Blackout

That’s it. I’m making an appointment. This is the fourth time in the last couple weeks I’ve woken up like this. My head won’t stop pounding, I’m soaked in sweat. Come to think of it, can’t even remember going to bed last night. I’m so thirsty, but the thought of getting out of bed makes me want to puke. Finally making my way to the kitchen, it looks like something out of a frat house. Beer cans overflowing from the trash. The handle of Jack I bought yesterday tipped over on the counter, empty.

This is getting out of hand. Yeah, maybe I’ve got a problem, but I’m functional. I know how to handle my drink. Something else is wrong for sure. Can’t help but think it’s a tumor or something crazy like that. God willing I’m just sleepwalking from stress or something. Calling up the closest doctor’s office, they tell me the next available appointment isn’t until next Thursday. Great. Looking over, the clock on the microwave tells me I’ve got a half hour to make it to work.

##

Stopping at Starbucks on the way makes me a couple minutes late, but it was necessary. Hair of the dog is the only thing that’ll get me through this morning and this is the best way to hide it. I’m hoping Steve doesn’t notice I’m late, but walking through the sliding doors, he’s standing right there in the showroom. He briefly looks over at me—glaring. Damn. He finds me in my office a few minutes later.

“Get out there on the floor David. Why am I having to come in here and ask ten minutes after you should be clocked in?”

He looks down at the drink in my hand, his eyes light up.

“Grabbing coffee, that’s more important to you than being here on time? You’re on thin ice. You haven’t made a sale in weeks, and if I don’t see something from you soon, there’s no way I can keep you on. Get your act together and get out there. There’s a guy in the lot looking at that Pontiac. Get rid of it.”

Spotting the guy out in the lot, he’s walking around the car, checking it out. It occurs to me I’ve seen him here before. Obviously, he’s interested but doesn’t know if he’s ready to commit. Got to convince him this hunk of junk is exactly what he needs. After approaching him and introducing myself, the routine song and dance begins. Except today, I’m trying every single move in my arsenal to nail this sale. It seems to be getting through, but once we start talking numbers, he keeps trying to lowball me. Can’t go under $8,000 and that’s already the bare minimum, but this jerk will not budge over $7,500.

“Sorry, there’s no way I can go under $9,000. She’s worth over 10. Trust me, this is a good deal. She’s in incredible shape despite her age, got low mileage, this is a solid buy. Seriously. They don’t make them this solid anymore. This baby’s built to last.”

“I don’t know. Just don’t think this is the right one for me. Not at that price.”

“How about we throw in a complimentary maintenance warranty for you? Good for an entire year.”

He counters.

“If it’s in as good of shape as you say, shouldn’t need too much maintenance, right? $7,500. Last offer.”

Defeated, my only remaining option is to offer it to him for eight. But to my horror, he still refuses. He leaves the lot and it takes everything in me not to kick the bumper off that damn Pontiac.

##

Stopping by the liquor store after work is the only good part of the day. After making it home, I’m drinking a double while sitting on the couch, half watching the game. Can’t help but think about how every shift keeps getting harder to get through. The ice scrapes the bottom of the glass. Already? I’m exhausted but manage to get up and pour another drink.

##

A loud ringing in my ears brings me out of a deep, sleepy haze and back to that familiar pounding in my temples. The curtains are drawn, causing me to fumble around for my phone in the dark. Bringing it to my face, the screen’s glare aggravates my headache. It’s a quarter past eleven. Two missed calls from Steve, and there’s a voicemail. Suddenly my chest feels like it’s under a block of concrete. Pressing play, it’s obvious what’s coming.

“David, no one wants to end up in this position, but you’ve left me with no choice. I’m going to have to let you go. Just yesterday I asked you to be on time, then you pull this? What am I supposed to think? You can come collect your stuff from the office on Friday.”

Come on, are you kidding me? I’ve never been seriously late before, and I’ve been there for five damn years. For all he knows I could be laid up in the hospital right now, but that’s how he wants to come at me? Screw it, today’s already shot. Might as well get started early. I’m going out for a drink.

##

After a few hours of griping to anyone that’ll listen, they kick me out of the bar. Walking home, I’m sloppy and still pissed off. Can’t stop thinking about the dealership and how much of a shithole it is, how much of an asshole Steve is. Finally making it home, the couch is calling me. But after plopping down, the room starts to spin a little. Just need to close my eyes for a minute.

##

Waking up, my entire body aches and it soon becomes apparent I’ve passed out on the bathroom floor. Great. Pulling myself up using the side of the tub, an unmistakable sight catches the corner of my eye. Money. Four perfect little stacks, each labeled “$5,000.” There’s 20 frickin’ K sitting in my bathtub. My heartrate spikes. On impulse, can’t help but reach in and thumb through it to make sure it’s real. Oh god, it is. Where in god’s name did this come from? Seriously…what did I do?

Deciding to search for clues in the living room, another equally alarming sight stops me in my tracks. My gun is sitting out on the counter. I’m floored. That thing never comes out of the nightstand.

Without any time to think, a stern knock comes from the front door, making me jump near across the room. A man calls out from the other side.

“Mr. Hampton, it’s the Fresno County police. We’d like to have a word with you.”

They pause. I’m frozen in place, terrified they’ll hear me.

“Sir, this doesn’t need to escalate—we just want to talk with you.”

Might be best to face them now, don’t need them sticking around waiting for me to come out. No clue what’s going on, but it seems like they’ve already got something on me. Why else would they be here? I’d be dumb if I didn’t bet on this having something to do with the money. Maybe I’ll be able to leave town before they can get any kind of warrant. Take the money and start over somewhere. Quickly tossing a magazine over the gun, I crack the door to find two detectives.

“Mr. Hampton, we’d like to have a word with you about a robbery that occurred in the area yesterday evening.”

“Okay.”

“We understand you were let go by your employer yesterday, is that correct?”

“Yes, but – “

“So, are you unaware the Langley dealership was the victim of this robbery?”

It feels like I’m going to choke.

“What?”

“We’d like it if you could come with us to answer a few questions about your previous employer. I understand you were with them for years, so – “

Something clatters behind me, causing me to turn around and look. Realizing it was the magazine falling off the counter, my heart stops. Whipping back around, I’m praying they didn’t see. The alarmed expression on one of their faces tells me it’s too late.

“Sir, that firearm looks to be the same as the one reportedly used in last night’s robbery. This is probable cause to search the premises.”

He puts his foot in the doorway to keep it from closing and barges past me. The other detective detains me on the porch. Minutes later he comes out with a huge grin, holding an evidence bag with the money.

##

“You’re telling me you have no idea how you got the money, it just appeared in your house the day you were fired? That’s the story you’re sticking to?”

The second detective chimes in.

“See you’ve got a bit of a background here, had your fair share of run-ins with the law. Says here you were even suspected of killing your wife. Man, you’ve either got the worst luck, or you’re just a bad guy. Plain and simple.”

They pause to see if they’ve gotten a rise out of me. Clearly better to keep my mouth shut.

“I want a lawyer.”

One of the detectives sighs heavily before they both get up and leave the room.

A few minutes later, a familiar face walks in and I’m shocked. No way. Joanne’s brother? What the hell? He made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me after the investigation, and that was six years ago…why is he here?

“Wow, it’s been a while. Word sure spreads fast in the blue brotherhood, huh? Or are you working this precinct now?”

There’s no use being friendly, it’s no secret he hates my guts.

“I’ll be frank. They know we’ve got history, so they brought me in here to buddy up with you and get a confession. But we both know that’s not happening. Besides, they don’t need it. They’ve got you dead to rights. The gun, the money, your car on the security footage. Plus, you’ve got plenty of motive.”

“But I didn’t –”

He cuts me off.

“Look, I’m here as a courtesy.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black notebook, then slides it across the table.

“Some recommendations for good local lawyers. If you look it over, I can get one out here ASAP.”

I’m stunned.

“Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

The cuffs chaining me to the table scrape loudly while reaching for it. But after flipping through the notebook, it becomes clear it’s blank except for one page. It reads:

“You’re finally getting what you deserve. The state couldn’t prove it but we both know the truth. Enjoy the next 20 years at San Quentin. I hope you remember every day I’m the one who sent you there. This is for Joanne.”

Confusion won’t allow me to process what’s happening. I need a damn drink.

“Wait, what is this? What are you saying?”

He stands there silently. My head is spinning.

“Wait, are you saying…you set me up?”

He gives himself away with the smallest, smuggest grin and the reality of the situation hits me like a lightning bolt. Self-preservation mode kicks in.

“I didn’t kill her, I swear! She drowned! It was an accident. The investigators accepted it, I had to accept it, why can’t – “

He puts his hand up to stop me, grabs the notebook, and heads for the doorway. Jumping up from the table to stop him, the cuffs roughly jerk me back. He exits, leaving the door open behind him. No. This can’t be it. This can’t be happening. This is so insane.

“Seriously, I didn’t kill her! I loved Jo! I didn’t kill her! Don’t do this!”

I’m doing my best to sound as pathetic as possible while yelling down the hallway, but he’s already gone. Besides, just like the Pontiac guy, it’s clear he’s not buying what I’m selling.