Domino

“You’re fucked.”

I looked into his grey eyes, my mind still trying to grasp that this is what he really said. I tilt my head a bit to the side, turning one ear (my better hearing one, so you know).
“Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?”

“I believe you heard me correctly. I am being straightforward with you. That’s what you asked me to do. You are fucked.” This time his gaze swept from mine back to the paperwork in front of him on the desk. His hands unclasped and he pulled one sheet from the open folder. “Your body is shutting down. Your liver is nearly cirrhosed, and your other organs are systematically shutting down. Quite frankly, I don’t know how you are able to function without other health problems. When was the last time you had a drink?”

I thought quickly – about 2o minutes ago, before coming to the office for this meeting. I had stopped off at Big J’s bar and had a beer, followed by a peppermint schnapps to help hide the smell on the breath. No way I was going to tell him this fact though. “Been at least a couple days.”

“You’re not even sure when it was, are you? I would be safe to say you probably have imbibed already today, and here it is only,” a quick glance at the clock on the wall, “11:30 in the morning. How do you keep doing this to yourself, or better yet, why?” His eyes swept back up to meet mine, but there was no way I was going to win that match. I stared down into my lap.

“So what are my options, Doc? Transplants? Meds? Extreme rehab?”

His mouth pursed into a sour taste look. “This is the part of my job I hate the most.” My heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t sounding so good. “Quite frankly, there is nothing much medically that can help you now. We can prescribe medication, but it won’t improve your situation. May help alleviate it some – remove some pain. Transplant is out of the question. I am not sure I would want to put a new liver, and possibly other organs, into you considering the way you have treated what you have now. If you were to rehab, again that would only possibly slow down the deterioration, and with meds, still would not change the final outlook.”

“So you are saying I only have so much time left?”

“In a nutshell, yes. As to how much time, medically I don’t know how to begin even to try to guess a time frame. How you have made it here, as I said before, stymies my medical knowledge. Normally I would say you could be prepared for an extended medical stay for failing organs within the next month to 6 months. How long even with life and organ support is more than likely a few weeks more. In your seeming unusual situation, my best estimate is within the next year.”

“A year, or less.” That sounded so finite. Well, hell. It is Finite. It’s an expiration period. A movie ticket that is good for a whole year, until you remember to use it and it is now January first the year after. Pay full price for that punched ticket. “According to what you are telling me, there’s nothing you or I can do to change this, right? So what exactly am I to do for this time I have left?”

“As I have told other patients, that depends on you. Many try to do things they never had time for before, or spend extra time with family. I don’t know what your means are, or familial situation. First thing I would suggest, is clean up your habits. No drinking, eating healthier, exercise, but start slowly and work up to full routines. I don’t know what more I can suggest.”

I forced my head up, and met his gaze. I could see obvious sadness in his eyes, and I felt nothing but a small ball of fury starting in the pit of my stomach. No sense in getting pissed at the delivery boy. I rubbed my chin, trying to figure out what I should do, or say. I sighed deeply, and pushed myself up from the chair.

“Thanks doc. I need to think this over.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I can recommend a person that has experience in these type of discussions.”

“No. I just need to gather my thoughts and like you said, get something planned. So for future reference, my medical condition… just go on like normal? If it’s bad, go to the ER, if not schedule an appointment?”

“Yes. That would be best. If you need that number, I will leave it with the front desk in case you call back.”

“Thanks doc.” I reach out to shake his hand, and feel a clinical coldness when he touches me. I head out the door, and stop at the front desk to pay my co-pay, then head out the door to the parking lot. ‘Maybe a year. Maybe less. I really need to figure out what I am going to do. When did this all start happening to me?’ I had many questions, of myself, and nowhere to get the answers.

My mind wandered around in circles from the ‘why me?’ point to ‘It’s your own damn fault’ and careen into ‘I don’t feel near dead’ then back to GO square. Mentally distracted I paid no attention to where I was headed, until I heard a horn honk behind me. I glanced up at the mirror and see the friendly finger motion from the driver. A swift look at the light and I see it is green, so being the nice guy I am, I wave to the driver behind and pull a right turn. I shook my head to clear it. I needed to get home before I start thinking.

At home, I cracked open a bottle of beer and plopped myself into the easy chair. After a couple swigs from the beer, I realized it was not going to be enough. I set it on the side table and returned to the kitchen. The scotch was on top of the fridge. I never figured out why when I am drinking I put it up there. I think it is because I am worried about the bottle breaking and if up high enough, if I am too drunk, I won’t try to get it. Never seems to work that way. I grab the glass from last night and fill it halfway. A big swallow goes down as I reach the freezer, and then remember I used the last of the ice several days ago. I reach back for the bottle, refill the cup to full and take both back to the chair.

‘Now for the pity party,’ said I to the full glass. ‘Just you and me. Nothing else to worry about, except you being alone in the near future. Right Scotch? I knew another Scotch back in school. Scotch Domino or something like that. He was weird, but you ain’t too bad.’ My mind starting dredging up memories from a life formerly linked to me, so I sat and watched them on the movie screen in my head. And drank until Scotch, and everything else, was gone.

Memory - chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was bright out this morning, but the sun was at my back as I walked down the street. It felt good to stretch the legs this way, and my mind was working overtime as the sidewalk cruised by under my heels. The main questions I had I presume a person with amnesia would normally have: Who am I? Why can’t I remember past a certain point? I quick glance around shows me I could be anywhere in the US. The license had a Santa Monica address, but it wasn’t humid enough to be there. It felt warm enough to be California, just not near the coast. My guess it wasn’t California at all. ‘Let’s take this in baby steps,’ I tell myself. ‘Find out where you are and then get some food. Priorities.’

Perfect. Ahead I see a shabby looking Waffle House. Good place for information, a paper, and food. As I push open the door, I realize by the look and smell of the place, not very many middle class people come here. Hesitating, I wonder if I should even stay, but the need for info was dire. I walk over to the counter and sit, trying not to look around. As the waitress comes over with the menu, I ask for coffee, black. Seems I remember that I like it that way at least. Without opening the menu I decide on breakfast and push the greasy flyer away.

The waitress returns with my coffee, and I place my order. Her nametag says “Tina”, but she sure doesn’t look like one – like I would know. No smile as she walks away. I must have read too many novels where they always smile at the lone guy. When she comes back with my meal, I try some small talk.

“So, Tina, what brings you to work in a place like this?” Yeah, I am smooth like that.

“Three kids and an alcoholic husband that doesn’t work, plus the fact I like to keep a roof over my head. What the fuck do you care?” Now I get a pissed off look as she walks away. I decide my quest for info is going to have to go somewhere else. I finish eating and leave enough to cover the bill.

Stepping outside I see a newspaper stand. Through the glass I can see that it is Thursday, July 17th and I am in the delivery area of the Arizona Republic. Now I can see why it is so hot, and this is probably Phoenix. I glance around, and up the road yet I see something that changes my mind – Casa Grande Auto parts yard. Hmmm, let’s try south of Phoenix a ways. I poke my head back inside the Waffle House and catch Tina’s eye.

“How hard to get a cab here?”

“Where ya headed that ya need a cab? Most everything is in walking distance.”

“Need to get to the bus depot.”

“Might as well walk it. Two miles back the way you come from. It is quicker than trying to get a cab over this side of town.”

I nod my thanks and start heading back the way I had been from. Now I had part of a destination in mind, where should I go from there? I flipped through the wallet to see if there were any numbers I could call, but the ID card and cash was all it contained. Who was the guy that called me earlier? How did I get in touch with him? I looked up just as I was passing the hotel I had been at. Quickly I walked in the door.

“Back for another night?” asks the desk clerk.

“No, actually, has housekeeping been through my room yet? I forgot a duffle bag in there. Could I run up and get it?”

“Housekeeping don’t start for another hour. I suppose I could let you up real quick. Here’s the key.”

I pick up the key and head out the door. I am feeling like I need to rush, but I don’t know why. Maybe it is just eagerness to try my idea. The door opens nicely. I scan the room and see the duffle lying where I left it. A quick look verifies what I thought – empty. I sit on the bed, and rest my face in my hands. I need to figure out someone that can help me fill in some blanks desperately. Outside the door, I hear a payphone ring. After several rings, I wonder if I should go pick it up or not. Then I got a hot flash.

My eyes riveted over to the room phone. I pick it up and hit redial. Several beeps go off – too long to be a local call. Can’t tell if international or long distance though. Like I would know the difference I think… maybe I would. On the other end it starts to ring, and my heart starts to beat faster. Four, five rings. On the seventh ring, I hear it pick up.

Memory - Prologue - Chap 1

It all happened so fast. I have no idea where it came from, but I sure know where it ended up. Against my forehead, nice and cold. I could almost feel the emptiness of the barrel. I uncrossed my eyes from looking at the gun, and slid my sight down the barrel. ‘Nice black finish,’ I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. ‘Extended barrel; revolver; my guess would be a .357. And they’re not using hollow points.’ Now my view had reached the gunman’s, and I could see the uncertainty in his eyes; it was there, flickering in and out with fear and rage.

“Well, hombre. You and me here. What ya gonna do?” I asked slowly. I tried to keep my voice from breaking, and in the back of my head, the rest of me was trying to keep from releasing my bladder. I was always told to play tough if this were to ever happen. Be tough. Stay on topic. Confuse the shooter, then defuse the situation. Almost like every cop negotiation seen on TV. Things aren’t always that easy though. I should know. I was the one with the gun against my head.

“So exactly why are you holding this gun against my head? Do I know you?”

“YOU know what you did. And I’m a gonna put one in you to stop you from taking from me again!” His eyes are getting beady, and I can see the sweat starting to form on his forehead. I haven’t much time left. I slowly raise my left hand, and his eyes dart back and forth between it and my face. I start to reach into my jacket –

“Don’t do it! I will shoot you dead.” The sweat has begun to run down the sides of his face. The crappy long sideburns he has doesn’t stop them at all. I watch a drop drip off his chin.

“C’mon, boy. You don’t want it to end this way. Let me show you my wallet, por favore.” His eyes glance to my hand again, and I slowly slide it in my jacket. “We gonna end this just fine,” I say softly. His gaze switches back to my eyes. More sweat drips off his face. “Just watch,” I croon softly to him, “this!!”

At that moment I kick out, smashing the inside of his knee. The sound of the dislocation is huge in the quiet interior. I fling out and up my left hand, brandishing a collapsible baton. In smooth motion my arm deflects the gunman’s aim, and the baton slides open to slam against his forehead. Moving quickly I squat and leg sweep what is left of his right leg out, and the body falls to the floor. Before he can open his eyes, and start to scream from the pain, I am standing on his gun hand, and tapping his check with the baton.

“Now then, shall we say, you owe me an explanation?” I coyly ask. He starts screaming and trying to grab his shattered knee. “Tut, tut. No manners.” I reach down for his revolver, and spin the chamber to make sure it is full. A snap of the wrist closes it, and I cock it, pointing at his head. “One last try, Amigo?”

Stifling a scream, he looks into my eyes, and I see the fear running rampant now. Sweat is pouring off his face, mixed with tears of pain. “They told me you was coming. They told me to stop you. I would get lots of money and my family would not be hurt if I stopped you. Let me go. I won’t tell them you are coming still.” The shakes take over his body for a moment, and I pondered what I should do.

We’ve all seen the movies, and the movies are almost always right. If I let him go, as soon as I turn to leave he will miraculously get a gun and shoot me in the back; or he will try, and I will turn and shoot him first. Either way he is dead, and I am slightly wounded, or maybe free from harm. But you always have to get the info from them first. So I needed info, then get rid of him. Some other way around this? Hmmm….

“No habla senor. I don’t know who “they” are, or why they want to off me. Do you?”

“I know nothing. I only want to protect my family from them. They are bad men. Please help me!”

“I sure will help you, muy amigo.”

“Oh, thank you, sir! Thank –“ The report of the pistol echoes briefly. I collapse the baton, replacing it in my pocket. I start to search his body until I find the wad of cash. Looks to be several hundred, and that goes into my pocket as well. I toss the pistol on the chest of the dead man lying on the floor. I never clean up the mess.

Chapter One

Someone always has questions in which no one will ever have the answer. Trust me, I know all about it. I am that guy. I searched for solutions in places a normal person would never dream of being. Studied religions and doctrines from around the world. Noting comes close to the answers I seek. People tell me God will answer them – and I ask them, then where is God. No man wants to wait for his death, and have his answer told then, if wins the lucky flip of the coin as to where his soul goes. If man has a soul. I know I don’t.

I look in the mirror and see a face that never seems to age. There is a haunting, flickering going on in my eyes as I study this visage. The water running in the sink starts steaming, so I bend over and rinse my face. Nothing feels better than to be clean after I have had to protect myself. That’s my full-time occupation: protecting myself. Has been for years, but I still do not know why or from what. It all started that day back years ago, when I woke up to the sound of waves …

… crashing on the beach. I was laying somewhere comfortable. I felt warm. I did a quick body check, and everything felt okay, so I slowly opened my eyes. It is dark out. I sit up partially, and a blanket falls down my chest. I am in a bed somewhere. Glancing around I see a radio on the bedside, where the sounds are coming from. I hit the off switch and swing my legs out of the bed. I see a faint outline on the wall that I assume is the door.

“Light switches are usually next to them,” I say to myself. I reach out and feel along the wall, until I reach it. The overhead light comes on. Sitting back on the bed I realize I am in some hotel room. From the phone, it looks like I am in the US, but I don’t recognize the area code off hand. I try to remember what I was doing, but nothing comes to mind prior to waking up just now. Realizing I am naked, I look for some clothes, or luggage, and find a duffle with one change of clothes in it. I quickly dress, finding the boots by the bed.

In the process of putting on the boots, I stop motionless as I hear the phone ring. A glance at it helps not at all, as only the message light flashes with each ring. I debate internally whether I should answer or not, after all, I have no clue as to where I am. Matter of fact, it dawns on me I don’t even know what my name is. Finally, curiosity wins out and I pick up the handset.

At first there is no noise. Then I hear a click of a disconnection. I place the handset back in the cradle and stare at the phone debating if this is a good thing to have happened, or should I be kissing my ass goodbye about now. After a few seconds, it begins to ring again. I pick it up on the third ring.

“Finally you answered. What the hell took you so long?” It was a man’s voice, but it rang no bells in my memory. I decide to play it safe.

“I was in the bathroom. You know – doing the duty. What’s up?”

“I’m telling you now, I am clean of all this crap. This is the last time I expect you to walk into my life.” The man is getting uptight and tense sounding. I still can’t put a name or face to the voice. “Don’t ever come around here again. Your carry items are in the drawer under the phone. There’s enough money to take a bus far from here. What you do the rest of your life, I don’t care.”

I quickly open the drawer and see a wallet, comb, handkerchief and crisp $100 bills lying there. Looks to be almost $1000 in cash. No keys or change. “So you just want me to leave here?” I ask, stalling for time, or information.

“Yes. Don’t try to contact me again after this time. I have washed my hands of you. You are nothing but evil incarnate walking the earth, and you drag your minions around killing everything you touch. I am marked for life, as you know, John.”

John? Is that my name? I grab the wallet and open it to a California ID card. Name reads John Doe. I don’t recognize the address but it is somewhere in Santa Monica – my guess probably fake as the name. I start the push for info. “Where am I? Who is this?”

“C’mon John. It’s always the same with you. You specifically told me to put you where you are, and to give you this call at this time. What you do now, and what you remember is all up to you. After this last time, I am not doing this anymore. You are on your own. I will help with one extra bit of info for you though…. After you pay the hotel bill, and you turn to the door and face the street. Turn right and start walking. That’s the direction of the bus terminal several miles down the road, and the best direction for you to get the hell away from me.” Slam! The dial tone comes back on, so I reluctantly hang up. I put the items in my pockets and do a quick walk-thru of the room to see if there is anything I forgot. Nothing worth taking. I even leave the duffle bag. I head towards the office, blinking in the mid-morning sun.

Walking into the office I smile at the guy at the desk. We settle up the bill – seems I was here only one day. I ask directions to the bus depot, and he points down the street, saying it just a couple miles. I walk out the door, and head the opposite way, pondering what the hell is going on with me.