Soul Hostage (8 page)

     For some reason, I counted the cars, and the huge parking lot had six cars in it.  Nothing says
fine dining
like a huge parking lot with six cars in it at dinner time.  But like I said before, we chose the place simply because it appeared in front to us.  Location, location, location. 

     On the off chance of someone recognizing the old Chevy, we parked the car on the edge of the lot. As we walked across the quiet but brightly lit parking lot, the three of us tried to improve our appearances a bit by straightening clothes and brushing off some of the dirt.  I am not sure how successful we were, but hopefully it was not completely obvious we had spent the day hiking through the hills. 

     Once inside the restaurant, we stood at a dark wooden podium which had sign saying “Welcome, Friends.  We’re Sure Glad You’re Here!  Please Wait to be Seated.”  I wondered for a second about the sincerity of the sign. 

     As we waited for our new friends to come seat us, I glanced around the place to discover it was just as I had expected.  I saw lots of bright colors, an orange and green counter with a couple of old guys sitting together, the wall behind the cash register covered with children’s artwork, and large windows looking out at the empty highway. Everything about the place felt sort of familiar.  Even the tall, thin red-headed waitress who wandered over a minute later seemed like someone I had met before.

      “Welcome to Jack O’s, friends.  Let me show you to your table.”  Her voice had a thick Southern accent, and the words were delivered without energy as if they had been repeated at least a million times. 

    The waitress led us to an orange and green booth near a window.  Once we had slid around the table, she placed an orange and green menu in front of each of us. 

    “The special tonight is mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak.” She stated flatly, and I had a tough time stifling my laugh.  My laugh was brought on not only by the mention of chicken fried steak but also by the fact that I suddenly realized why the waitress seemed so familiar. She was the spitting image of a waitress on a sitcom in the seventies who used to say
kiss my grits
all the time. Anyway, she continued to recite in her weary voice,                                                                                                   

“Our special comes with your choice of home fries or mashed potatoes. Can I get you anything while you’re deciding what you want?”

     Before anyone else had a chance to respond, Louis answered, “Coffee all around, please.”  He flashed a big smile at the waitress. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us and need to stay awake.”

     The waitress left without saying anything else. 

    “Alright, Lou, tell us
exackly
where we’re goin’ and what we’re gonna do there,” Joey demanded.

     Louis Stoaffer pulled himself up a bit straighter at the idea of being the center of attention.  “Well, I suppose I should continue my story to explain everything. So where was I?’” 

     “In the hospital and--” I started before being interrupted by Joey.

     “The detective mentioned a gun!”  Joey blurted out unable to hold back.

     Stoaffer chuckled a little as he said, “Right, thanks. Detective Colombus questioned me about what I remembered of my visit to Gary and Linda’s house for dinner.  His question about where I got a gun knocked me for a loop.   Having no recollection of a gun was just one of the holes in my memory which kept popping up.  The doctor had been right when he said, ‘The memory doesn’t react well to force’. The more I tried to force open my stronghold of memories the stronger it became.”

     The waitress brought our coffee and, since none of us had taken the time to look at the menu, we all ordered the chicken fried steak with fries.

      Louis continued, “Detective Columbus showed no signs of frustration at my failure to remember things. He simply asked about other things like business clients and vacations I had taken before returning to the topic of the gun.  I knew what the good detective had in mind.  Have you ever lost your car keys? Sometimes no matter how hard you try to remember where you left them, you get nothing.  Then as soon as you stop trying to remember and think about something else, the location of the keys pops into your mind.  That is the phenomenon which Detective Columbus attempted to recreate.”

     Once again, I became wrapped up in the old man’s words. At some point in Stoaffer’s story, the waitress brought our food and refilled our coffee cups.   

     “However, no matter how he tried over the following days, the detective could not break through the barricade  keeping my memories of that night out of reach.  During our time together, I did manage to learn a few things.  Detective Columbus had been on the force for twenty-four years.  He was married with two grown children who never called unless they needed help with something.  His wife’s name was Marie.  And Gary had been embezzling money from the company for a few years.”

     Stoaffer’s last words hung in the air for a moment.

     “Wait … Oh, Lou ... talk about fucked up!”  Joey nearly shouted although no one in the nearly-empty restaurant took notice.  “Yer sayin’ that all the shit you went through was ‘cuz yer partner was stealin’ from the company?”

       Louis Stoaffer smiled at Joey’s reaction. “That is the epiphany which would not come to me until sometime later.  As I said, the daily sessions with the detective went on for some weeks without any significant breakthrough. However, Detective Columbus filled me in on the details of the circumstances which had brought me to the hospital.          

     “It seems a passing driver had seen lights at the bottom of the canyon that night.  The police had investigated and eventually found me inside the car.  Next to me in the passenger seat was a very dead Linda Blake. I was taken to the hospital with a couple of broken ribs and severe head trauma which resulted in my comatose condition.  Of course, all of this was a huge shock to me since I had no recollection of how this could have happened.  However, it was nothing compared to what I had been involved in prior to the crash.”  Stoaffer paused for a moment as if to give full dramatic effect to his previous sentence.

     “Okay, my shift is over.”  The red-headed waitress had suddenly appeared at our table and announced wearily as she refilled our coffees. “If you need anything else, Ginger can help you.”

     A glance at my watch showed that it was nearly eleven o’clock. The restaurant was empty of customers save the three of us.  The big windows overlooked an inky black landscape.

     “Maybe we oughta get going.”  I said grabbing the check and starting to stand.

     Joey’s response was immediate and absolute.  “No!  We’re gonna hear the rest of the story.”

     Louis smiled happily as I sat back down.  “Well, it is certainly nice having a captive audience.  So as I said, I was found in the car with Linda’s corpse and taken to the hospital.  Once I came out of the coma, I began learning about the events that had led me to the bottom of the canyon.  The evening had started with Theresa and me visiting Gary and Linda’s house. Over the course of the evening, a great deal of alcohol was consumed. At some point in the evening, I reportedly became violent.  One thing led to another. A quarrel started, and tempers flared. From there, the argument had allegedly devolved into a fist fight and then into a wrestling match on the floor of the living room.  According to the testimony of my loving wife…” His voice trembled, and Stoaffer paused as he gathered his thoughts. “Well, amid this physical confrontation, a gun appeared. Gary and I wrestled around on the floor the gun went off.   My business partner ended up with a bullet in his chest.  I had no memory of any of this, mind you, but after being told the story so many times I came to accept it as truth.”

     A question suddenly occurred to me as I was sitting            there listening to Louis’ story. “So what happened to … uh … Linda and Theresa?  I mean, why didn’t they stop it?”

     Stoaffer turned his eyes to me.  For just an          instant, a flash of irritation crossed his face as though my question challenged the truthfulness of his story.  He smiled and replied, “Well, from what I was told, Linda huddled in the corner sobbing. Theresa? My wonderful wife lie on the floor unconscious.  According to the well-crafted tale presented as the truth, Theresa played the victim of a beating by an enraged husband.  Cast in the role of abusive spouse was yours truly!   The jump from this scene to me at the bottom of the canyon is a bit fuzzy since Theresa had been unconscious, I have no recollection, and Gary and Linda are dead. The theory presented offered the cause of the subsequent crash as either my intoxication or a struggle with my hostage.”  Louis paused as he let out a disturbing laugh. “Oh, I almost left out a marvelous detail. The story was I kidnapped Linda as some sort of trophy!”

     “Talk about fuckin’ warped!”  Joey commented shaking his head.  “How’d they get sucha crazy idea?”

     “Theresa.”  I whispered. “She must have talked Gary into the whole thing. Did they kill Linda too?”

      The old man regarded at me an expression of amazement. “Thomas, you are incredibly insightful! My beloved spouse, who had pledged to love, honor, and respect me as long as we both shall live, apparently instigated the whole twisted scheme. I am not entirely certain about how Linda died.  But I know that Theresa painted a rather unflattering picture of me as an overbearing, manipulative psychopath with illusions of grandeur. Now my recollection of a particular night might have been lacking, but my long-term memory remained intact. I had been no saint, but the back-ground picture of me as a guy who had used and abused others for personal gain was untrue.  I tried to convince my lawyer to go after the portrait of me being created in court, but—“

     “Hold on!  Howdja get to court?”  Joey interrupted. 

     “Sorry, I guess I did jump ahead.”  Louis chuckled without humor.  “Following nearly three months in the hospital and therapy center, I was remanded to the county jail to await trial.  My experience with lawyers had been limited to those specializing in tax shelters as well as matters related to structured settlements and cash flow notes.  Therefore, I was at a loss as far as retaining a crim-inal attorney.  I had to rely upon the recommendation of others. I found my representation somewhat lacking to say the least. The senior member of a recommended law firm was supposed to handle my case. Unfortunately, due to other commitments, he assigned the responsibility to a junior lawyer named Matthew.  The young man was right out of college and carried himself with the arrogant bravado of the young. He had excelled in law school and was expected to handle my case with ease.”  Stoaffer paused for a moment shaking his head as if recalling his time in court.

    “Unfortunately, youthful enthusiasm and academic achievement don’t always translate into practical success or even common sense. It certainly did not in this instance.  Young Matthew did not grasp the nuances necessary for succeeding in a jury trial. He did not think it necessary to rebut the prosecutor’s unflattering portrait of me as an abusive prick. Rather than winning them over with some combination of charisma, compassion, and logic, Matthew simply placed before the jury a logical, well-supported, depiction of the circumstances proving my innocence. Rather than giving thoughtful consideration to any question and striving to alleviate any lingering doubt in the minds of jury members, Matthew responded to skepticism with contempt and sarcasm.  You can probably guess how the jury reacted to such treatment.  The prosecuting attorney presented a case based on various bits of circumstantial evidence but treated the jury as if they were old friends.  The defense attorney presented a well-supported case based upon hard evidence but treated the jury as if they were idiots.  How do you think things turned out?”  The old man looked from me to Joey and then back to me.

     Finally, I answered, “It‘s human nature for the people in the jury to do everything possible to convince themselves the friendly lawyer had a much stronger case than the mean lawyer.”

     Stoaffer stared at me for a moment without saying anything.  Finally, a smile curled his lips.  “Excellent answer, Thomas. You possess unexpected knowledge of the human animal.  Perhaps things would have gone much better for me had you been my attorney.”

     I have to admit to grinning and straightening up a little at the praise.  I can only hope my cheeks did not blush.  

     “A case which should have been a breeze turned into a hurricane for me. My life had been reduced to rubble.  My business partner had been killed.  I had been held re-sponsible for his death as well as the death of his wife.  My own wife refused to speak to me. Furthermore, I found myself headed to prison for a crime which I could not remember committing.”  He stopped and shook his head. “The court ruled me guilty of involuntary manslaughter with a sentence of ninety-six months in North Kern State Prison near Bakersfield.  The idea of being sent to prison shattered me.  I had never known anything but wealth and privilege. Now my previous life had vanished forever. My livelihood had been taken from me along with any sense of position or self-worth. 

     “After a time, I decided to die inside North Kern State Prison. Nothing waited for me outside, and I saw no reason to leave.”  Louis gazed through me as he said the words, and I felt a chill in the pit of my stomach.  “I shuf-fled through the monotony of prison life waiting for my heart to stop beating.  With rigid schedules for eating, sleeping, exercising, speaking, and no decisions to make, I found a kind of cold numbness; nothing to distinguish one day from another. Bottom line, prison life is easy. You are told what to do.  When to eat.  When to go to bed.  When to get up.  No choices.  It is all about controlling you.  The choices are taken away.  Freedom is much scarier.  Freedom is tougher.  It is all about choices. Knowing just what you need to do every minute of the day provides a certain comfort. It occurs to me the physical confines of prison aren’t much different than the spiritual confines of organized religion.  In the same way as prison, religion takes away choices.  It is all black and white. Do this. Do not do that.  Most people think of prison as a punishment but then choose to give their free-dom over to the repressive doctrine of some church. Repression is most certainly its own prison.”