Death by Facebook

by Everett Peacock

  “Great, sir. Come over now if you would, I'll have the paperwork waiting for you.”

  Janet hung up without any further formalities. She walked back into the bedroom, rummaged around for my wallet, checked for the credit card and then ducked quickly into the bathroom.

  I followed her closely now. The static in her mind was suddenly clear and that caught my attention. What could have swept the noise away?

  Looking closely in the mirror, she adjusted her jacket and her hat. With sunglasses she could easily pull it off, but it was still a cloud forest outside. Fishing around my shaving kit she found my glasses with their tiny correction for far-sightedness. Putting those on seemed to complete the look she wanted.

  Spinning around quickly she marched out the door to the Front Desk. Moments later she had signed my name on the credit card slip and the reservation for Cabin #94.

  “OK, that’s got you extended until December 20th,” the teenage Front Desk clerk said. She looked up at Janet and smiled. “So, whatya doing for Christmas?”

  Janet, afraid to look anyone in the eye dropped her head a bit. “I believe I have a lovely tent awaiting me in Afghanistan.”

  The Front Desk clerk's face faded. “Oh, sorry about that, sir. Good luck, sir.”

  Janet turned to leave, walked several steps toward the large double doors and then turned back to the clerk. “What are you doing?”

  The clerk stared a moment.

  “For Christmas,” Janet said. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh! Thanks.” The clerk was beaming now. “I'm going to Maui, gonna hit those beaches.”

  Janet nodded and turned back to the door. She went down the steps and back into the gloom of the cloud, still thick and drizzling.

  By the time Janet got to Cabin #94 she was freezing. Her hands were shaking a little as she pushed the reluctant door open. The heat was still on as she stripped off her jacket and sat back down to her laptop.

  Opening a web browser she found Google and typed in Maui beach condos. Several results came back up, mostly in someplace called Kihei. She clicked on one that looked nice and had an online reservation system. Their first open day was December 18. Two minutes later, Jimmy Turner had a studio rented all the way until January 9th.

  Janet sat back in the light of the two open laptops and smiled. Maui sure sounded nice, and warm. Now all she needed was a plane ticket. Hawaiianair.com made it easy. They had a direct flight between Hilo and Kahului, which she learned was on Maui, that left pretty early in the morning of the 18th. Jimmy Turner had a seat by the window.

  She pulled out my military ID and looked at it closely, then walked into the bathroom to look into the mirror. She grinned and said out loud, “I guess I do look a lot like my brother.”

  Heading back over to the small refrigerator she pulled out two beers. Pop. Pop. As she quickly drained the first one, she smiled at her new plan.

  Sitting back down at the table, she pulled my laptop over to her and opened Facebook.

  My profile had several more comments, mostly about my post of two weeks ago about being dead and all, but also about my not saying anything after that.

  Larry McKenzie: “So, if you're really dead, show me a sign.”

  David Hazlett : “Come on Jimmy. I can see right through you!”

  Larry McKenzie: “are you still dead?”

  Janet clicked in the box that asked 'What's on your mind?' and typed a brief sentence. Having waited this long to say anything would be dramatic no matter what she said, but she found an elegance in simplicity that was uncharacteristic to anyone that knew me.

  Jimmy Turner: “Sorry. Only part of me died. The rotten part.”

  13

  Larry Larson loved a mystery, if for no other reason than he was good at solving puzzles. Mysteries, though, unlike their odd shaped cardboard cousins had a distinct thrill. Mysteries never let you see all the pieces at once, they seemed to trickle in one or two or a few at a time. That lack of information only made the game more fun, for it was the pursuit of a clue, the chase of a theory that gave it life.

  The bartender at the Lava Lounge had seen a lot of strangeness, more than her share for such a small outpost. Her early years in Chicago had shown her all the typical dark sides of humanity, but here, in the high jungle, darkness had a different set of shadows. She attributed it mostly to the remoteness of Volcano town, some to the vog - volcanic smog - and more than she would care to admit to the spirits. No one here called them spirits, they used the term energy, vibes or “the presence”, but either way in her mind it was spirits.

  She caught Larry's eye and brought over another Lava Lager. “So,” nodding over to the headlamp crew, “what do you make of these guys?” She took the bar rag off her shoulder and wiped the koa counter around Larry's coaster.

  “Those guys?” Larry glanced over, catching the tall guy playing his ukulele again while the other guys, headlamps blinking red, nodded. “Tourists. Crazy tourists no doubt, but they seem harmless enough.”

  “Not as crazy as that redhead with the cut up hands.” Turning, the bartender looked over at the empty corner booth. “She was in here a moment ago, did you see her?”

  “No,” Larry nodded. “Cut up hands?”

  “Last night, I don't think you were here, but this girl with long red hair was in here, drinking like a fish. Her hands looked to be sliced up pretty bad like she had fallen down on the sharp lava. She was using a lot of napkins as they looked to be bleeding a little. I finally got to cutting her off from any more beers when one of those crazy head lamp guys made a move on her.”

  “These same guys?” Larry asked.

  “Oh yeah, same group. One of them went over to her booth and before I knew it he was yelling and falling over chairs to get away from her.

  “She left right away, but I could hear him telling everyone she wanted him to lick the blood off her hands. Crazy shit like that.”

  “Whoa,” Larry mumbled, pushing his empty mug right past the incoming full one. “Thanks.”

  “She just left a minute ago. You didn't see her, in that corner booth?”

  Larry looked around the bartender toward the empty dark corner booth where Private James Turner had sat immediately after coming into the bar ahead of him. He knew his bartender friend occupied the sober side of the bar, but for a moment he thought she had her story mixed up.

  “You just said this crazy red head girl had long hair. The guy I walked in with sat in that booth and had a crew cut.”

  The bartender had both her elbows on the bar now and was listening intently. “You gave the telegram to the redhead that sat in that corner booth?”

  “Yeah, that's right.” Larry said, suspecting a problem in the tone of the bartender's question.

  The bartender straightened up, put her hands on her hips and sighed. Shaking her head a bit, as seasoned bartenders do when they occasionally see something they haven't seen a million times before, she looked back at Larry. This, she kept to herself, was another example of bad spirits, bad energy amongst the jungle dwellers.

  “That there redhead, in that booth over there tonight, crew cut or not, is no James Turner.”

  Larry leaned back on his stool and laughed. “Ah come on!” He looked over at the empty booth again. “Then who was it?”

  The bartender looked over at the headlampers and pointed to Dave. “Why don't you ask him? He'll tell you a story.”

  She walked over a round of mugs to that table and pointed out Larry at the bar. Dave got up and came over.

  “How you doing there?” Dave asked, extending his hand to Larry.

  Larry turned a bit in his chair, took his hand and asked “Great, how about yourself?”

  “Not bad, but I wanted to ask you, being a local here in this bar and all, do people usually come out of the jungle a bit,” Dave paused and looked around, then added “crazy?”

  Larry tried not to take insult, being a jungle dweller himself. “Well, Dave, define crazy.” He was staring up a
t the blinking headlamp on Dave's head.

  Dave got the hint and quickly pulled off the head lamp. “Well, not this kind of crazy. The oozing open wounds bleeding in a bar asking me to lick up the blood kind of crazy. You know, real crazy.”

  Larry looked back to his beer for just a moment and laughed. “Yeah, well, that is pretty crazy. I don't know. I didn't see that.”

  Dave tilted his head a bit in confusion. “Well, you walked in with her tonight. She sat in that booth over in the corner.”

  Larry turned in his chair to face Dave now, frowning a bit. “That guy with the short military haircut?”

  Dave nodded. “Yeah, that was her. She cut all of her hair off, who knows why? Maybe got tired of cutting her hands. But that was her alright.”

  The bartender was back and leaned up to the bar as Dave continued.

  “I saw her hands tonight. Same crazy chick,” Dave put some more emphasis on crazy.

  “See Larry, I told ya. Dave here had a close up,” the bartender laughed. “Too close maybe?”

  “I'll say!” Dave said a bit too loud. “Hey, good meeting you, I'm going to go back and finish my hot wings.”

  The bartender watched Dave put his head lamp back on and make his way back to his table. Turning she leaned in toward Larry. “So, that redhead actually said she was Private James Turner?”

  Larry nodded.

  “And, she took the telegram from you?”

  “Yep.”

  Both of them stirred the silence with their own private thoughts for several moments. There had to be some kind of explanation, but neither of them could fashion one.

  “You know,” Larry began. “I just thought it was one of those Don't Ask, Don't Tell cases. He did look a bit effeminate, or she did, of course. I mean, if you're gonna put your ass on the line who cares which way you swing, right?”

  The bartender glanced quickly around her tables and caught an eye of the headlamp crew waving wildly for more beers. “Look Larry,” she said as she was forced to go back to work. “I agree. People do a lot of strange things that I don't understand. But, I do know this: Private James Turner has not been in my bar yet.” She turned, poured six Lavas and carrying them like they were popcorn headed for the flashing red lights.

  Larry couldn't get an angle on this mystery so he waited, waited for the next puzzle piece to appear. In his experience another one always did.

  The macadamia nuts on the bar were almost gone and as he picked up the last one he saw his friend Alex, from the front desk, walk in.

  ~~~

  Agatha found herself getting antsy in the soda shop. Burr's was obviously the place to be if the center of the social universe was your goal. Every happy person in Sacramento must be in here, she thought, laughing, talking and enjoying all the commotion.

  On any other occasion this would have been fun, she had to admit. Just not now. She had spent practically every ounce of her will power to propel her soul into this adventure, and she was aching. Any further delay in talking to him would torture her further.

  Obscenely big ice cream floats were being placed on the table. Apparently, they all had one, some kind of signature thing he had ordered for everyone.

  She was watching him. It was all she could do if conversation was impossible. Watching him closely, and replaying every word of their Facebook chats, messages and emails, she reviewed what he must now know of her. She was a widower, still lived in the same neighborhood, had adopted a boy who was now in the Army, drove an early Prius and had three lovely cats: Tahoe, Reno and Truckee. He was divorced, some ten years now, had no kids, worked for a defense contractor at McClellan Air Force Base and had just bought a fully restored 1972 Camaro convertible.

  For just an instant, and really not a moment longer, she felt the same manic anticipation, the full force of teenage angst she remembered having the first time he picked her up on a date, in an old beat up 1972 Camaro convertible.

  He was still a handsome man. Time had done him the same favors it seemed to reserve for every other middle aged man: the touches of gray in his hair, the fine lines in a slightly tanned face and the sparkling eyes that still hinted of promise.

  Stopping her thoughts before they took her any further beyond reality, she finally tasted what made Burr's so famous. The ice cream, with fountain soda fizzing around every sweet molecule was surprisingly good.

  The large diameter straw was perfect and she glanced over at him again, feeling giddy now, the ice cream moving her to grin. Just then, he stood up, waved his hands a bit and smiled over at her.

  “Everyone, everyone, please,” he was saying, trying to get the table's attention. “I have an announcement.”

  Agatha became one with the ice cream, and froze.

  ~~~

  Alex took the stool next to Larry. The Lava Lounge was unusually noisy. As he looked around he saw all the regulars, then he saw the headlamps.

  “Who are those guys?”

  Larry leaned back a bit to check them out again. “Tourists. Or escapees, not quite sure.”

  “Thanks, honey,” Alex said as the bartender slid a perfectly frosted Lava Lager in front of him. “Been waiting on this all day.” He took a full minute to slowly down the entire contents. “Another, por favor!”

  “So, did you get those boxes sorted out?” Larry asked.

  Alex's eyebrows rolled a little. “Yeah, it looks like we have files from twenty years ago in that storeroom. Amy came in a bit early so I was able to finish up quickly.

  “Hey, did you get that telegram to Private Turner?”

  Larry looked over at the bartender and nodded. “I gave it to a guy who said he was Private Turner, but we were just talking about that.”

  Alex frowned in confusion and took a short swig of his second beer. “Funny thing that guy. His Sergeant was telling him to get his ass back to Ft. Bragg and Amy just told me he extended here for another week.”

  Larry stared at Alex for a moment and then over to the bartender.

  “No way!” Larry and the bartender both exclaimed in perfect unison.

  “What's this about not being so sure it was Turner?” Alex asked with just the slightest hint of trouble in his voice. He could hear the Sergeant yelling at him from some far off place.

  The bartender turned to get the ten gallon bag of roasted macadamia nuts and proceeded to refill all the bowls at the bar, while keeping her ear finely tuned to Alex and Larry.

  “Look,” Larry recited. “I left your office after talking to you, walked out and around the corner and saw what I thought was Private Turner come out of Cabin #94. Dressed in khakis, boots, Army issue jacket and an Army ball cap. I ran up to him, saw the short hair, asked if he was Turner and he said yes.” Larry took another long drink of his rapidly disappearing beer. “So, I told him it was important and put the telegram right into his hands.”

  Alex grabbed enough of a handful of macadamia nuts that the bartender came back around and refilled the bowl a second time. “So, what's the problem? Sounds like you did it to me.”

  “Yeah, well, everyone in this bar is telling me that guy is no guy. Our illustrious bartender says so. One of the headlamp guys over there tried to pick her up.”

  Alex cringed a bit at that.

  “Well, in his defense, it was before she cut all of her hair off. Apparently last night she was quite the looker. But, tonight she looked like any other farm boy recruit ready to ship out.” Larry shook his head a bit.

  Alex studied his beer a few moments, captivated by the impossibly infinite supply of bubbles rising to the top. “Strange. But hey,” he raised his mug toward Larry in toast. “Another Lava Lounge mystery eh?”

  Larry smiled, raised his mug and tapped Alex's mug so hard it made the bartender look around. “To Private James Turner, wherever he may be.”

  ~~~

  The table of middle aged revelers at Burr's soda fountain finally calmed down a bit as he stood there waving his hands lightly.

  “What is it Adam? Do I need
another drink first?” One of the guys was asking above the din of the place.

  “No, no more drinks quite yet,” Adam said.

  Agatha finally moved her head enough for the ice cream filled straw to fall back into the tall elegantly carved glass. “My God,” she thought. “Is he going to embarrass me with some kind of reminisce?”

  “Look,” Adam said, beaming toward Agatha. “We all came back to Burr's tonight for a special occasion. Yes, the ice cream is worthy of a road trip, but tonight I want to introduce an old, but apparently not so old, friend of mine.”

  He held out his hand toward Agatha.

  She stood up to take it, wishing with all her might that he would keep this short. Public displays of anything, even friendship were quite beyond her pain threshold at the moment.

  “Back when I was younger and my friend Agatha was still as beautiful I drove an old '72 Camaro to the high school dance one starry, starry Friday night.”

  Adam raised Agatha's hand a bit and then gently let it go, allowing her to sit back down, a few shades redder.

  “It was by far the best night of my life!” Adam remained up but reached down for his half full glass of ice cream soda. “A toast if you will...” He paused for everyone to raise their glasses. Agatha smiled as she did.

  “To the graceful nature of time that lets us occasionally enjoy again the highlights of our youth.”

  A rousing clinking of glasses followed with several cheers from the other men.

  “Now, someone move over so I can sit next to Agatha,” Adam demanded in a friendly tone. “We have some catching up to do.”

  Agatha watched him move in next to her, almost as if they were both sitting in the back seat of that Camaro again. Close and comfy.

  “I thought you were going to just kill me standing up and introducing me, Adam.”

  “Oh that? Sorry, but if I didn't say something all those other guys were going to ask you out.”