City 55

by William Pinecroft

  CITY 55

  by

  William Pinecroft

  Copyright © 2016 William Pinecroft.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be resold or given away to other people.

  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and didn’t purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For

  me

  &

  the reader

  CHAPTER 1

  THE INADEQUATE REST STOP

  CHAPTER 2

  THE DIGITAL SUN

  CHAPTER 3

  GOD’S FLESH

  CHAPTER 4

  DREAM PAIRS

  CHAPTER 5

  WHERE’S THE BEER BLACKER THAN INK?

  CHAPTER 6

  ATTENTIONAL BLINK

  CHAPTER 7

  LITTLE DEVILS BREWING MANDABATMAZ

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FOUR HORESEMEN OF TIMBER’S APOCALYPSE

  CHAPTER 9

  DROWNING IN A GLASS BOX

  CHAPTER 10

  AN UNBIASED ACCOUNT

  CHAPTER 11

  PINK LACE AND HANGOVERS

  CHAPTER 12

  PEE CARPET

  CHAPTER 13

  84%

  CHAPTER 1

  THE INADEQUATE REST STOP

  The bag was anything but ordinary to the man on his knees. It was black. It was suffocating. It was now his prison. It didn’t matter though, because the man didn’t matter anymore.

  ****

  Charlie couldn’t decide if the prospect of the day excited him or intimidated him. At one point in his life, he would have been excited. At another, he couldn’t have cared less. Now, he found himself pondering the meaning of life with all its nonsense. He couldn’t explain what brought this on or why such thoughts consumed him. In the past, he’d been content to let the flow be his guide, indifferent to what happened around him or who entered his life. If he was happy, that was justification enough.

  Some would say, tricking yourself to not care is ideal. Others might say, it’s a coping mechanism to filter what you can’t handle. For Charlie, it may have been a bit of both and a way to avoid worrying over things beyond his control. Lately, this approach was failing, and he found himself increasingly disaffected with the world. It wasn’t the people, but more the way in which people had become, their passions now devoted to that which was expected. He couldn’t shake it. It had become consuming.

  These despondent thoughts tumbled through his brain while Charlie stared up at the ceiling to find an answer. He sat there, disheveled from having just woken up, boxers around his ankles and his brain fuzzy from last night’s six-pack. If only he could remain here in this spot, safe from the afternoon drizzle beyond his window. He finally summoned the strength to conclude his reflections, signaling the end with a hearty flush of the toilet. Charlie jumped to his feet in defiance of this mounting despair. He would take control of the day, external factors be damned. Triumphantly he planted his feet, the master of his destiny, a master that fell face first into the bathroom wall.

  “Fuck!”

  Charlie yanked at his boxers as he struggled to his knees, rubbing his forehead to dull the throbbing pain. He gripped the countertop, fearful that his pounding head was a foretelling of the day. He looked into the bathroom mirror, examining his face and pulled at the skin around his neck. He had slacked off the last couple of years. Charlie had managed to put on a few pounds, which had begun to show ever so slightly around his chin. It wasn’t that he was lazy. In fact, he was anything but. It just hadn’t mattered to him for a while to take care of himself. He was preoccupied with other things that seemed more relevant. It wouldn’t take long for Charlie to get back to his old self. That’s what he told himself, at least. He just needed something to push him, to make him want to change.

  Normally, Charlie might take the time to sit and reflect while cooking the latest concoction touted by a magazine or aired on TV. He was relentless with experimentation, searching for the next combination of flavors. He carried a little notebook preserved in his back pocket, laden with scribbles and notes describing new ingredients and how each could offset or accentuate another. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time today, so a quick bowl of oatmeal was all he managed and then off to the hospital.

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “Afternoon, Charlie.”

  “Sup bro.”

  Charlie nodded and smiled at each person as he strode down the side hallway next to the emergency room. Despite being in a shambled state of affairs at times, especially during his philosophical musings on the toilet, Charlie was all business now. His close-cropped brown hair was kept neat to uphold a professional persona. He walked confidently in the hospital, much more so than in other aspects of his life. He was average height, but the confidence seemed to add a few inches. He always had a pleasant, inviting look on his face and his demeanor welcomed human interaction, but if you asked him, he would rather be left alone in his apartment. He opened his locker. Each item had its place. Every piece of equipment was on exhibit before him. Unlike the depths of his apartment closet, his shirts remained pressed and hung here.

  “Charlie, we’re on shift together tonight,” said Paul, one of his fellow paramedics.

  Charlie popped his head out for a moment and nodded. He ducked back in, intent on his daily inspection.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve been paired up. I gotta say, I’ll rest easy tonight. You’re on primary. I’ll back you up all night.”

  “Whatever you need,” said Charlie. “I’m here to get the job done.”

  “Last night I had that new guy, what’s his name? Fred or Frank or whatever. Doesn’t matter. A certifiable lunatic. The guy is a nut job. Every time there was call on the radio, he’d start shaking. The more blood the better. And action. He couldn’t help himself. I felt on edge the entire time. My nerves ain’t made for that kinda stress. I’m delicate. I need my Charlie there.”

  “Like I said, I’m here to get the job done.”

  “I know you are and I appreciate it. I do. The others do too. So don’t be volunteering for another shift like you did last month.”

  “I’m not. Night shift is good to me. I’m pretty zapped though. Been on five days straight now, since Wednesday. I can’t wait for the next couple days off. I gotta recharge.”

  “At least it ain’t Friday.”

  Charlie nodded.

  Friday and Saturday nights were big business in the paramedic community. All forms of idiots and drugs or idiots with drugs, found their merry way out onto the streets of San Francisco, a city that was perpetually alive with something to offer no matter what one’s inclination. The sheer diversity that littered the streets was astounding.

  Charlie jumped up front in the ambulance. The driver hit the gas, tested the siren, and sped off into the city. Charlie gazed out onto the damp street, his forearm cooled by the touch of the window, reflecting on the sheer volume of crazy that would emerge before him. He maintained a calm alertness, outwardly relaxed but constantly surveying the passing avenues. He enjoyed the streets, an entity of its own, morphing as the night ticked by. Those nights were what kept him centered, feeling alive with purpose. It was so inviting, a life devoid of structure, rampant with spontaneity. Unfortunately, these people and the unpredictability were in sharp contrast to everything else that filled his life.

  “Tango 01, dispatch,” crackled the ambulance radio.

  Charlie grabbed the mic. “Go ahead.”

  “Code 3, l
ocation 10SEG 51775 82123, Caution Mike. Data is being streamed to your mobile data terminal at this time.” Charlie pulled up the MDT while flipping down the virtual retina display eyepiece over his right eye.

  “I’ve got the route,” said the driver.

  “Traffic lights are being reprogrammed. You’re clear, follow the routing,” Charlie said.

  “Copy.”

  Charlie focused on the trauma scene from the reported location, now displayed in his eyepiece. He keyed the intercom back to the main bay of the ambulance. “Listen up. The scene is secure. Cleaning crews are already being redirected for sanitization. Security teams have cordoned off the area. We will have immediate access to the room. We have multiple traumas. Looks like two individuals, one male, one female. The male has a poker lodged in his upper thigh, possible arterial bleeding. He is reported as being mentally unstable. Elements on scene have him restrained. The woman isn’t moving. She has a single gunshot wound to the chest.”

  The ambulance raced across San Francisco, sirens blaring. Charlie remained still as the scene unfolded before his eyes. “Paul, you’re with the female. If she’s gone, she’s gone, call time of death and move on. I’m primary on the male.” Charlie looked over at the driver. “You’re with the ambulance. Keep the back open and be ready to load.”

  “Copy.”

  The ambulance screeched to a halt. Charlie and his crew were through the main doors of the apartment building and up the stairs to the waiting emergency. They walked straight in, between two individuals that had secured the room. Paul proceeded directly to the woman that was lying in the center of the living room, a pool of blood forming beneath her. Charlie proceeded over to the man.

  “Why is this man on his knees? You’ve bagged him already?” Charlie asked the two individuals standing over the victim. They remained motionless, expressionless. “This is a medical emergency. I need to remove the bag and check his vitals,” Charlie said.

  “Negative. He’s been ruled guilty. Fix him as is. Or don’t…” responded one of the men.

  Charlie did the best he could. Amid the man’s screams, Charlie stabilized the wound, stopping the minor bleeding. If it had been arterial, the man would have died long before. Charlie administered as much morphine as was legally permissible. It was only a short respite for the man. He didn’t matter anymore. The ruling had been made regarding his guilt, condemning him to a hell Charlie had no desire to comprehend.

  Restrictions, regulations, and guidelines were the norm. They had crept into daily being, an insidious infection permeating life’s essence. It had been so long since Charlie had known something different. Occasionally, it felt as if the world had always existed within the shackles of such arbitrary rules. Freedom of expression, freedom of intelligent thought, luxuries of the distant past.

  Charlie struggled to remember a period in his life when the world had been different, had been inviting. There must have been a time devoid of the countless rules and regulations. When he was a kid, traveling around the country and across the world with his parents, life appeared more lenient. He was a child at the time, innocent; eyes wide open to the possibilities he couldn’t even comprehend. Still, there was something else off now, beyond what comes with growing up.

  Things had changed and different priorities became prevalent. Production, efficiency, and world globalization replaced diversity and cultural awareness. Efficiency meant predictable, production meant… well, it meant boring to Charlie. Everything was known. Nothing was unexpected.

  Charlie’s routine over the past week had unfortunately been just that, routine. It was finally Monday afternoon, so Charlie gathered his belongings and cycled to Bay Front Park. He appreciated this retreat by the bay, another microcosm rife with life. It was the closest he could manage to the abundance of characters that thrived during his paramedic tours. He didn’t always come here though. There were other refuges where he lived, but today was unique. He was meeting Dan, a friend of his. Charlie was teaching him to play chess with the group that hung around the park late in the afternoons. They called themselves The Pawn’s King. Charlie wondered what point they were trying to make with that title. He remained at a loss and so far, didn’t have the guts to ask.

  Dan was standing on the boardwalk with his bike between his legs, one foot up on a pedal, and the other bracing against a small concrete wall. He was drinking some sports drink, recovering from what appeared to have been an exhaustive ride.

  “Dan,” Charlie yelled, waving his hands.

  Dan looked over and without removing the bottle from his mouth, gave a nice bright smile for Charlie.

  “Charlie,” said Dan. “Good of you to make it. I just finished a great ride. I was all over the place. Marin, Berkeley, Napa, I was cruising the world. The cars seemed to part ways as I sped up. It was amazing. You know when you have those moments in life?” Dan paused to take another drink. “When you feel free, nothing matters. The wind is blowing and the rain is relentless, but nothing’s wrong because you’re here, you’re alive, you’re in the moment.”

  Charlie nodded to reassure Dan he understood, that he was the free spirited friend that could find the same rush in a simple bike ride. He wanted Dan to believe he found that enjoyment wherever he went and was able to experience that same freedom. Dan saw the best in the world, while Charlie often struggled with himself because he could not. Truth of the matter was that Charlie had lost that lust and didn’t know how to get it back. Dan chuckled as they met, giving Charlie a high five.

  “What’s with the getup?” said Charlie.

  “What? This body is cold rolled steel,” said Dan. “I can’t contain it. It is what it is.”

  “I get the bike shorts. But purple with pink stripes?”

  “You don’t like?”

  “I wouldn’t wear it.”

  “Well, how do I say this?” Dan paused for a moment. “You’re white. You’d look kinda gay in this.”

  Charlie couldn’t argue with that. He was white. Dan and Charlie were similar in some respects but so very different in others. Dan’s exuberance and hunger for all things physical matched Charlie’s passion, whether for food, for his friends, or for his work. Like Charlie, Dan’s work ethic was uncompromising. And in the same sense, so were his values. He sought adventure and the freedom to roam the city. He was a handsome guy but managed to maintain a confident humility. There was always a bounce in his step, as if he expected something great around every corner. He never slouched, but rather stood in anticipation of what was next. The world for Dan was an endless sea of experiences and sensations that he was allowed to partake in. He looked upon everyone and everything with the expectation there was something in all things that could make him better. He stood a couple inches taller than Charlie and maintained a fitness regime rivaled only by professional athletes.

  Dan and Charlie locked their bikes to a bike rack near a set of tables overlooking the bay. “Charlie, make sure no one steals this. I had her tuned up yesterday, and she was smoking today. I couldn’t stop her if I tried.”

  Charlie was setting up the pieces on the table but nodded anyway. “You bet.” With that, they sat down for the game. “All right Dan, don’t pretend you don’t understand. I know you do. You sandbag every time.”

  “Charlie, I got it. We have the rooks, the bishops, the knights, these little guys,” he said pointing to the row of pawns. “Her hotness the Queen and of course, Big Daddy.”

  “At least this time you admit you know which piece is which.”

  The two began to play. Pawn to e4, pawn to e5, knight to f3, maneuvering and capturing pieces across the board. Queen to g8. Charlie smiled. They reset the pieces. Dan was beginning to get the hang of it. He had a long way to go, but he was making progress. Charlie enjoyed playing Dan. It was a chance to relax and feel like a champion all at once.

  On occasion, Charlie challenged the chess club members that frequented the parks in the area. He liked engaging them because he could escape from the monoton
y of everyday life while still keeping his edge; ready, thinking, developing, and reevaluating his strategy. He was constantly weighing the third and fourth moves down the line, trying to anticipate his opponent before they’d even figured out their own play. That was strategy and Charlie loved it. Every now and then, he enjoyed being able to kick someone’s ass. In this respect, poor Dan took the brunt of it.

  Dan was always game though. “Let’s bike across to Marin,” Dan suggested following their third game, a third game that Dan lost. Despite the loss, Charlie knew Dan was having fun. Enough was enough. Charlie was content with the fact that Dan knew what a rook was.

  Dan lifted out a bulging manila envelope from the satchel that was strung across his back tire, just behind the bike seat. “I gotta deliver this thing to some office building over there.” He pointed to the address scribbled across the package in black magic marker. “It’s not too far. You could keep me company and get a little bit more fresh air.”

  “You know it’ll be tomorrow morning before I get there,” Charlie said, lifting up his shirt and grabbing a bit of love handle in the process.

  “I can get you on a program,” Dan responded. “All we need to do is lay a foundation, get the core strength up while working the cardio. Then from there, we begin some strength training, building mass, cutting fat, and shredding the sexy beast that lies within that gut of yours. I know you dig the food man, but let’s cut out some of the wasted calories. The butter, the grease, all the carbs—”

  Charlie’s eyes glazed over as he began to tune Dan out. He’d heard it all before. Dan was right, in a way. Even so, food was Charlie’s means of expression, and he loved to cook. It wasn’t as if he was obese. He could use a little trimming, but for him it wasn’t worth giving up something so dear to his heart.

  “You bet man,” Charlie said.

  With that, Dan was off with the parcel to deliver across the Golden Gate Bridge, passing different versions of the same expressionless zombies standing around in their business suits, lost to the life they had chosen. These men and women could be found in every building on every corner of this city, going through the motions, making money to be able to spend money.