Chapter 2

I was out for a day, and doped up for another, but I later pieced together what happened.

I hit a parked car. A woman was walking her dog on the other side of the street and she called 9-1-1 before my car even stopped moving. She wasn't a doctor or even an EMT, but she was a midwife and nurse practitioner ... anyway she knew first aid. She tied her dog's leash to the parked car's bumper and came over to the driver's upside-down door.

She could tell that I was unconscious, the airbags (front and side) had stopped my head from crashing into anything hard. And I was upside down, seat-belted in. Unlike in your typical movie, the car didn't explode or even catch fire; the engine just stopped. Then she saw that I was covered in blood, was wearing no shirt, and most importantly (from her point of view) was in handcuffs.

When she told the ambulance crew about the handcuffs, they decided to put in an IV while I was still unconscious in the car, and wait for the police.

The police came and roared by, with fire trucks on their tail, on the way to the house explosion and resulting fire – at Roger's and Alice's home. Eventually, a squad car or two stopped at my scene and helped the ambulance crew get me out of the car and onto a gurney.

I had a minor concussion, a broken leg (where it hit the dashboard), a broken nose (thank you, air bag! No really, THANK YOU AIRBAG, because it kept me away from the steering wheel.), and of course, I was still bleeding from both wrists and had seriously scraped palms (from my adventure with the gas pipe). Someone had thoughtfully allowed me to have some fingertips free, so I could push the nurse's 'call' button.

When I staggered back to consciousness, a patrolwoman was there. She asked me not to talk to anyone about anything, and she called a detective. Eventually, two detectives showed up. I had expected a Colombo type. Everybody knows that detectives wear rumpled suits and are very crafty – everybody who watches TV anyhow. Either that or a gorgeous woman, about 30 years old. Neither turned out to be true. I got a black McGarret – a tall, hunky guy who looked like a former Marine – and a woman who was a dead ringer for Penny Marshall. TODAY's Penny Marshall, old and gray and overweight, not the young woman on Laverne and Shirley reruns.

They identified themselves; Penny seemed to be in charge. "Mr. Albert, do you know what day it is?" she started with.

"Yeah ... the nurse told me. I've been out for two days."

"I thought you were asked not to speak with anyone," she said authoritatively. She was getting all Alpha-male on me.

"First of all ... it was a request, not an order. Nobody told me I was under arrest, so I'm not subject to your orders. And second, she told me, I didn't ask." Fuck her. If she was gonna be another female like Flo, I wasn't even going to talk to her. I certainly wasn't going to do anything just because she asked for it.

"All right ... all right ... no need to get..."

"I'm tired. You got some questions to ask ... ask away. I don't feel like dealing with any bullshit," I said.

"Sure. I'm sorry if I was..."

"Questions?" I said, tiredly. I wanted this to be over all ready.

"Right ... Why were you driving down Maple Street, with bloody handcuffs on, at a high rate of speed?"

"I was going from my former friend's house to the hospital. I wanted to get there before I passed out from blood loss."

"Uh huh." It was something I'd seen on TV. They just wanted you to keep on talking. When I didn't, she asked, "Why were you wearing handcuffs and why were your wrists so badly cut up?"

"Ask Roger," I said.

"We have. I just want to match your story up with his."

"I'm sure he said it was all a joke. Big fucking joke." Penny just continued to look at me. "All right. He and my wife sent Alice – his wife – off to an emergency in the hospital. She's a nurse here – surgery I think. Then they handcuffed me to a pipe in the basement – as a joke, they said. And then they went upstairs to fuck. I begged them not to do it, and to set me free. I could hear them..." I took a moment to get control of myself. " ... I tried to get out of the handcuffs. That's how I got bloody. Then I eventually broke the pipe and just got out of the house."