Blind Luck by Scott Carter

been willing to stayed with Dave ever after. They never spoke about the funeral or his mother’s death again, but every time he looked at Mr. Richter, he remembered the gesture and wished there was a way to return it.
    Dave had to admit that Mr. Richter’s funeral was impressive. Listening to so many people speak about the man made him feel better, and the honesty and passion that the stories were told with made him hope he would leave such a strong impression on people. Seeing Mr. Richter appreciated was soothing, but it was still devastating to watch him be buried. Dave left the graveyard with slow steps as though he was unsure about the ground’s stability. A woman with shoulder-length brown hair appeared beside him.
    “I’m Jody,” she said with an extended hand.
    Dave shook it to be polite and withdrew his. Instinct told him this was a journalist, so he picked up the pace to make it clear he wasn’t interested in a conversation, but she kept up.
    “You’re Dave Bolden, right?”
    He stopped walking. “Are you a journalist?”
    “No.”
    “Then how do you know me?”
    “I run a website.”
    “A website?”
    “That’s right. It’s about miracles.” Dave’s eyes narrowed again with disgust, but the look didn’t deter her. “We share stories about miracles so everyone around the world can be inspired by them. It’s important that people know when amazing things happen.”
    “So you’re a cult.”
    Her faced washed with genuine hurt. She’d approached him the way a football card collector would a Hall of Famer, and he’d dismissed her as a freak. “It’s not a cult. I just think you should share your story. You’re an inspiration. We had half a million visitors this year. Think about how many people they shared the stories with.”
    A website. He couldn’t get past the imagery. “How did you find out about me?”
    “One of our members emailed your story in.”
    “How did they know?”
    “I have no idea, but I want to interview you for the site so that people can read your story from your point of view. You’ll get a thousand emails in the first week.”
    “No thank you.”
    “Your story can change peoples’ lives.”
    “No thank you.”
    “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”
    A bribe? Five hundred to pimp the story of his dead colleagues? The muscles around his eyes twitched with anger. “Don’t try to contact me again.”
    The idea of a website made his blood boil.
    He was at a funeral to commemorate the most gentle man he had ever met, and she wanted him to explain how an eighteen- wheel truck had killed everyone he worked with on a miracle website. He wished he could tell Mr. Richter how twisted she was.

Thirteen
    Dave woke after only a few hours sleep. He looked at the clock to see seven ten and decided against trying for more rest. He craved a coffee, so he grabbed his winter jacket to bear the sprinkle of snow blowing outside his window and headed out. Three storefronts before the coffee shop, a series of posters stuck to the plywood surrounding a renovation caught Dave’s attention. The MC5 was playing a one-time only concert the following evening. Suddenly coffee felt irrelevant. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in Otto’s number. Otto answered on the second ring, and his hello sounded like he had a mouthful of food.
    “I need your expertise.”
    “I like your word choice.”
    “Can you get me front row tickets to a concert?”
    “I can make it snow in summer.”
    “It’s tomorrow night.”
    “That’s fine. Which one?”
    “MC5.”
    “Who?”
    “The MC5. You know, ‘Kick out the jams, motherfuckers’”
    “Whatever. I’ll make a call and have the tickets dropped off at your place tonight.”
    “Thank you.”
    “For you? It’s my pleasure. I’ve got to go. I’ve got another call.”
    Dave closed his phone and motioned to stop an empty cab, but the first one coasted past him, so he stepped off the curb and pointed at one a few cars behind. The