Evan Dunlap: A Short Story

Evan Dunlap by all accounts is not your average man. He is good-looking, sharply dressed, and has a witty charm to the point where he is simply unforgettable, unless of course he wants you to forget him. Growing up, Evan had always been stronger than his size lets on, he was always a bit taller than other kids his age, and he exuded a charisma that naturally seemed to draw people to him like a magnet. Most guys who knew Evan wanted to be him and all the ladies wanted to be with him. To others, Evan seemed to always have the uncanny ability to know just the right thing to say and when to say it, the art of persuasion he had mastered at a very young age. Luck you could call his best friend—as loyal as they come. Yes, Evan Dunlap
is like no other man on Earth—because Evan Dunlap is no man at all. Evan Dunlap is a demon. But Evan hasn’t always known what he is. He had been born just like everyone else, grew up just like everyone else, and planned on one day meeting his creator at the entrance of the Pearly Gates just like everyone else. He bleeds whenever he gets cut. Feels pain when he gets hurt. And, at times, even questions his place in the world. At other times he finds himself drawn to question God’s very existence—for throughout Evan’s life, he felt no real spiritual connection with any deity. It never made him feel good to see a happy ending or to watch an underdog win. He never felt compassion for the sick or needy. Nor did he ever know why he always felt nauseated and disgusted at the sight of anything pure. One thing he did know for curtained was that he knew he had a gift that much was indisputable. A gift of being able to create havoc wherever he went or whenever he just wanted to be entertained. Nothing could put a smile on Evan’s face faster than manipulating people into letting their ugly side come out. He had a way about him that was ambient; hypnotic and instantly lowered others inhibitions in his presence. The vibes he naturally emitted worked like a well oiled machine to create an environment where people were all too eager to hand him their cool. He could be considered a snake charmer of men. His anesthesia he wheeled over them allowed him the power to transform even the slightest annoyance a person may harbor to boil over and come rushing up to the surface in a torrent, exploding into unbridled hate and impromptu violence. It was no secret to Evan what he could do. He marveled in his abilities to screw with people. He didn’t know why it came so easy to him. That had always remained a mystery. All he knew was that he liked it. He liked it a lot. Drinking was another thing Evan liked, along with easy woman, drugs, and anything else that was morally and ethically corrupt. Others who also found enjoyment in these debaucheries were always Evan’s kind of people. He felt a kinship with them. A natural comfort he could not explain. The more messed up they were, the more he enjoyed their company. And, they naturally loved him. One knows the lifestyle of a run-and-gun playboy doesn’t come cheap, though. Money was a commodity in which Evan needed a lot of, and fortunately for him, it wasn’t hard to find. Whenever he needed to score a little green, it was as simple as stopping off at any corner store. There he could line his pockets as if making a withdrawal from a bank. “What will it be today, Evan? You prick.” “I love how it just chaps your ass when I get to come into this shit hole you call a store and walk out with a fist full of cash while your grease ball ass has to sit here all day selling loosey’s and malt liquor to the local derelicts for a living,” Evan said smiling, his coral-white teeth allowing him look even more debonair. Placing his newspaper down upon the counter, the store owner looked deeply at Evan as he scratched his thick stubble that was just beginning to gray near his sideburns. “I got a tip from a buddy of mine this morning,” the store owner said. “The sixth race at Calder, Sheppard’s Moon, the number eight horse. Morning line has him at ten to one.” “Oh, yeah,” Evan said sounding dismissive. “Tell me, Adil, you filthy, disgusting slob. How many times has this buddy of yours ever been right?” Adil looked at Evan for a moment before sighing and answering honestly, “Never.” “I thought so,” Evan said smugly. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you pick’em for me today and if it’s at least five hundred… I’ll help you out, maybe?” Adil gave thought to Evan’s proposal for a moment before saying, “What the hell do I got to lose… how many do I get?” “Four.” Turning away from the counter, Adil looked over the bank of instant lottery tickets that covered the wall directly behind him. “How about a Lucky Sevens, Cash to Go, Funky 5’s, and a… let’s see here, give me a Money Time,” he said as he tore away each ticket from its row. “How much?” Evan asked. Adil briefly looked over the tickets, “Looks like twenty,” he answered. Evan pulled a folded pile of money from his pocket, slipped a twenty off the top and slid it across the counter to Adil. He then grabbed a penny from the community tray sliding it also over to Adil before saying, “Here, you do it. Get me my money.” “Why not,” Adil said picking up the penny. “I might as well make somebody rich, sure as hell won’t be me.” Adil commenced in scratching off the lottery tickets. While Evan waited, he picked up the newspaper Adil had been studying. Daily Racing Form, he thought, Everything you need to know in how to lose a shitload of money fast. Adil stopped scratching the tickets, muddled something inaudible and then looked up at Evan before saying, “How the fuck do you do it? Every goddamn day you come in here and pull this shit off. You must be superhuman or something.” Evan placed the paper back down upon the counter only saying one word to Adil. “Verdict?” With the sound of trumpets announcing a prize to be awarded the state lottery machine acknowledged the winning tickets. Adel then studied the printed out receipt which summed up the total winnings. “I’ll be damned,” he uttered to himself.
“If I didn’t see you come in here and do this every day with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.” “And?” asked Evan. “And five hundred and ten dollars and…” said Adil. Evan just smirked while looking sinister. Adil then inserted a key into a cash drawer that sat below the state lottery machine, its lock disengaged with a pop as the key was given a slight turn. He then counted Evan’s money before handing it over to him. Evan added the cash to the currency he already had on him and then he pocketed the entire bundle into the trousers of his seersucker suit. “Where you off to now?” asked Adil. Evan looked at his watch; a diamond-encrusted Rolex and said, “Just a little after twelve o’clock. I’ll probably head out to the Pussy Corps for a beer or two. I got a girl there, Misty, that I keep an eye out for when she dances. She supposed to be opening up the place.” “Fuck, man, I wish I had your life,” Adil said with jovial shake of his head. Evan walked to the door of the bodega and stopped just before heading out. He then glanced back over his shoulder at Adil. “Hey, Adil,” he said, letting his voice rise a
bit. “Yeah, Evan,” the cashier responded. “Hawthorne, race three, the six-horse, Devil’s Advisor,” “Thanks, Asshole,” Adil replied. “Don’t mention it. And hey, who knows, if you win, maybe now you’ll be able to fund a real independent movie production instead of that kiddie-porn feature you started with your neighbor’s kid.” Evan walked out of the store. Adil just stood there frozen and ashen white.