THE BLIND MAN

One blind black man with white hair like dandelion snow. One cup of coffee, black. One jangling cash register. One more opportunity for injustice at the Jefferson County Hall of Justice.

“A coffee,” says the customer in front of Jason as he hands the cashier a crisp new bill.

“Out of one?” the blind man asks.

Suddenly Jason realizes this customer he’s behind could cheat the blind man easily, if he wanted to—and had the nerve. Jason wonders if he’s got the nerve himself, though there’s no way that he, a bartender, would rip off the blind guy, even for a few dollars. What kind of low life does that. Still, it would be so easy. All the guy in line has to do is tell the blind man that the one-dollar bill is a five. How will a sightless cashier know the difference.

If he is only legally, rather than totally blind, he might try to hold the bill up to the light, squinting, trying to make out the denomination. Even then, his vision’s probably no better than 20/200, which means at twenty feet he can see what a person with 20/20 vision sees at 200 feet.

Hell, this blind man might be so impaired he can hardly tell light from dark. Only one way to find out. Will the guy in front of Jason take the chance.

The dude, who’s wearing a tie and a white shirt, looks around anxiously. He’s probably a lawyer, Jason figures, though he could just as easily be a defendant. But who says lawyers are any better than anyone else anyway. Jason’s got the idea in his head that some trial lawyers are like jet pilots who can’t wait for that next adrenaline rush. If this one gets caught, he can always claim it was a mistake, right. He just looked at the bill wrong. Who’s going to dispute him—the blind man? Jason?

Well, hell yeah. The very idea of putting one over on the blind man offends Jason. But it fascinates him, too. What is this dark side of himself that’s presenting itself. And of all places, here at the Hall of Justice, where he is about to exercise his duty as a citizen in a matter of justice. Jason’s seen a lot of weird shit in his twenty-eight years on this planet, but it seems like life just has a way of topping itself.

The hypothetical lawyer’s next to last in line, with only Jason in a position to see what’s going on. All the other customers are focused on their doughnuts and their coffee. They’re not paying attention at all. Still, the would-be thief hesitates. Does he have the balls to do this. Jason waits, the suspense killing him, to see what the guy will do. Of course, he realizes it might all just be in his imagination. But then the guy glances back over his shoulder and Jason notices a worried gleam in his eye. Is he checking to see if Jason’s paying attention. To calculate the odds of Jason giving him up.

“Out of one,” the man says.

Jason sighs, the way he might after seeing someone almost step off the curb in front of a bus. He’s convinced that a moral bullet has been dodged here. Should he tell the blind man what he suspects. Nah, no harm, no foul. While he believes that intention matters—a lot, in fact—it’s what you do that counts in the end. Jason hopes St. Peter will see it the same way. The thought makes him smile. He hasn’t seen the inside of a church in years. Still, ethics matter. He believes this. It’s why he’s here.

Now it’s Jason’s turn to pay, and there’s absolutely no question of cheating, especially since he’s paying the blind man with quarters, four of them. Not even a blind man is going to mistake quarters for some other coin. Coffee is dirt cheap at a buck here, which only makes the lawyer’s theoretical dalliance more despicable. Jason assumes it’s the equivalent of morning happy hour, a way to shoehorn in more business.

What would people think, Jason suddenly wonders, if they could read my mind. They would think I was flipped out for sure. Would they condemn me for my thoughts. Or smile because they’re in on the joke. People are hard to figure. That’s a lesson Jason’s learned from bartending. Anyone might cheat you, and then turn around and give you a big tip. Maybe that’s why Jason pulls out two more quarters and drops them into the blind man’s tin tip cup. Tips are how he makes a lot of his living, too.

At this moment, feeling virtuous and oddly relieved, Jason senses someone’s eyes appraising him, and he looks up with his own guilty eyes to see a woman across the room staring at him.

“Jason? Jason Delahanty?” she calls.

She’s sitting at one of the small tables by the window on a stainless-steel chair, with one spectacular leg crossed over the other, her hand wrapped around a foam cup. Her hair is fiery auburn, and she looks just like she did back in high school, maybe better.

“Phoebe? Phoebe Snyder?”

She smiles and waves. He goes over.

“When I saw it was you, I got all excited,” she says.

Jason’s grin widens. He’s never had that effect on her before. She hardly paid any attention to him back in high school.

“How long has it been? You look great,” Phoebe says.

He’s pretty sure she doesn’t mean his chinos and least wrinkled shirt, so what does she mean? The thought makes him shiver.

“You’re the one who looks great,” he says.

They lock eyes. Hers are still green. Maybe greener than a decade ago, when she was a senior. And yet there’s something sad about her, as if life hasn’t measured up to her expectations.

“What are you doing here, Phoebe?”

“My job. I’m a process server for the sheriff’s office. What about you?”

“Jury duty.”

“Couldn’t get out of it, huh?” she says, with that naughty expression he remembers so well. Not that it was ever directed at him, of course. But it is now.

“Why would I want to get out of it?”

“Lots of people do.” She hasn’t lost the knack of keeping him off-balance. “Jason Delahanty. Oh, my God. I can’t believe it’s you. We all had some wild times back in the day.”

None come to mind, but Jason nods just the same

She touches his sleeve. “Gosh, it’s great running into you like this. I never get to see any of the old crowd anymore.”

Phoebe mentions several names. But he was never part of the old crowd and doesn’t know what’s happened to any of them. After a moment of this, he glances at his watch, not wanting to be late back to court. He notices the blind man is rearranging his merchandise, and the thought of cheating him crosses Jason’s mind again. Then he realizes Phoebe has asked him a question.

“Am I married? No. How about you? You and Steve still together?

“Steve who?” Phoebe says, tossing her hair.

“I always thought the two of you would end up together ever-after. Everybody did.”

“Well, everybody was wrong. It’s ancient history.” Phoebe checks her watch. “Well, it’s been great seeing you.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

She gets up and turns to go, but pauses and looks back, way back, as if an idea

has just come to her across the fields of time. “Want to get together later for a drink?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Jason says.

Phoebe names a place on Bardstown Road and leaves. Jason laughs. It’s where he works. He can’t wait to see her face when he tells her.

*

Before leaving the Hall of Justice, he puts the red plastic badge identifying him as Juror 124 in his pocket, like the judge said to as a way of protecting his identity. Considering the criminal bent of his thoughts today, Jason wonders if perhaps he needs even more protection, if only from himself.

At 5:30, he’s waiting for Phoebe at the Big Cheese Bar & Grille, where happy hour is well-advanced. He’d been surprised when she chose it. He would’ve expected some dim downtown joint. Maybe she was just hungry or wanted to get away from her workplace.

Five minutes after he grabs a booth, she makes her entrance. Every man in the place notices. She sits across from him. For happy hour, as Jason well knows, there’s no server. After finding out what Phoebe wants to drink, he steps behind the bar and mixes a frozen strawberry margarita for her. It’s today’s three-dollar drink special. He pours himself a hoppy draft beer, drops some bills on the counter, and brings the drinks back to the booth

“You seem to really be making yourself at home here,” she says as he slides in beside her.

“What makes you say that?”

“You sneaky bastard. You’re a bartender?”

Jason grins. “Only part-time. Three nights a week. I’m also a college student.”

“Ah. What are you studying?”

“I’m taking general courses until I figure it out. But I know I don’t want to bartend for the rest of my life.”

“I get that. You need to love what you do. I do.”

“But isn’t serving papers dangerous?” he says.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a rush.”

For a moment, Jason remembers the lawyer from the canteen.

“How’d it go today?” Phoebe asks.

“Swell. Got picked for the jury. I’m excited.”

She stirs her margarita. “Really? Sounds like you could use a little more excitement in your life.”

“Better than waiting all day in the jury pool.”

“Anything would be.”

Jason tells her what the judge about the jury’s work being important. That even if they just sat there all day, they were making justice possible.

“There’s no justice, Jason. Don’t you know that?”

“I know the legal system seems overwhelmed.”

“Tell me about it. I see it every single day.”

“But it’s still my duty as a citizen—”

“Tell me about your court case,” Phoebe interrupts.

“I can’t. The judge warned us not to.”

“Oh, don’t be such a goody-goody. Why, at this very moment, I’ll bet some of your fellow jurors are talking their fool heads off about it.”

“If I told you, and the judge found out, what do you think would happen?”

“He might hold you in contempt. Maybe throw out the case. But don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

Pressing them together, Phoebe leans over and kisses him.

*

Back at Jason’s place off Barrett Avenue, she pulls out a joint and smiles at his surprise. They’ve both changed since high school. He takes her lighter and flicks it. She puts her hand on his and takes a long toke.

“Nice apartment,” she exhales.

Only four rooms, but he’s proud of every one of them, including the paintings he’s hung up. What’s she been doing for the past ten years? Drifted from job to job, she says, until getting hired at the sheriff’s office, where she’s worked for the last three years.

“That’s great.” He wonders what she’s doing here. Clearly, a bartender’s life is no rush.

“Where are you living these days?”

“I’m crashing with my sister temporarily.”

He hands her a glass of his best Chianti. “Didn’t know you had one.”

“She’s older than me.”

“Not as pretty, I’ll bet.”

Phoebe’s eyebrows lift. A roguish smile plays about her lips. Soon, Jason’s bed is groaning. Phoebe is an inferno. Her skin is scorching. Jason has dreamed of this ever since the time in high school when she showed up at the Crescent Hill pool without her boyfriend, the quarterback, who was away at a college football camp. She had confided about being lonely and depressed because her grades wouldn’t get her the scholarship she needed to go with her boyfriend in the fall. Jason tried to comfort her, resulting in their one and only kiss.

“Do you think people are basically honest, or dishonest?”

Phoebe gives him a puzzled look, as if to say, Is this really your best pillow talk, big fellah?

“Say there was an opportunity to cheat a blind man out of some money. How many people out of ten do you think would do it?”

“Are we talking about that blind man at the courthouse, the one who runs the canteen?” She points out that it’s one of the busiest buildings in the state, with maybe 10,000 people passing through it every day, many of them felons. Some were bound to have tried.

“But how many out of 10,000?”

Sighing that math was never her best subject, Phoebe nevertheless has a revelation. “You’ve been thinking about doing it, haven’t you, Jason.”

“You must’ve been better at psychology.”

“I’m right that you’ve been thinking about it then.”

“Okay, you got me. But I wouldn’t do it. I mean, it’s just wrong. Besides, imagine the humiliation if you got caught. You might even go to jail. Could you face that?”

She smiles. “Maybe. Sounds like a hell of a rush.”

*

Next day in court while the attorneys argue obscure legal points, Jason can’t stop thinking about Phoebe and the blind man. At noon, he drops by the canteen for a cup of coffee. While paying the blind man, he asks if anybody ever tried to take advantage of him.

“Rip me off because I’m blind, you mean? Why, ae you thinking about trying?”

Jason laughs nervously. “No, of course not. Just curious.”

“Yeah, well it happens. Eight or ten times a year, I’d say.”

“That often? Wow. Look, if some guy ripped you off, would you know him if he came back again?”

“Well, I’d know his voice. And his height,” the blind man says.

“How can you tell how tall someone is if you can’t see him?”

“By where their voice is coming from. I'm pretty good at it. For instance, I’d say you're five-eleven.”

“Five-eleven and a half, actually.”

The blind man chuckles and says he usually knows when someone is trying to cheat him.

“If it’s not a twenty, most of the time I can tell by the feel of the bill. Ones get more use than other bills. They feel soft. Twenties stay crisp. And when someone is trying to put something over on you, their voice usually gets higher, and their sentences shorter. They’re nervous. If I take the bill and start to pull out change, they think they've gotten away with it and that’s when they come up with some overly polite thank-you. That’s when I know.”

Jason is amazed. “How do you retain any faith in humanity?”

“I'm not naive enough to think that everybody who comes in here is going to be honest. I know I’ve had some people cheat me. But most of my customers are my friends. They look out for me.”

Jason looks around while taking his coffee over to a table. Only he and the blind man are in the canteen.

*

That night as Jason lies beside Phoebe, inhaling her perfume—My Sin, an older brand that seems ideal for her—she brings up the subject of stealing from the blind man, saying, “I could get away with it.”

 Appalled by how tempted she is, he tries to talk her out of it, mentioning morality and shame and everything else he can think of. Finally, he reaches the bottom line. “You might get caught.”

“I wouldn’t, though,” she says.

Jason doesn’t know how to answer her. But when she pulls him closer and rolls him over onto his back, he stops trying.

*

In court for a third day, Jason learns that the trial must continue because the attorneys have failed to settle the case. All morning and afternoon, he listens to testimony. He finds it hard to concentrate as his thoughts stubbornly return to Phoebe and the harebrained scheme he’s half put her up to. Why did he ever say anything about it.

 Twice during recesses, he buys coffee. No sign of her. Jason hopes she’s given up the notion. At four o’clock, the judge calls a halt to the proceedings and instructs everyone to return tomorrow. On his way out, Jason sees Phoebe going into the canteen. By the time he gets there, she’s chatting and handing the blind man a bill. As soon as he puts it in the till, Phoebe says, “That was a twenty I gave you.”

Jason knows it wasn’t. But the blind man, despite his caginess, hasn’t noticed that her voice is in a higher register, or that she seems nervous. There’s still time to call Phoebe on it, but if Jason does, he’ll surely lose this fabulous sexual treat that has fallen into his lap like a ripe red apple. As the blind man starts counting out her cash, Jason sees Phoebe is going to get away with it, and something sours in his stomach.

 “Hey, wait a minute he says,” and takes a deep breath. “That wasn’t a twenty you gave him. You’ve made a mistake.”

So have you, Phoebe’s look tells him, but she hands the money back.

© 2025 Rick Neumayer

“The Blind Man” was first published in 2016 in in Drunk Monkeys and will appear in the forthcoming THREE FOGGY MORNINGS: Stories by Rick Neumayer. If you like this one, I’d love to hear from you.