An Accidental Plan: David Arrington

By Keith Curtis

David Arrington spent his life quietly amassing some wealth and living within his means while preparing to retire. A venture capitalist broker who worked with large firms and large donors, he found money for those who needed it, but didn’t have a sure thing. He bet on the business and got his venture capitalists to put up money with a large or nothing return. A new client called for his services and this client as it turned out, was a friend from high school who had a heart of gold and good money return, but worked on a side of the law that David was not used to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K&M
• Release date: May 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533764737

Book preview

Foreword

A good story well told is a rarity in our unnecessarily complicated and clichéd times. It is rarer still to find a teller who keeps the action brisk and his reader on juicy tenterhooks. Keith Curtis achieved that and more in this novel.

The fears, dilemmas, and tribulations of a forthright man are only too well-known to us. How he endures them all and puts the incredible human spirit to best possible use is also very known to us, as are the happy endings of countless stories. What we have only fleetingly witnessed are stories told with astounding honesty—those written with a directness that can reflect off only the writing of a forthright author.

An Accidental Plan is the story of a talented finance expert who encounters the dark ways of criminals and after an eventful stint of negotiation and evasion, manages to save not just his own, but also the life and dignity of others around him. But in the process, he also manages to salvage memories—the one thing that can make us better than any animal—including two-legged ones.

Almost every character in the present story has usable, valuable memories and attachments. Every antihero has fewer of those. Does that have a message for us, the readers? Each reader to her/his own interpretation.

Keith’s story came as a breath of fresh air after the archetypes that are already too familiar. It kind of introduced a face of life and living that we are perhaps aware of but unwilling to accept as being only natural.

The dog-eat-dog world and its mores can seem intimidating to anyone unaccustomed to its ways. But even a regular well-meaning guy has hope at hand, if only his conduct leads him in the right direction. There is hope even for those among us who are hopelessly misled in life.

Whether or not we as characters in the story of life have it in us to display the required conduct, it is heartening to note that hope for a better future is always at hand. There is always access to time and space for the worst among us to improve. There is always scope for personal and non–personal betterment. And this is one of the irrevocable benefits that come with being only human. Yes, pun intended.

Personally, it is a great joy to have a tale that means so much from someone who means so much.

* *

It is a simple story told brilliantly. And where its reader is able to relate to the characters, it is a story crafted with a rare sensibility. Inasmuch as it is a story of only-human characters, it is a story that touches the chords somewhere deep within.

It keeps you on the tenterhooks, hanging on for dear life, but it also shows you nooks and crannies you can hold on to, that ultimately lead to a ray of light. All of us so need those uncertain footholds in life that guide us, if only a few inches forward.

Keith rekindles that sole hope each one of us has—that we can find the right footholds in life.

That we are predisposed for it.

Nikhil Khandekar, Webwrit Owner

September 25th, 2011

4:12 A.M. the clock read when the neighborhood dogs’ barking awakened him. Damn dogs, he thought as he headed for the front door to see which neighbors’ cat had knocked over a trashcan on the hunt for a rat and got the dogs going.

He had never been in his front yard at 4:12 A.M. he thought. I’ve lived here fifteen years and I don’t know what my front yard looks like at four o’clock in the morning. I barely know what my feet look like at four o’clock. This brought a little smile to his face though this was not smiling time.

He opened the door, stepped out onto the stoop and started down the walkway. He expected to find his neighbors out as well, but the street was dark except for the round glow of the streetlight three doors down. It was chilly and he was glad he had stopped to put on a pair of sweatpants on the way out. They weren’t going to keep him warm long, but maybe long enough to wake up a neighbor or two to quiet their fence jumping, slathering hounds from hell.

As he reached the sidewalk, he saw a car headed in his direction, lights shining right at him. Good, he thought, maybe someone called a cop.

The car continued toward him, not fast, not slow, just cruising speed. The car brought no concern to him; it brought nothing, maybe because he was still half asleep, or maybe because he didn’t know whether or not to expect a car on his street at four o’clock in the morning.

As the car approached him, the driver leaned out the window a bit and he could see something in the drivers’ hand. Paper delivery, his mind came up with that in mere seconds and he was quite proud of his ability to think in the middle of the night.

The car swerved as it got closer and he heard the driver shout something in his direction though it never really got to his ears. The bullet got there first. The gun in the driver’s hand went off and the bullet flew into his chest, burning, stinging and heavy, like someone had hit him in the chest with a large rock.

They say you see your life pass before you as you take your final breath, but for David Arrington, what passed before him was a handful of questions as he tried to piece together why he was dying. Of that he had no doubt, and as the life flowed from his body, he realized the mistake he’d made yesterday that may have cost him his life.

September 24th, 2011 6:00 A.M.

David Arrington stepped out of the shower already having a bad day. Mornings, Jesus Christ, he swore as he tried to dry one foot while brushing his teeth. Can’t we start these things out at maybe ten o’clock instead of nine?

At forty-four, David had been getting up late his entire life. His days usually went bad when he got up early. He couldn’t think if he didn’t get enough sleep.

He tried to get his clients to spend money at a possible twenty-five percent return even though the downside would be a big fat hole in your venture account. That required logical thought and plenty of rest. Getting up early did not help that. Logic worked with the venture clients and lack of sleep did not help David be at all logical.

Once he finally got both feet dry and his teeth brushed without falling down and breaking his head open on the tile floor, he took a look in the mirror. Taking stock. Hair; short, graying, well mannered. His face had a few lines and wrinkles that revealed his wealth of experience.

His shoulders, biceps and chest, well, he’d never be making a commercial for the BowStrainer or whatever the latest ‘get ripped’ fad was. He called them ‘get ripped off’ ads. He knew the psychology of them. He’d used it himself. Get them to buy, make them want it, need it, covet it, and given the actuarial outcome for such products, expect it to be in the back of the garage, dusty and unused, within three months.

The chance of getting sued because something went wrong was less than one-tenth of one percent. If ninety-eight percent of your buyers didn’t even use the damn thing, what could go wrong? Quite the scam he thought, Wish I’d thought of it myself. Not that he wanted to take any money away from folks, but, Hey, if they are going to spend it, why not spend it with me?

He headed for the kitchen to begin the breakfast ritual and began to think about the tasks for the day ahead. He poured a cup of coffee and added to the stain on the counter that was always there because he always poured coffee there and it always spilled a little.

He was in possession of a large sum of cash for an old friend who had become a very good and lucrative client. This deal had been put together quickly and quietly and was for Francisco Rial. Though the sum of money was huge, it had been gathered from several different funds. It needed to be in cash so David had converted it to bearer bonds to make it easier to carry around.

You sell dreams, he thought as he ate a last bite of scrambled egg, You sell big goddamn dreams to rich god-damn people trying to get richer. Does it get better than this? he said to himself as he walked out the door to start the day.

September 24th 2011 6:30 A.M.

The Lexus fired up as it always did. It was two years old, not a scratch or a dent. Black, chrome, leather interior. Not the hot Ferrari he really wanted, but his clients did not expect a broker to be driving a sports car, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t afford the insurance payments on a Ferrari anyway.

He took home a percentage of the venture capital he acquired and while the amount of money transferred was often very large, his take was small in terms of total amounts.

It allowed him to live in a relatively nice neighborhood on the east side of San Diego (if he could shut the dogs up) and drive a nice car.

He would indulge in an occasional night out for dinner with his former girlfriend, who said as they amicably parted ways, Honest to God, David, I love you so much, but you just don’t have enough excitement in your life. I can’t just get up, go to work, come home and stay there, I want to go and see and do.

So, she did. She went to Europe, hated it. She went to Australia, loved it for about three weeks and then wanted to go back home. She went to every resort within 500 miles off the Bermuda Triangle and always came home before her free night kicked in because it was just the same old thing every day, lay by the beach, swim, eat, go back to the room, go to sleep.

They still had dinner on occasion, and on even rarer occasions, dinner led to a night of comfortable sex, but usually, a peck on the cheek and she was off to her house.

A pretty damn boring life altogether, he thought as he pulled the car onto the street and headed for the fifteen, north to Riverside today. David was glad he wasn’t headed to L.A., possibly his least favorite place in the world even though he’d grown up there. He was pretty sure L.A. could outdo anywhere