Chapter 2

It took several months, but John finally formalized his name, received a Social Security number, a driver's license and a bank card. He had piggybacked on Muriel's banking until he could establish his own. His date of birth was listed as August 12, 1965. He had chosen the date he awoke in the hospital as his birth date and decided he was, in fact, forty-two years old at that time.

He had received sworn statements from Dr. Leacock from the hospital and Detective Polikoff that his claim was legitimate. They were co-signed by Muriel, Major Tom Matthews, and Mr. Leung as well. On July 4, 2008, John Doan was officially acknowledged as a resident of New York City in the United States.

He had amassed a reasonable amount in his savings account. His needs had been simple, his rent low and his social life almost non-existent. He told anyone around him that he was happy with his life, however. It was almost a year since he had awakened in hospital.

Detective Martin Polikoff dropped in from time to time to see how his favorite amnesiac was getting on. They had become friends, with the policeman insisting his visits were unofficial.

John stopped in regularly to see Tom Matthews and contribute funds in thanks for the help he had been given. He and Tom had become quite good friends as well, and it wasn't unusual to find Tom or Martin in Amnesia! around three o'clock on a weekday afternoon, sharing a draft or an iced tea with the cook.

It was just such an afternoon when John was sitting at the almost empty bar, chatting with Carl, the manager, and sipping a glass of iced tea. He became aware of someone moving to sit beside him and turned to see who it was.

"Afternoon, Martin. What brings you here?"

"I'm off duty and I wanted to drop in and see you. I was wondering how you were making out?"

"What can I get you? It's on the house ... this time," John grinned.

"One of those looks good," he said, pointing to John's glass. "Thanks."

The two men talked and John brought the policeman up to date on his activities and his confirmation of a new identity.

"I hope you're not here to mess up my life by telling me you know who I am now," John laughed.

"No ... no ... nothing like that. Actually, I'm here to ask a favor."

"Shoot!"

"My son ... likes to cook. Wants to learn how ... you know ... what it's like in a proper kitchen. I was wondering if ... maybe you could show him what it takes. I don't mean teaching him. Just let him see what your day is like. If it's something he really wants to do, then I'll put up the money to send him to school to learn how."

John nodded. "OK ... I can do that. What's his mother think?"

"I don't know. She and I are divorced. David, our son, has been a bit of a handful for her. I'm trying to help, but I usually only see him on weekends. He's eighteen and I don't want him ending up in trouble. I see too much of that every day. These kids think they're bulletproof and they aren't. Anyway ... I'd be grateful if you'd let him have a look at how a proper kitchen works."

"What makes you think mine is a good example," John laughed.

"Word of mouth, John. Word of mouth. This is my neighborhood, remember," he said with a slight smile. "Saturday be OK?"

"Sure. Bring him around about eleven-thirty before the lunch crowd arrives. That will give him a good look at mayhem in action. If he's still keen, he can have his dinner here and watch how different the evening crowd is. That should give him a pretty good idea."

"Terrific, and ... thanks. I'm hoping this will help. I told him about you, so he may ask some questions. I hope you don't mind."

"Nope. I'd be surprised if he weren't curious."

Promptly at eleven-thirty on Saturday morning, Martin and David Polikoff pushed through the doors of Amnesia! and asked for John at the bar. Carl was told to expect them and quickly informed John of their arrival.

David was quiet and polite as John was introduced. The youth smiled as he was presented with a white smock and hairnet, mandatory in the kitchen for all staff. Martin gave John his cell phone number, asking him to call when David had signaled he'd seen enough.

As John was about to guide David to the kitchen, Martin caught his attention.

"Just something I forgot the other day," Martin said. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a grainy, black and white photo of a woman. It had been taken by a security camera.

"Does this woman look familiar, John?"

John examined the photo carefully. At length, he handed it back to the detective.

"No ... I mean ... it's not a really clear picture, but ... no ... I don't know her. There is something familiar about her, but ... I'm sorry ... I just don't know."

"OK ... she came into the station asking about a man about your age and description. She didn't have a picture and was pretty vague about why she was looking for him. I thought about you when the desk sergeant mentioned it."

John shook his head. "Nope. Wish I could help," he shrugged.

"No problem," Martin said, slipping the picture back into his vest pocket. "Give me a call when David's done," he smiled as he left.

David Polikoff's day went very well. He was fascinated by the organization needed to run a kitchen when orders were coming in so rapidly. John had provided him with a stool to sit on, more to keep him from getting under foot than anything, but David grasped the situation quickly and managed to stay out of everyone's way.

When the break came just after two that afternoon, John took off his tall, white chef's hat and wiped his face with a clean towel, then wrapped it around his sweat soaked neck.

"Would you like a cola, David?"

"Sure. I didn't realize how crazy it was in one of these kitchens at lunchtime," he remarked as they walked through the swinging doors into the tavern. David stood at the bar as John squirted cola from the dispenser into two large beer glasses half-filled with ice.

"You should see it on weekdays. Even crazier because everyone is trying to get their food between twelve and one."

David just shook his head. "How do you do it?"

"Organization and experience. I couldn't do this right away. You just have to learn by doing and get a feel for how to handle the pressure points." John paused and looked at David. "So, what do you think?"

"It's amazing. I'd love to be able to do this like you do. But it's not all about knowing how to cook. Is it all right if I watch the dinner preparation?"

"Yep. I'll call your dad and let him know you want to stay. I'll get him to pick you up about eight, OK?"

David nodded. They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about what it takes to run a kitchen. Gradually the boy got around to the subject of John's amnesia.

"What's it like ... not knowing anything?"

"Well, I do know a lot of things. I know how to dress myself and tie my shoes and how to read and write, drive a car, and all the usual things you need to get along in the world. It's just that, for now, I don't remember my name or anything about my life before. It's like I landed from another planet and I didn't exist until I woke up in that hospital. Trust me, it was very scary."

"Do you think you'll ever get your memory back?"

"Yes ... most of the doctors and the books I've read say I should get at least some of it back. It's just a matter of time. In the meantime, I like what I'm doing, so I'm happy."

David nodded thoughtfully.

At eight that evening, Martin Polikoff entered the bar and asked for John. In less than a minute, John and David emerged from the kitchen.

"Thank you, John," the youth said sincerely.

"I hope you saw what you wanted to, David."

"Yeah. It was great. I was really surprised. I had no idea. I thought it was just about cooking stuff. You should have seen it, Dad. It was amazing how much has to be done to run that kitchen." David's enthusiasm was evident.

"Well, I hope I didn't discourage you," John said.

"No ... it was exciting. I think this is what I want to do, once I learn how," the boy said, turning to his father.

Martin smiled and stuck out his hand to John. "Thank you. I appreciate what you've done," he smiled, with a hint of relief in his voice.

-0-

It was three-thirty on the following Tuesday afternoon when Martin Polikoff pushed through the doors of Amnesia! once more. John was sitting at a small table, reading the morning paper and sipping his usual iced tea.

"Afternoon, John," the detective said quietly.

John looked up in surprise. "Hi, Martin." John's face scrunched in curiosity. "Two visits in a week? What's up?"

"You recognized her, didn't you?" Martin said quietly.

John looked at him in surprise for a long moment, then let his breath out in a long, slow hiss.

"How did you know?"

"Your eyes. I saw them react to the picture. It's what I do, John. Read people. Anything you want to tell me?"

"Not much to tell," John said, not looking at the policeman. "I know I've seen her, but I don't know who she is. I don't think that she's just an acquaintance though."

"Why do you think that?"

"Afterwards ... just ... bad feelings. Unhappy stuff. Crap bouncing around in my head. Images. A sense of ... anger," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know how to describe it any better."

"When did you start to get some of these memories?"

"A month or so ago. Not sure what started it. Might have been someone I saw in the market when I was out shopping for the kitchen. Just the flash of a face ... it stuck with me."