Jul’s put a pot roast in the oven, potatoes, carrots from the garden. I decided to walk to the shop down the street and get a bottle of wine for our first home cooked meal in our new house.

I grabbed my Mac off the hook by the door. As I looked through the kitchen window I saw them. An elderly couple, dressed as if for church, opening the garden gate.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Oh. Hello neighbor. I just couldn’t resist. I just had to get a closer look at all the wonderful things you’ve been doing to the garden.”

“Thank you. Very kind of you to say.”

I met them at the gate struggling into my Mac, irritated by their nerve to just walk into my yard.

“Miles and I are so happy to see some life come back to this house. Isn’t that right, Miles?”

He nodded. It didn’t take long to figure out why he didn’t speak. She wouldn’t let him.

Without skipping a beat, “Those raised beds are interesting. What are they made of? I’ve never seen a raised bed with metal sides. Oh. You’ve installed rain barrels. How wonderful.”

I’ve got to nip this in the bud.

“I’m sorry. I was just on my way out. Perhaps another time I can give you a tour of the garden.”

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we, Miles? I’m Edith. Edith Simpson and this is my husband, Miles.”

“How do you do?”

He speaks.

“It’s lovely to meet you both.”

I moved to walk through the gate and finally Edith retreated enough to allow me to reach the sidewalk. I pulled the gate closed with enough force to make a point. Please stay out of my garden.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again if you live nearby.”

“Bye, now.” Edith said to my backside. “Good thing you took your Macintosh. It’s about to rain buckets.”

As I walked up the street I thought about the pub next to the shop. Maybe a quick pint to shake off the encounter with the odd little couple at my garden gate. I stepped inside the pub and hung my Mac on a hook just inside the door. The place was packed. I made my way through the gauntlet of bodies and pushed my way to the bar and decided it wasn’t worth it.

Once again I shuffled through the crowded room, grabbed my Mac off the hook, and was back out on the street.

The rain had picked up during the few minutes I was in the pub. Grateful that I had my Mac I pulled it on and noticed a bulge in my right pocket. Then another in the left.

What is this? I pulled a large wad of bills from my left pocket. Bills, as in money, dineros, buckaroos. What the fuck? The wad was a good four inches in diameter. A quick fan of the edges revealed they all appeared to be hundred dollar bills. How much fucking money was it?

From the other pocket I pulled out a ziplock bag filled with what...what? It looked like rock candy.

Ha. Not likely. The bag weighed about a pound. Obviously I snatched a drug dealer’s Macintosh.

Should I go back in and find my own Mac? Sneak this back on a hook? What if the dealer has already noticed it’s gone? He’ll know that I’ve discovered what was in the pockets. That couldn’t end well. No I’ll keep walking. I was mesmerized by the money. How much fucking money was in that bundle? I was desperate to count it. But I can’t stand here in the street. When I looked up I realized I was back in front of the pub. As I passed the entrance I heard loud voices and arguing. Someone has noticed his coat is gone. Idiot. Why in hell would you hang a coat full of drugs and cash on a hook by the door?

I picked up speed and made a quick right at the corner. I had no idea where I was going. I haven’t had a chance to walk the neighborhood and really don’t know the streets. I knew I had to get the hell away from the pub so I kept walking. I took a quick look back at the pub as I rounded the next corner, sirens blared in the distance, a commotion in front of the pub.

I pulled the ziplock out for another look. Definitely not rock candy. I racked my brain trying to think if I knew anyone that I could trust that would know what to do with it. How to dispose of it? Who the fuck am I kidding. I want to figure out how to sell it.

I made another right at the next corner and figured out that if I keep turning right I would eventually be back at my house.

The rain was now as Edith predicted coming down in buckets. The streets were starting to flood. A police cruiser raced past, lights flashing, but silent. Headed to the pub no doubt.

I wondered what was going on at the pub that would cause so much commotion. Why would someone who had drugs and cash stashed in his coat make a scene that would get the cops involved?

At the next corner I ducked into a drugstore to get out of the rain and off the street for a minute. The employees and a few customers were gathered at the front counter. They were talking about the incident at the pub. Someone had drawn a knife and killed two customers. Something about a raincoat...

Shit. Did I cause that? Now what do I do? I don’t want to be blamed for someone getting killed. How could they hold me responsible? Could they hold me responsible? I felt responsible.

I had to get rid of the raincoat and change my appearance. I ducked into the alley and stood under an awning by the receiving door of a business near the drugstore.

I stuffed the money in the left cargo pocket of my shorts, the drugs in the right pocket. When I ripped off the raincoat I noticed another pocket on the inside. Neatly folded in the inside pocket was a shirt. A work shirt. Something a repairman might wear. It was perfect. I’d wear this over my shirt and dump the raincoat in the dumpster to my right. The shirt was white with blue pin stripes and long sleeves with an embroidered name badge above the left breast pocket. Abe Smith.

I donned Abe Smith’s shirt and made my way back out into the street. Now I need to head straight home.

As I made my third right turn I notice a cruiser coming slowly up the street. It slowed to a crawl as it came alongside. I raised a hand and waved as the passenger window came down.

The cop yelled, “Did you pass anyone on this street wearing a black Macintosh?”

“No sir. I haven’t passed anyone at all.” The cruiser kept pace with me as I continued to walk.

“Better get off the street. There’s been a double murder on L street.”

“L street? That’s where I live.”

The radio crackled from inside the cruiser, the window went up and off he went.

Shit. That was close.

I thought I would be on L street when I hit the next intersection but I was wrong. How could this be? Where did I mess up? Did I make a wrong turn when I came out of the alley?

That’s exactly what I had done. When I turned the corner I saw the drugstore. A cruiser was sitting at the entrance, a cop standing at the door. Another was huddled at the front counter with the employees just as they were when I walked through the store. A crowd had gathered around the cruiser so I inched my way up to see if I could find out what was going on. A man at the front was repeating what he could hear from inside.

“They’re saying the guy in the raincoat was just in the store, walked in, took a look around and walked back out.”

“What are they after him for?”

“They say he’s the one that killed the two up at the pub.”

What? They think I killed two people? This has gotten way out of control. I just picked up the wrong fucking raincoat.

“I heard the cop say his name. Abe Smith. Abe Smith is the guy they’re looking for.”

Shit. I looked down at the name on the shirt. Abe fucking Smith. I turned to my right. No one there. Keep moving. I unbuttoned the shirt and slipped it off as headed around the building to the alley. And to the dumpster. And hopefully to the correct right turn that would get me home.

As I neared the dumpster I decided to ditch the shirt and the drugs. That’s when it hit me. Fingerprints. Where have I left my fingerprints? Could there be prints on the raincoat in the dumpster? It was only a matter of time before the cops came around the block now that they know Abe Smith was in the drugstore.

I reached into the dumpster and snatched the raincoat and moved down the alley to the end of the block. I slipped inside a doorway recess and laid the raincoat on the ground throwing the drugs in the middle. I rolled the raincoat into a ball and wrapped the shirt around it and tied it into a bundle using the sleeves.

Bundle neatly tucked under my arm, I braced myself and hit the street. This time I headed the right way. In less then five minutes I was at my gate.

I reached for the gate latch and there it was. Her voice. Edith, with quiet Miles in tow.

“Hello neighbor.”

They hurried across the street. Breathless, Miles asked, “Did you see anything by the pub? What’s going on up there? They won’t let anyone get near. You were there. What happened?”

“I don’t know. I walked up to the pub but it was too crowded. I couldn’t get near the bar so I left.”

Edith smiled. I knew any second she was going to ask what was in the bundle.

“You’ve been gone a long time. Where’s your raincoat?” she asked.

“Raincoat?”

“Yes. You were wearing a black Macintosh when you left here.” Still with that smile.

“Oh yes, I was. I guess it’s still at the pub, on a hook by the door. Nice chatting with you again. Be careful on your way home.” Where in the hell is ‘home’ anyway? Please don’t tell me these two are going to be lying in wait every time I step out of the house.

I closed the gate behind me and wound my way through the garden to the door.

I made my way into the house and Juls yelled out, “Where have you been? I thought you were running out for a bottle of wine. What the hell is going on out there?”

“Honey. You’ll never believe it.”