Chapter 38

When I awoke the next morning, there was no call from Royce and no one to share my morning coffee. Of course, I didn't know that it was supposed to be any other way. I read the file and there was a mention of my daily schedule, which included Royce's name, but there was also a note that Royce was no longer available. The note was from me, telling myself that I needed to start my usual schedule. I was to disregard any mention of Royce, and find other ways to do things.

I drank the fresh coffee, which I had brewed as I showered. Then I entered transportation into my index search. A picture of my red trike showed up. It stated that according to the gps tracker on the trike it was in the storage room of my building. The insert also gave me all the specifications on the trike.

Armed with that information, I rode the trike to the office, but only after I rode it through the drive thru window of the local Biscuitville. I would have preferred Hardee's, but it was much farther out of the way. I slipped my paper bag containing my one biscuit into the canvas bag tied to the handle bars of the trike and off I went headed to my office.

I made it to the office before Sam, so I made the coffee. I recognized Sam from the photo gallery and I knew what he did from the popup when I clicked on the picture. I was getting to be one hell of a computer nerd. I did realize that once I got started on some chores, things seemed to fall into place. That meant that some information stayed in my unconscious memory, the so called hardwired memory. I suppose it was a good sign that I was able to do more, but I still needed the file for the basic intellectual memory, the day to day stuff other people pulled out of their ass.

"Good morning Sam," I said when he walked through the door.

"You remembered me?" he asked.

"You popped up on my file under Thursday morning routine. So how are you today?" I asked.

"I am good. I do have a few things on for today. We are going to be working on a condo project for that old mill complex. If I can land that, we will be rolling for sure," he said.

"Good, then if we need it, I hope we get it. Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

"No, nothing at all. The keeper of the keys at the Jefferson Hosiery Plant Project is an old friend of mine. If I haven't pissed him off too badly, we should be in the running."

"Cool, so how do I usually spend my time at the office?" I asked. The file had told me to ask Royce whenever I felt lost, but then it also told me to ignore any mention of Royce, since he was not available.

"You and Royce tended to be gone a lot. I would call you on the phone and you two came back to handled anything that needed handling." Sam said.

"You did know Royce is gone?" I asked. "Do you know why?"

"Do you want my gossip version," he asked.

"Of course," I replied.

"Royce had a thing for you, but you never showed any interest in him that way, While he was guarding you, he saw you with other men and women. That seemed to bother him."

"Lord, why didn't he say something?" I asked.

"I think he was concerned that you wouldn't be interested. That and he also felt eventually he would do the wrong thing, and your father would have him killed. Frankly that concerns me as well." Sam informed me.

"Why would my dad have you killed?" I asked.

"Does he need a serious reason. He is already doing life without parole." Sam did have a point.

"Well, I promise I won't ask daddy to kill either of you. So what can I do to help around here?" I asked.

"Frankly as long as we stay with real estate law, I can handle most everything. I just need you to sign off on the paperwork and do the PR at the signing," Sam said.

"Well it seems like I am a slacker, but I'll see if I can't stay out of your way," I said. I lasted over two hours before I was totally bored out of my mind. When I could stand it no longer I walked two blocks to the courthouse. I didn't recognize anyone, but I knew from the file that the ADA handling my case was named Marco. I was sorely tempted to stop in to see him, but I resisted the urge. I could remember a saying from someone in my foggy past. It went, the person who volunteers information to the justice system, loads the gun that is used to murder him." Okay it sounds better in the original version I'm sure.

Since that trip was a bust, I just walked down the streets window shopping. I stopped in the Downtown Cafe for lunch. I found the soup of the day was white bean southern style soup. I had no idea what it was so I tried it. I found that it was delicious with the fried cornbread cakes. I made a note in my journal and inserted the raw information into the index so I would have easy access to it.

From the Downtown Cafe I walked to the train station. There were no trains of course and no activity of any kind. It was just a very historic looking place. I missed that part of my memory most. The ability to have a feeling for what it had been like in the days when trains rolled all over the country carrying people as well as coal. Without that, I had to look it up on line and review an hour of old film to get a sense of what the place had been like. If I still had my memory I could have had that in ten seconds or less.