Bilal's lottery ticket

He rode his bicycle past the bar everyday, but for the first time, Bilal stopped in the Stumble Out lounge on Broadway on his way home from work on a Tuesday night. Bilal locked his bike to a utility pole, pulled open the screen door of the Stumble Out and stepped into the past, or so it looked. A neon Falstaff sign, a cracked mirror behind the bar, and wooden chairs with orange vinyl cushions circa 1955 greeted his eyes. Bilal settled onto a bar stool two seats away from the only other customer. "Stag beer, please," Bilal said to the middle-aged woman behind the bar. "Need a menu?" "No, thank you, just the beer for now." The short-haired forty-something man to Bilal's left stared unabashedly at Bilal. "I ain't never seen you in here before. My name's Eddie," he said with an extended hand. Bilal shook Eddie's hand with his own. "I am Bilal. Nice to meet you, friend." "Your name's Beetle?" "Bilal. Bee-lall." "Pleasure to meet ya, Beetle," Eddie said through the huge gap between his front teeth. Originally from Pakistan, Bilal was a dentist at Sierra Dental Clinic in Alton, a working-class midwestern river town with a decaying economic foundation. Eddie was a union teamster who worked when he could, sometimes driving an asphalt truck, sometimes a gravel truck, occasionally a panel van. Eddie told Bilal about how Eddie's wife-to-be became pregnant in 1985. Eddie was 24 years old at the time. She was 15. Her father threatened to kill them both if Eddie and the girl did not either get married or have an abortion. Bilal told Eddie about his cat, Sophie, whom he had left behind in the old country. Bilal bought a scratch-off lottery ticket for himself and a beer for his new friend before he left the bar. As Bilal unlocked his bicycle, it began to rain. "Hey, Beetle!" It was Eddie standing in the doorway of the Stumble Out. "Wanna put your bike in the back of my truck? I'll give you a ride home." "No. Thank you, Eddie. It is only a few blocks home for me. See you soon!" "If you're sure... Be safe Beetle." Later that month, Bilal rode to the Stumble Out after work. Maybe I will see Eddie, he thought. Two men wearing dirty coveralls were at the bar. Four overweight women were gobbling pizza. "What can I get you to drink?" asked the woman bartender. She could get Bilal a Stag beer, please. "Oh, Eddie said to give you this. It's your lottery ticket. You forgot it that day you were here. Eddie says it's a winner," said the barkeep as she pushed a white envelope toward Bilal. It was indeed a winner. A ten-thousand dollar winner. Bilal jumped off the barstool like it had burst into flames. "Eddie, my friend!" shouted the dentist. "I must share this with him. Where can I find him!" All voices quieted and all eyes turned toward Bilal. "You won't be seeing him for a good while, I guess," answered the bartender, polishing a highball glass. "He violated his parole. He knowed he weren't sposed to be drinkin."