pen name. Did you ever think that using Nico Sticks is a sign of bad luck?” he asked casually.

I haven’t really thought about that. In this age and time, surely an impression of a writer’s name doesn’t overshadow a writer’s work. Or does it? I was about to explain when we heard loud banging on the door.

“Police! Open up!”

‘Blag!’

When I reached the living room, police officers already barged inside with my front door lying flat on the floor.

“What’s going on?” I asked but I’m having a bad feeling that my new tenant brings bad news.

“Are you Nico Sticks?”

“Yes, but..”

“Nico Sticks, you are under arrest for being the head of the notorious Sticks mafia family.”

“What – ?”