The cab ride to St. Mary's Hospital felt like traveling through molasses. Every red light stretched into eternity, every turn took them further from where Charley needed to be.
Lucky had somehow squeezed into his jacket again, a warm reminder that life had been simple just hours ago.
'This morning I was worried about rent money,' Charley thought, watching the city blur past through rain-streaked windows. 'Now I'm racing to save my mother's life.'
St. Mary's loomed ahead like a fortress of fluorescent lights and human suffering. Charley paid the driver with his last twenty and ran through the sliding doors, Lucky clinging to his chest like a furry life preserver.
He found his father in the cardiac wing waiting room, slumped in a plastic chair that had probably witnessed a thousand family crises.
David Dunst looked like he'd aged ten years since breakfast—his usually neat hair disheveled, his work shirt wrinkled, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped a coffee cup like it was keeping him anchored to reality.
"Dad?"
David looked up, and Charley saw true fear in his father's eyes for the first time in his life.
"Thank God you're here." David stood and pulled him into a hug that felt desperate. "She's been asking for you every ten minutes."
"How is she? What did the doctors say?"
"She has a 90% blockage in her main artery. They need to do emergency surgery—angioplasty with a stent. But…" David's voice cracked.
"We can't afford it, son. Eighteen thousand five hundred dollars upfront. Insurance won't pre-authorize it for days, and she doesn't have days."
Charley's blood went cold. Eighteen and a half thousand dollars. For his parents, it might as well be eighteen million.
"What happens if we can't pay?"
"They transfer her to county hospital. Put her on a waiting list." David's hands trembled as he set down his coffee. "Dr. Martinez says delays in cases like this… they significantly increase the risk of fatal complications."
The weight of it hit Charley like a physical blow. His mother was going to die because they couldn't afford to save her.
Unless…
"Can I see her?"
"Room 314. But Charley…" David grabbed his arm. "Don't let her see how scared you are. She's trying to stay strong for us."
Room 314 was a sterile box of beeping machines and antiseptic smells. His mother, Margaret Dunst, lay connected to monitors that tracked every heartbeat like they were counting down to something terrible.
She looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, her usually vibrant face pale against the white pillows. But when she saw him, her eyes lit up with the same warmth that had gotten him through every childhood crisis.
"There's my boy," she whispered, reaching out with a hand that trembled slightly.
Charley took her hand, surprised by how cold it felt. "Hey, Mom. You know you don't have to do all this just to get me to visit more often."
She laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "Always the smart mouth. That's my son."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck driven by my own heart." She squeezed his hand. "But better now that you're here."
They talked for twenty minutes about nothing important—Lucky the cat, the weather, his father's terrible hospital coffee. Normal conversation that felt precious because it might not be normal much longer.
When Dr. Martinez appeared in the doorway, Charley felt his mother's hand tighten around his.
"Dr. Martinez," she said. "This is my son, Charley."
Dr. Martinez was a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and the bearing of someone who delivered difficult news professionally. She shook Charley's hand with a grip that was both gentle and firm.
"Mr. Dunst, I've already discussed your mother's condition with your father. I'm sure he's explained the urgency of the situation."
"The surgery costs eighteen thousand five hundred," Charley said. "What are our options for payment?"
"I've spoken with our financial coordinator. Without insurance pre-authorization, we need payment before we can proceed. If you can arrange that tonight, we can take her into surgery within the hour."
Charley checked his phone: 11:31 PM. The card had reset this morning when he paid rent. He couldn't use it again until midnight—29 minutes from now.
'This is exactly what the card is for,' he thought. 'This is why it appeared. Not for rent money or cat food, but for this. For saving the person who matters most.'
"Give me until midnight," Charley said. "I'll have your answer by midnight."
Dr. Martinez checked her watch. "That's thirty minutes. Can you really arrange that kind of money that quickly?"
"Yes," Charley said with more confidence than he felt. "I can."
At exactly midnight, Charley walked to the hospital's business office. A tired-looking clerk named Janet sat behind bulletproof glass, reluctantly reopening her computer.
"I need to arrange payment for Margaret Dunst's emergency angioplasty," he said.
Janet pulled up the file and frowned at her screen. "That's $18,500 total. How would you like to handle payment?"
"Credit card."
"I'm afraid we have a problem, Mr. Dunst." Janet's expression turned apologetic. "Our entire payment processing system is down. Has been for the last hour. Some kind of network-wide glitch affecting all the card readers."
Charley's blood turned to ice. "What does that mean?"
"It means we can only accept cash payments right now. The IT department says they don't know when the system will be back online."
"Cash? For eighteen thousand dollars?"
"I know it's unusual, but…" Janet spread her hands helplessly. "Without the payment system working, there's no way to process cards of any kind."
Panic flooded Charley's chest like ice water. He had the Divine Black Card, but it was useless if the hospital couldn't process electronic payments.
"How long until the system's fixed?"
"Could be hours. Could be days. They really don't know."
"My mother needs surgery now. Tonight."
"I understand your urgency, sir, but without payment authorization, the hospital can't proceed."
Charley stood there, staring at the black card in his hand—unlimited money rendered completely useless by a computer glitch.
'There has to be somewhere I can get cash,' he thought desperately.
"Is there a bank nearby? An ATM that might be working?"
"There's a First National branch about six blocks north. They have 24-hour ATMs in the lobby."
"What's the daily withdrawal limit?"
"Usually $1,000, sometimes $1,500 for premium accounts."
Charley's heart sank. Even if he maxed out multiple ATMs, it would take him days to withdraw eighteen thousand in cash.
"There might be another option," Janet said quietly. "There's a check-cashing place about ten blocks away that stays open until 3 AM. They handle large cash transactions for a fee."
'A check-cashing place,' Charley thought. 'They might have higher withdrawal limits.'
"What's the address?"
Janet wrote it down. "Morrison and Eighth Street. Quick Cash Express. But Mr. Dunst—that neighborhood isn't the safest at this time of night."
Charley pocketed the address. "I'll be back with the money."
The night air hit him like a slap of reality. Ten blocks to the cheque cashing place.
On foot, through neighborhoods that got progressively worse the further he went from the hospital district.
But his mother was lying in a hospital bed with a blocked artery, and eighteen thousand five hundred dollars in cash was the only thing standing between her and surgery.
As he rounded a corner a few blocks away from his destination, a figure stumbled out of the shadows—a wiry guy in a black hoodie, moving with the unsteady gait of someone who'd spent the evening making friends with a bottle.
The man collided with Charley's shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways.
"Sorry, man," the stranger slurred, steadying himself against the wall. "Didn't see you there."
Charley caught the overwhelming smell of whiskey and poor life choices. "No problem. You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, just… celebrating, you know? Life's good." The man grinned with the loose happiness of the thoroughly drunk. "Real good."
'Celebrating like this?,' Charley thought. 'Either really good news or really bad coping mechanisms.'
"Well, be careful out here," Charley said, stepping around him.
The drunk man nodded enthusiastically and stumbled away into the darkness, humming something that might have been a song if melody wasn't involved.
Charley watched him go, shaking his head. He took a few more steps toward the entrance before a thought made him stop cold.
Something felt wrong. Off. Like when you're sure you're forgetting something important but can't remember what.
His hand moved instinctively to his back pocket.
Empty.
'No,' he thought, panic beginning to build. 'No, no, no…'
He checked his other pocket. His jacket pockets. Even patted down Lucky's hiding spot in case his wallet had somehow migrated.
Nothing.
His wallet was gone.
And inside that wallet, tucked behind his driver's license and maxed-out credit cards, was the Divine Black Card!
Charley's eyes widened as he stared down the dark street where the drunk man had disappeared.
"Son of a bitch," he whispered.