Life's a Beach Then You Die

by Falafel Jones

  Chapter Fourteen

  Now that I had free time, I wanted to go for a run. If I didn’t run on a regular basis, I found it to get started again. It wasn’t mentally difficult. The problem wasn’t motivation. It was physically difficult to run because my body had to get used to the heat and exertion all over again. I found it was easier to keep running than to stop and start.

  I changed into swim trunks and a T-shirt, grabbed my iPod and headed down the block, past tropical trees bearing Christmas lights, to the beach. There weren’t many people around and the beach was quiet except for the crashing of the waves. Running here always helped to clear my head and often, after running, I’d have a new perspective on things. I was hoping this would be true today, but so far, I was coming to the end of my first mile and nothing was gelling.

  I did see something though. Each block that runs west to east terminates in a wooden platform that crosses over the dunes to provide access to the beach. I was approaching the dune crossover near my sister in law’s condo and I saw a woman walking. She was leaving the beach headed for the crossover stairs that led to the street. She was slim, about five feet tall with long dark hair and wore a black two-piece bathing suit, like Mariel’s. I thought it might be her. I ran faster so I might catch her before she left the beach. It was close. She was over the crossover and almost out of sight when I caught up. When I got close enough for her to hear me, I started to call her name, but by then, I could see it wasn’t Mariel.

  I was disappointed. I slowed down and finished the rest of my run thinking about how much I missed her. I guess I must have been thinking about her without realizing it when I mistook that other woman for Mariel. After completing my four-mile roundtrip, I was back near the beachside of the dune crossover at the end of my street. I was ready to walk home, so I headed for the stairs.

  When I climbed up the weathered wooden steps, I saw my neighbor, Karl coming towards me. Many of the houses on the block are second homes to snowbirds who only occupy them a few months a year, but Karl lives here full-time. A fellow New Yorker, he understands my accent. He was carrying his fishing gear to the beach, but stopped and waited for me.

  I got to the top of the stairs and he pulled a small scrap of paper from the pocket in his sweatshirt. “Max, I saw this car parked on our street with a guy in it. He was just sitting there, not really doing anything, except maybe watching your place. At first, I thought he might have been, you know, waiting for you, but he parked too far from your house. I didn’t know what to make of it so I copied down his plate number -- in case you knew him. He was driving a blue Ford Taurus, a four-door.” Karl handed me the paper. I remembered the mail carrier commented about seeing a blue car the day of the break-in.

  “Thanks. Hey, our neighbor Ralph’s got a blue car. Look anything like his?”

  “Nah, Ralph’s got a two-door Chevy with Jersey plates. This was a four-door Ford with a Florida plate.”

  I read the number Karl wrote on the paper. “I don’t know what to make of this, don’t recognize the plate or the car, but thanks.”

  “Yeah, well, after the break-in, I thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye out for anything unusual. See you later. I’ve got to catch my dinner.”

  “Thanks. Later.” I folded the paper and stuck it inside my iPod case.

  Karl nodded and walked down towards the surf. He looked determined to get some fish. I went in the opposite direction and walked home vigilant for any blue cars on the street. I saw none.

  It’s easy for me to lose things in my pockets when I run, so I tie my house key to the drawstring on my bathing suit. After I turned into my driveway, I looked down to untie my key. I felt the first impact immediately. It threw my body and my head back so that my eyes moved up and then I saw him. I also caught a fast but close up glimpse of his face as he ran from hitting me hard with his shoulder. I felt myself fall and I saw my feet in the air in front of me. My arms waved with no control over my ability to stop. Then, I felt the second impact as my head and shoulder hit the concrete driveway.

  It seemed that only a second later I was lying on my back and I couldn’t see. My vision was black. I wasn’t sure my eyes were open or that I was even awake. After a moment or two, the center of my vision started to glow white. The glow expanded to the edges of my field of view and gradually revealed the white ceiling of an ambulance. I had no idea how long ago the man ran into me and no clue about what happened since he did. I was stiff, sore, groggy and disoriented.

  A slim, young man in a blue uniform, wearing a stethoscope and white gloves sat next me. “Mr. Fried…. Mr. Fried…. Can you hear me?”

  I turned my head in the direction of his voice and opened my eyes

  “Good. That’s good Mr. Fried. Do you know where you are?”

  I nodded.

  “Very good. Tell me where you are.”

  “Ambulance?”

  “Know how you got here?”

  “Knocked down.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Two.”

  “Very good. We’re taking you to Bert Fish. The doctor’s going to check you out.”

  I nodded and fell asleep only to feel the EMT gently tapping my cheek. “You have to stay awake.”

  I fought sleep and drifted in and out as people lifted me from a gurney onto a bed in the Emergency Room. All I could think about was how clean, fresh and stiff the sheets felt. I was in baggage mode as they handled me.

  I went back to sleep.

  I woke to a man shining a flashlight in my eyes. First one eye. Then the other. He saw I was awake and pocketed his flashlight.

  “Mr. Fried, I’m Dr. Bashouri. I understand you’ve had a fall. It appears that you’ve hit your head. Are you nauseous?”

  “No.”

  “Headache?

  “No, well slightly and… the bump hurts.”

  He nodded. “Can you sit up?

  Slowly and with effort, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and sat up. I felt woozy. I must have looked wobbly because the doctor held out his hands as if preparing to catch me should I fall. After I steadied myself, he said, “Remove your shirt please.”

  I lifted my shirt chest high and then the pain prevented me from lift my arms any higher. The doctor helped me with it and started fingering and probing my cuts and bruises. When he got to my left shoulder, he asked, “This gunshot wound. About hmm… one year old?”

  “Nine months.”

  “It seems to be healing well. You can put your shirt on, now.” He helped me get it back on and then used his flashlight to examine my eyes. “OK. Can you stand now?”

  He helped me stand up and then said, “Now, close your eyes and touch your finger to the tip of your nose.”

  I did so.

  “Yes. I see no signs of serious damage. I’d like you to rest here a little while, see if you have any new symptoms. Then, you can go home, but for the next 24 hours, I don’t want you to sleep more than two hours at a time. You may have a concussion. We want to be careful.”

  He smiled, patted my right shoulder and left. I lay down, closed my eyes and slept.

  “Fried.”

  My rest was too brief. “Detective Torres. What are you doing here?”

  “Heard it on the radio and recognized the address. Neighbor says he found you on the driveway. What happened?”

  “Someone came running out of my side yard. Knocked me down.”

  “Know who?”

  “Never saw him before, but he looked familiar. Maybe like some actor or someone I might have seen in a TV commercial. He was wearing a hard-hat and wraparound sunglasses.”

  “Sounds like one of the Village People. Maybe you saw him at the Y.” He smiled. I didn’t join him. “Too bad you didn’t have a hard-hat too. This connected to the Kenwood case? To your break-in? To anything?”

  As he talked, I heard the rapid clicking of high heels on tile. “I don’t know.” I said.

  Torres turned to his left. I couldn’t
see who was approaching from behind the curtain, but I had a good guess.

  Torres looked at Mariel’s disapproving expression then said, “OK. Call me if there’s a crime,” and quickly left. I guess he’s not as tough as I thought.

  Mariel came over to the bed and took my hand. “Max, what happened?”

  “I got knocked down. How did you know I was here?”

  “Karl called my cell right after he called the ambulance.”

  “Karl found me?”

  She nodded. “I spoke to the doctor. You can go home but you have to take it easy. You also need to wake up every two hours. You’ll come with me to my sister’s.”

  “No, I’ll go home.”

  “No, it’s not safe there.”

  “If someone is after me, it’s not safe anywhere. Besides, if someone wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be here now. I mean I’d be here now, but in the basement, not in the ER.”

  “You can’t go home alone. Someone has to be there in case you can’t wake up. I’m not going home. I don’t feel safe there.” She let go of my hand and stepped back. “Why won’t you come with me?”

  I said nothing.

  She stared at me for a few moments. In the past, she said she could tell how I felt or what was on my mind just by looking at me. Good or bad, history has supported her claim.

  “I know why you won’t come. You’re in danger. You don’t want anyone to follow you to my sister’s. You’re worried about me.”

  Silence wasn’t helping my cause, but I didn’t think speaking at this point would help me either.

  “Max, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We’re supposed to be having fun. You never should have taken this job.”

  There it was. I was waiting for that. I didn’t remind her that it was a joint decision. It would have been pointless. Instead, I offered a compromise.

  “You can phone me every two hours. If I don’t answer, you can call 911. That way, you can stay at your sister’s. I can stay home and no one will follow me where they can hurt somebody else.”

  Mariel nodded her agreement, leaned over the bed and hugged me. I hugged her back. It felt good to hold her again.