Lucky Night
“Congratulations, Mr. Grand. We all heard of your success on the stock, the one you purchased a week ago. It
almost doubled today.” The security guard grinned holding the heavy glass door open for the investment banker.
Grand called over his shoulder “Thank you, Roger. Remember, nothing is random. Everything happens for a
reason.” He adjusted the lapel of his Armani suit and made his way down the dimly-lit alley to his Mercedes Benz.
Suddenly he was stunned by a gunshot and jumped behind his car and heard another one. “My brand-new car,
ruined with bullet holes.” The thought struck Grand as intolerable. Without thinking he stuck his head out and
waved his arms in the air, “Don’t. Don’t shoot!”
Another shot pierced the darkness. He looked at the beautiful shine of his recently detailed car and couldn’t
bring himself to use it as shelter. He ran toward an approaching cab, ordering it to stop. The cab lurched to a stop
with a horrific squeak.
The cab driver stuck his head out the window, “Are you out of your mind, sir?” he screamed in a heavy Indian
accent and got out of the car and raced toward Grand. They heard another shot. The taxi driver rushed to the
front of the cab and took refuge with the rich stranger.
“Why the hell did you stop me? Don’t you see you are being shot at? Are you looking for a death companion?”
he raved.
“A maniac is shooting this way for no reason.” Grand almost screamed. “Take off your shirt” he ordered.
“This is no time for hanky panky, sir! I don’t care about your weird sexual fantasies. We are in the middle of a
crisis!”
“I need a white shirt right now, and I’m willing to pay you $100 for it.”
“Oh sir, I am flattered. How much will you pay for my pants? I’ve heard a lot about the rich people’s games.”
The cabbie smiled knowingly.
“I am not interested in you, Goddamn it!” The banker peeled a $100 bill from his money clip as the driver
removed his shirt. “I am not planning to die tonight, at least not this way.”
Grand waved the shirt in the air and shouted at the shooter, “What do you want?”
A bullet pierced the white shirt and it flailed like a wounded bird. A voice echoed in the alley, “Nothing, sir. This
is a random shooting, nothing personal.”
“Random shooting?” The banker screamed. “This is not random. If you were driving and passed me by and
shot me willy-nilly we could call that random!”
The shirtless cabbie whispered, “Sir! I don’t think it’s wise to argue with a man who has a gun and is shooting
your way.”
Grand ignored him, “What do you want? If you don’t have anything against me personally, let’s resolve this
issue amicably. Would a crisp $100 bill do the trick?”
Grand snatched the money from the driver, threw his shirt back at him. “No deal.”
The driver seized the corner of Grand’s corner coat. “My shirt had no bullet holes at the time of transaction. All
sales are final. No refund. You took my shirt, now I’ll take your coat.”
“Are you out of your mind, an $800 cashmere coat for a lousy shirt? Where did you learn business? You damn
foreigner.”
The two men were fighting over a coat when the shooter’s voice intervened, “What the hell is going on? We’re
in the middle of a shoot-out and you two are fighting over a coat?”
The cabbie called back, “My dear Sir! It’s this man’s fault. He is taking advantage of me, a simple hard working
foreigner.” Now he had the cashmere coat halfway off Grand.
“Who are you?” The shooter asked.
“Krishna Swami, at your service, the best driver of the Sunshine Cab Company.”
Grand shrugged off the coat, emerged from the shelter of the cab, and shouted down the alley, “You tried to
shoot me numerously and missed every time. You know why? Because nothing is random, I’m not supposed to die
this way tonight.”
He then emerged from his shelter and confidently strode toward his car. As he approached the middle of the
street, a truck turned quickly into the unlit alley and struck him.
Grand flew through the air and landed on the pavement, still clutching his hundred-dollar bill. Blood slid from
the corner of his mouth. He barely opened his eyes for the last time gazing in the gentle eyes of Krishna. The cab
driver covered him with his cashmere coat and said, “You were right, sir. You were not to die from those bullets
tonight.”
He then sat in his cab and opened the passenger door. The shooter got in and remarked, “It’s amazing how he
knew he wasn’t going to die from my bullets.”
“Yes it is, not many people are lucky enough to know how they go. But he would have been alive if he wasn’t
that lucky!”
The cab with two men vanished into the black alley.