by Mike Befeler
I resisted the urge to take a nap, remembering from my journal what that might do to me.
When I arrived at lunch, there were two men at table eleven.
The guy with white hair and white beard waved me to the empty chair. I watched the bald-headed guy chomping a cheeseburger.
I recalled the other name I read. “I’ve missed you too, Henry,” I said to the top of his head.
“You should keep sleeping in ditches,” he said without looking up.
“This is like coming home for the summer from college,” I said. “I used to get the same warm reception from my folks.”
Meyer laughed. “Marion and I are glad you’re back. Deep down, Henry is too.”
“That right, Henry? You still love me?” I leaned over and kissed the top of his bald head.
He almost choked on his cheeseburger.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said.
“I’ve been researching your excursion,” Meyer said.
“Yeah?”
“I checked and learned that you were found a quarter of a mile from Kina Nani on the corner of Namoku and Kaneohe Bay Drive.”
“So I was taking a hike.”
“Apparently. There’s no sidewalk there, and you must have been walking on the grass alongside the road. There’s an embankment and you slipped and fell into the ditch. Then a passing motorist stopped and called 9-1-1.”
“I’d like to thank that person,” I said.
“He never left a name and drove off when the ambulance arrived.”
“Any idea where I was going on my little jaunt?”
“That’s the part I can’t figure out,” Meyer said. “At breakfast yesterday morning you had mentioned needing to get some cough drops. You might have been going to the store.”
“That sounds logical.”
“But there’s a van that goes over to the shopping center every morning at nine. You knew you could catch a ride.”
“Maybe I wanted the exercise,” I said.
“Come on. You and I have taken walks around the grounds and to the store, but I’ve never seen you go walking that route.”
I tried to remember what might have happened to me. No use. “I guess you’re right. I can’t figure out what I was doing.”
“And the final thing. You were found in the opposite direction from the shopping center.”
“Maybe I was trying to escape this prison camp.”
“You were headed toward the bay,” he said. “That makes no sense, unless you wanted to take a swim.”
“I hate swimming.”
“So that leaves us with no logical explanation of what you were doing or where you were going.”
“We’ll never know since I can’t remember jack,” I said. “We’ll leave it in the category of other unsolved mysteries, like why there are mosquitoes and why the jelly side of the toast always falls face down.”
“Speaking of face down, you must have hit the ground pretty hard to get a gash on your forehead.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I just remembered something I read. That murder victim was bashed on the forehead. You don’t suppose. . . .”
Just then three old broads approached our table. The one who wasn’t bad looking squeezed my shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.
I looked up at her. Didn’t remember her, but it must have been Marion.
“Carolyn, Alice, and I were wondering if you three gentlemen would like to join us for the theater Sunday after next. Kina Nani has a bus going to the Blaisdell Center for a performance of Beauty and the Beast.”
I looked at Meyer. He nodded. Henry actually stopped eating, catsup dripping from the corner of his mouth. First time I’d seen something catch his attention.
“What do you think, Henry?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Looks like we have a triple date,” I said to Marion, “provided Henry isn’t playing the part of the beast that day.”
“Good.” She squeezed my shoulder again. This kept up, I’d have some bruises.
After they left, we discussed plans.
“Which one do you want to pair up with?” I asked Henry.
“Alice,” he said. “She has nice legs.”
“You sly dog,” I said. “You were paying attention.”
“Not much escapes Henry,” Meyer said. “You may think he’s not watching, but he catches everything that’s going on.”
“Like the fact that your fly’s open, Jacobson,” Henry said.
I look down. “Shit. You’re right.” I surreptitiously zipped it up. “How’d you notice that?”
“Henry’s good on details,” Meyer said.
“I hope he doesn’t gross out Alice at the theater,” I said.
“I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior, provided the play is good,” Meyer said. “He isn’t tolerant of poor performances.”
“If they’ve sent a cast all the way from the mainland, I’m sure it’s good,” I replied.
Henry pulled himself out of his chair, threw his napkin on the table, and waddled away.
I leaned toward Meyer. “Before the ladies arrived, I thought over what happened to my forehead. It’s the same type of wound the murder victim received.”
“You don’t suppose. . . .”
“Let’s go check it out.”
We walked to the corner where Meyer said I was found.
“Gully off to the side,” I said. “Just grass. Nothing hard that I could have hit my head on.” Then I noticed it. A Heineken bottle with dried blood on it.
Chapter 13
“The same person who killed Tiegan and set me up, hit me with a Heineken bottle,” I said to Meyer as we walked back to Kina Nani.
“He must have been trying to kill you, as well.”
“Good thing I have a hard head, otherwise you and Henry would have a table to yourselves.”
I thought back over all that I had read in my journal. “And it would have to be someone who knew of the litigation between Tiegan and me. The killer didn’t just drop the murder weapon in my room. He knew I had a motive. People who knew that include Barry Tiegan, Tiegan’s lawyer, my lawyer, and Denny.”
“But why would the murderer want to get you out of the way after he went to all the trouble to set you up for the murder?”
“He wouldn’t, unless my snooping was getting close. He must know that I was talking to people about Swiss stamps.”
Just as we reached our building, I looked over at Meyer and saw a wet spot on the front of his pants.
“Uh, oh,” I said. “We better get up to your apartment right away.”
Meyer’s right hand grazed the front of his pants, and a look of pure panic swept over his face. Then he shot ahead of me at double time.
Once back at his place, he went into his bathroom to clean up and change his clothes.
While I waited for him, I picked up a scrapbook that lay on his coffee table and opened it. I leafed through letters to the editor, neatly clipped and mounted in clear plastic sleeves. I picked one at random:
Dear Editor,
In the upcoming election, I hope that all citizens pay close attention to the record of the incompetents seeking re-election to the city council. These are the people who over the last four years have resisted approving a new shopping center for our town. They have cited the need to protect the small town atmosphere and reduce traffic and congestion. All noble causes. But they overlooked one important point. We need to have a tax base to pay for the basic services necessary to maintain our quality of life. The police force, social services, parks and recreation need funding. Our illustrious city council has suddenly realized that we have a tax revenue deficit. Duh! If all the citizens go elsewhere to shop, the tax dollars are flowing out of our city. Members of the city council seem surprised. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that not spending money locally equals no tax revenue. I urge you to vote the rascals out. Let’s elect a new city council that understands th
e basics of economics and can apply a modicum of common sense to financing our local government.
It was signed “Meyer Ohana.”
When Meyer returned, I pointed to the scrapbook. “Looks like you vent to the newspapers.”
“Absolutely. I mentioned this before, but you may not remember. Whenever I encountered stupidity, I wrote a letter to the editor. It could have been a full-time job with all the incompetence around.”
“You should take on the folks who run this prison,” I said.
“Nah. Half the fun is seeing the letters in print. I liked taking on issues that the newspapers were interested in.”
“Was this part of being a lawyer?”
“I’m sure it was attributed to a combination of my attention deficit disorder and my legal background,” he said. “I always enjoyed a good argument.”
“You don’t strike me as that way now.”
Meyer wrinkled his brow. “I’m sure I’ve mellowed with age. I’m not as feisty as I used to be.”
“Back to the matter at hand,” I said. “Has this little problem of yours happened before?”
“It’s only been this bad in the last week. Don’t tell anyone.”
“It’s not about saying anything. People can see the results.”
He hung his head. “If this continues, I’ll have to go to a care home. I don’t want that.”
“Just use those old fogy diapers.”
“I may have to resort to using them, although I hate to admit it.”
“Better than having wet pants.”
Meyer grabbed my shoulder. “Please don’t mention this to anyone. I’m not ready to go to a care home.”
“What’s the big deal? It just means there’s someone to help you.”
“I’ve been to visit the care home facility here. Have you seen it?”
“Not that I remember,” I said.
“It has six small sterile rooms. You’re cooped up all day with five other people who can’t care for themselves. I couldn’t take that.”
“Doesn’t seem that much different than being stuck here with Henry and me.”
“This is different,” he said. “It was bad enough to give up my condo to come here, but I’m independent. I can set my own schedule and do what I want.”
“Like eating at defined times and wetting your pants?”
“You obviously don’t appreciate the situation.”
“I know that if my brain gives out any more, I’ll be sent out to pasture,” I said.
“I’m taking you down to the care home facility right now. You need to see what the problem is.”
“Fine by me. First I’m going to call the police to have them check the Heineken bottle in the ditch.”
I returned to my apartment and found Detective Saito’s card. After a five-minute wait I was connected with him.
“This is Paul Jacobson. I’m back from the hospital after getting bashed on my noggin.”
“Yes, Mr. Jacobson.”
“I checked the site where I was found unconscious and discovered a Heineken bottle with some blood on it.”
“And why would that be important?”
“Because Tiegan was hit with a Heineken bottle, as well.”
“And how would you know that, Mr. Jacobson?”
Chapter 14
I met Meyer in the lobby, and we walked down the road to a set of bungalows.
“Whenever I speak with Detective Saito, I seem to say something that makes me appear guilty,” I said.
“What now?”
I explained about the bottle.
“And since he doesn’t know that I told you about the bottle, he can only conclude that you murdered Tiegan,” Meyer said.
“Yeah. I’m going to be locked up, and someone tried to knock me off like Tiegan. It’ll be hard to clear myself if I’m in jail.”
Meyer led me inside one of the larger buildings. There was a common area with a dining table and a kitchen off to the side. A woman sat in a chair knitting, a man and woman watched TV from a couch, and another woman slept in a wheelchair. Walkers lined the wall.
“Looks like a pretty lively place,” I said.
“This is as good as it gets,” Meyer replied.
We walked toward one of the bedrooms.
I peeked inside. Just enough space for a bed and dresser.
“They even have to share a bathroom,” he said.
“So this is our future,” I said.
“That’s it. You can see why I’m not in any rush to come here.”
“Well, remember to pee in the toilet and not in your pants. Then there won’t be any problem.”
His face sagged. “It just happens. I can’t control it anymore.”
“Then you better go with Depends so you won’t embarrass yourself.”
We headed back up the hill. I tried to imagine living in one of those little rooms. I understood Meyer’s concern. I didn’t want to get stuck there either. Where I lived now was no picnic.
I returned to my apartment. Depressed and contemplating my future, I sat down and reread what I’d written in my journal. Since I couldn’t remember any of the stuff, it was enlightening to review what I’d been doing lately. There I was, running solo, completely disengaged from my memory. At least I didn’t have to worry about anything I’d done. What a picture. Living carefree from day to day, no regrets, no concerns, no friggin’ memory.
I needed to activate my memory device. I called Marion.
“Any plans this evening?” I asked her.
“Well, I had thought of going to Las Vegas, but I suppose I could change it.”
“Good. Let’s you and me get together after dinner.”
“Your place or mine?”
I looked around at the clothes strewn on chairs and an unread stack of books on the floor. “I’ll be by at eight.”
I caught the afternoon van to the shopping center and bought a bouquet of posies.
* * * * *
That evening after struggling to swallow one of my magic erection pills and checking the retirement home roster for Marion’s apartment number, I arrived at her door and presented the flowers.
Her eyes lit up. “Thank you, Paul.”
“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”
She lowered her gaze. We were both good at this.
The flowers found a new home in a white vase on her dresser. Cole Porter music played, and we each downed a bourbon and water while we chatted on the couch.
“You look like an Arab sheik with that bandage on your head,” Marion said.
“Yes, my dear. I have returned from the dangers of the desert.”
She giggled. “Will you have it off by the day of our theater trip?”
“I think so. That outing should be an interesting event.” I thought of Meyer’s problem and how Henry acted. “Do your friends know what they’re getting into?”
“Actually, Alice suggested it. She thinks Henry’s cute.”
“That bald miscreant?”
“Some women find bald men sexy.”
“Maybe so, but Henry’s a little strange. Is she prepared for how he acts?”
“At our age you can’t be picky, present company excepted.”
“Present company excepted.” I raised my glass. “And Carolyn and Meyer?”
“They should be fine. Meyer’s a gentleman and Carolyn wants some companionship.”
We talked a little more and then started grabbing and pawing each other like randy teenagers. Hands squeezed, tugged, groped, and eventually we removed each other’s clothes. I’d have carried her to the bed except I’d have thrown my back out. We adjourned from the couch. Under the covers we caressed each other, but my right foot snagged in the sheet. In trying to extricate it, my calf cramped and turned into a knot, hard as a baseball. I jumped out of bed, stomping my foot to get rid of the cramp.
“What’s wrong?” Marion pulled the sheet up to cover herself while I danced around naked in front of her.
&nb
sp; “Just a native mating dance I learned a number of years ago.”
I was in pain and the knot wouldn’t go away.
Marion massaged my calf, but that tickled and I jerked my leg, bumping my ankle into the nightstand. Now I had pain in two places. Meanwhile, the Viagra kicked in and my penis went into a high salute.
I was alternately limping and hopping and my engorged penis continued to point toward the ceiling.
I finally got rid of the cramp enough that I could return to bed.
Marion guided me inside and we went at it like newlyweds. Just at the moment of release, my calf cramped up again and I let out a yell.
I lay there spent, in pain.
Marion said, “My goodness!”
What I had to go through to aid my memory.
Chapter 15
The next morning I remembered everything, but my ankle was swollen double its normal size. I tried to get up from bed, but couldn’t walk. I called health services and they sent an attendant with a wheelchair.
My ankle was wrapped, and the attendant wheeled me down to breakfast.
Meyer squinted at me. “What happened to you?”
“Too much sex,” I replied and drank some orange juice.
“If you’re like that, I’d hate to think what your partner looks like,” Meyer said.
“She’s died and gone to heaven,” I said.
Henry actually looked up from his scrambled eggs and made eye contact with me. “One more phase and it’s over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“First, the memory. Then the legs. Then poof.” Henry snapped his fingers.
“My condition is temporary. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Besides, I have to stick around to see how things go during your theater date with the leggy Alice.”
Henry smiled and returned to his sausage.
“You may be human after all,” I said to the top of Henry’s head.
* * * * *
After breakfast Meyer offered to wheel me back to my apartment.
“So what really happened?” he asked.
“I got wrapped up in what I was doing.”
“Maybe this cure has too many side effects.”
“That’s for sure,” I said. “I’m awfully old for this young stud business. How are things with your . . . little problem?”