The Good, the Bad, and the Eddy Delfuego

Eddy Delfuego arrived in the world at 8:13 am on a Monday. Precisely at that moment, good angel #111 smiled from above. At the same time, from far below, bad angel #57 snickered. Now that you know their names, we may abbreviate or use only their numbers as the story unfolds.

Anyhow, simultaneously the assignment parchments of both angels displayed a single name: Eddy Delfuego.

Now the funny thing about good angels and bad angels is that everybody had a job to do. These two had competed for souls before, and the rivalry favored good with an impressive record of 121 saves and 10 losses. So, they were used to each other. They knew each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and tactics. And because this is a writing contest with a very specific prompt, what follows defines the exact moment when their rivalry began, at least for the purposes of this story.

At any rate, according to the rules, good and bad met in the middle, where it was neither perfect nor imperfect—it was just the middle.

“You’re gonna lose this time,” said 57.

“I don’t think so.”

“No, why not?”

“Because the kid was born into a good family.”

“Define good.”

“They’re Italian. Lots of faith,” said 111.

“Delfuego doesn’t sound Italian. It sounds more like Spanish.”

“57, I’m building the world, and I’m saying Delfuego is Italian. Stet. Do you know what stet means?”

“No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.”

“That’s right, 57. Stet is from the Latin stāre—it means to stand, or let it stand. Comprende?”

“You’re going down a rabbit hole with mixed metaphors.”

“That’s okay. I’ve got a way out.”

“What is it?” said 57.

“I’m going to ask you—who is the rooting interest here?”

“You’re going to ask me?”

“No. I’m asking you. Who is the rooting interest here?”

“What do you mean?” said 57.

“I mean, if I’m the reader, who am I rooting for?”

“Technically you’re rooting for the kid,” said 57.

“The kid who was just born?”

“Sí, Eddy Delfuego.”

“Then that means I’m going to win,” said 111.

“How do you figure?”

“Because good always wins over evil, most of the time.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“No, that’s bittersweet. Either way, it’s time to advance the story with some on-the-nose dialogue. I’ll go first with the contract, okay?”

“Okay.”

“As you well know, 57, each of us gets to use three thoughts to try and change the course of young Delfuego’s life. The thoughts must be limited to the situation at hand and cannot override his free will. Do you understand and agree?”

“Wait. First, I have a question for you, 111.”

“Proceed.”

“How many words are you targeting for this story?”

“I'm shooting for one thousand,” said 111.

“Then don’t you think three thoughts apiece are too many?”

“What's the word count right now?”

“Somewhere around 480.”

“I think we’re good. Thoughts go fast.”

“Alright, then let’s move to the first test. I propose eight years old, and candy theft routine five,” said 57.

“Done.”

Eddy Delfuego was eight years old and shopping with his mother at Giant Grocer. They were in the candy aisle, and Mom had just stepped away from the cart in search of those little meltable chocolate drops for her next batch of cookies.

Eddy stayed by the cart as Mom shopped, and eyed his favorite crunch bars—there they were—the shelf stacked with them—within easy grabbing distance. Nobody was looking, and all of a sudden, he sure was hungry.

Just then, 57 thought…It’s okay, Eddy. It’s just a little candy bar. They charge way too much for them anyhow, and aren’t you suddenly terribly hungry?

Eddy eyed the candy and his mouth watered. His hand shook. He was suddenly terribly hungry.

Then 111 thought…Eddy, it’s wrong to steal. And anyhow, you can ask Mom, and she might buy you one.

Having located her chocolate drops, Mom ambled back towards the shopping cart.

57 panicked.

It’s now or never, Eddy. Just take one and slip it in your pocket.

“Hey, that’s two,” said 111.

So 111 thought…Do the right thing, Eddy; you’re in charge. You can control yourself.

After a pause…

“Mom,” said Eddy. “Would you buy me one of those?”

“No, honey. I’m baking cookies this afternoon; you can have plenty of chocolate then.”

“He was this close,” said 57.

“Doesn’t matter. He did the right thing.”

“But he wasn’t happy with the outcome,” said 57.

“Nevertheless, he made the right choice,” said 111. “And now you’re down to one thought.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve still got a couple of hundred words left; I can do plenty with that.”

“Why do you insist on breaking the fourth wall?”

“What do you mean?” said 57.

“I mean, why are you so self-aware?"

“You’re only asking me that to eat into my airtime. So, I now move for twenty-five years old, and bank note routine seven.”

“Done,” said 111.

Eddy Delfuego was twenty-five years old and was working as a computer programmer for the main Giant Grocer downtown. They didn’t pay much, and the hours were long, especially when running seasonal inventory updates. It was late, and he was tired, having finished a batch of updates after troubleshooting a myriad of coding errors.

He got into his car and thought about feeding the dog as soon as he got back to his dilapidated apartment.

In front of him, an armored car had just pulled away from the building and turned onto the highway.

That’s when Eddy noticed it.

There, in his headlights, off to the side, was a thick white canvas sack. At first, he thought it was a bag of flour, but as he got closer, the words First National Bank caught his eye. He pulled the car over and got out.

There were only a few cars in the lot, and no one was in sight. He approached the bag, and poised like a kid at the cookie jar, opened it to peek inside.

The bag was full of stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills.

He stood up, looked around—again, not a soul in sight.

Well, Eddy. Now’s your chance. These people don’t pay squat. Your rent's overdue, and you know you want to ask the girl in 4A out. Take the bag, get in your car, and drive away, thought 57.

“57, that was your last thought.”

“Yeah, so what are you gonna do with yours?”

111 smiled.

“I’m over a thousand words. I’m ending the story.”