about 3850 words

As a rule Tommy never smoked unless he was drunk or it was a special occasion. This afternoon he was stone sober as he lit up.  A craving for single malt followed the first smell of tobacco. It faded quickly as he looked back at the gaggle of people milling around on the street.  The Scotch could wait.  He’d find time later tonight, a northern 20 year old served straight up in a heavy glass with a cigar. Yeah nice.


Jocko always loved a crowd.   He’d be rubbing his paws together over this one, thought Tommy.  The sport bike crowd, mostly just kids, on their bright bikes and matching leathers were congregating over to the left.  He wondered how the girls managed to get those pants on and laughed as he realized their boyfriends would be wondering how to get them off.  Man, those were the days.  The weekend riding crowd was out in force as well. The usual assortment of stock brokers and orthodontists trying to look hard with their do-rags and three day old beards.  Tax accountants in black leather.  Scary.  A squad of motorcycle cops was hustling around trying to get everyone in line, and he spotted a few legitimate gang members hanging around the periphery.  Christ, what a circus.

The media flacks were capturing it all for the good folks who couldn’t make it to the service.  Some of the luminaries in attendance managed a weak wave to the crowd outside the church.  Everyone had gathered to pay respect to the city’s biggest motorcycle dealer, celebrated racing legend, noted philanthropist, and all around fun guy.

The mayor’s eulogy highlighted Jocko’s contribution to the community and his many charitable works.   Tommy waited for him to get to the part about Jocko bringing in a dozen Romanian strippers, listing them as relatives attending a family reunion.  Or acknowledge the motorcycles that over the years had showed up in various city officials’ driveways.  But the mayor never mentioned any of it.  Not even a word about the cash deals and hot parts.  Tommy wasn’t surprised.  You couldn’t expect a busy man like the Mayor to remember every little detail.   The Mayor was on a roll and finished up with an emotional good bye to his old friend and loyal supporter. The city had lost a great ambassador.  Yeah, and Saddam Hussein was really a decent guy.  All the same Tommy had to give props; The Mayor was an absolute master at bull shitting people.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

They’d asked Tommy to lead the funeral procession.  As a symbolic gesture Jocko’s old racing mate would blaze the trail on their last ride together.  He agreed immediately. It would be an honour.  He joked about it being the only way he would ever get to ride in front of Jocko.   People nodded and said it was a classy thing to do.  I‘m a class guy all right.  Anything for Jocko.

Tommy flexed his arms to loosen up the stiff leathers.  It had been years but the jacket still fit pretty good as long as he didn’t zip it up.    The pants were another story. In the end he gave up and went with jeans and cowboy boots.  It wasn’t like he’d need any extra protection today.

Tommy no longer owned a bike so they gave him a loaner off the showroom floor.   He was sitting on a World Championship Special.  One of limited run bearing the championship logo and Jocko’s numbered autograph.  The salesman made a big deal out of it when Tommy arrived.  Apparently the bikes had doubled in value now that Jocko was gone and this was one of the few still left unsold.  He asked Tommy if he needed any help starting it.  Tommy was tempted to give the little prick a shot to the head.   Who did this idiot think he was?  He’d ridden better motorcycles all across Europe before this kid was even a gleam in his old man’s eye.  But then how would the salesman know?  Tommy was just some guy who raced years ago.  He choked off his anger and looked the bike over.  Jesus where did Jocko get the balls to ask 25 large for this thing and now they were actually getting double that?  Unbelievable!  Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t be caught within a hundred feet of it.   But times weren’t normal and Tommy found himself saying: No shit, double the price?  The salesman nodded like one of those bobble head dolls.

And so here he was leading the parade on the World Championship Special.

A cop bike roared up to a stop beside Tommy in an eyeball popping display of flashing lights, gleaming chrome and swaying whip antennas.  It was Detective Frances Polwicki, AKA Frankie the Pole.   Frankie was wearing the whole motorcycle cop regalia.  Big boots and billowing striped pants, gleaming white helmet topping the dark tinted ray-bans.  Tommy wondered what prompted motorcycle cops to dress like total retards.  It was hard to keep a straight face.

The Pole used to be a regular at Jocko’s shop until someone ratted and Internal Affairs found $25,000 worth of motorcycle parts in his barn.  Frankie eventually came up with receipts to prove that he had financed everything at Jocko’s, and as expected Jocko backed up the story.   Internal affairs went away, but not Jocko.   Frankie the Pole would always owe.

The Pole looked over Tommy’s bike and said: I can’t believe you agreed to ride that POS.  Tommy replied: Try not to fall over Frankie; it would look bad in front of the mayor and your Gestapo friends.    They sat in silence until the cop radio squawked in the garbled language that only cops and cabbies understand.  Frankie gave Tommy the signal to start and leaned in close with some final advice.  Keep your speed up.  Let’s not waste any extra time on the son of a bitch.  Frankie peeled off in a blast of noise to join the others.  He was riding tall in the saddle, looking like a man who had just paid a debt.

Tommy pushed a button and the GPS display snapped to life showing 10 kilometers to the cemetery.  The salesman had preprogrammed the route.  How helpful.   No worries Jocko we got her all mapped out.

The hearse swung in behind him and everyone was lined up, waiting.  Tommy looked down at the fuel tank and there it was.  Jocko’s hen scratch beside the trophy decal.  Some of his cigarette ashes had landed on the tank.  He considered wiping it off but instead tossed the butt and reached for his helmet.  Time to go.  The TV crews rushed past him to get set up for the big group shot.  One of them was signaling for him to wait while they set up the cameras.  Fuck that.  Tommy punched the starter button and the World Championship Special barked to life.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see the female reporter stomping her feet in anger as they rolled past.  It was great.

Tommy was a bit surprised that the bike actually worked pretty well given that it was something Jocko had a hand in.  Admittedly toddling along in a funeral procession wasn’t much of a test and certainly not the way he and Jocko used to ride.  They’d once been inseparable.  A couple of home town boys, racing each other on the track and raising hell off it.  They were one- two at races all across Europe and the States.  Writers still referred to theirs as one of the great rivalries in racing.  At some point winning became more important than friendship but in spite of everything Tommy had to admit they had some great times together.

1 down, 9 to go.  He took a quick glance back.  How you doin’ back there Jocko?

Jocko was following along behind him, just like in the old days.  Right where you should have stayed.   Silverstone in England was the turning point.  Jocko squeezed past him into first place with 2 laps to go, winning a race that made him a superstar.  Tommy loved Silverstone and had been setting a record pace.  There was no way that Jocko should have been able to drive around him to take the win.  Years later one of Jocko’s ex-mechanics admitted to helping him cheat.   But by then it was all water under the bridge.  Jocko was a celebrity and no one wanted to dig up the past.  There was too much money and product endorsements at stake.  Tommy didn’t care either, his racing days were long over.  Besides he already knew that Jocko cheated.  He just never got caught.  It wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things.

Silverstone was Tommy’s last race.  A week later he broke both his legs, practicing for a race in Watkins Glen New York.  Jocko won the championship and went on to immortality.  Tommy went on to rehab.  The months of recovery gave Tommy plenty of time to think.  His riding days were done and even if by some miracle he was able to get back on a bike, after Julie, there was no way he could ever face that world again.  His time in the hospital sparked a desire to practice medicine and eventually he made it into Med School. The rest as they say is history.  Medicine saved his legs and his sanity.  Doctor Tommy, who would have believed it? Sometimes he looked in the mirror and laughed.

7 klics left. The hearse danced in his mirrors as they rumbled up the street.  I never really give a shit about winning the championship Jocko, we were pals, but you should never have touched Julie.  You knew better, but you didn’t care. You crushed her, you worthless motherfucker.

Things would have been different if he hadn’t crashed.  Julie had tried to her best to stick it out with him but she just couldn’t.  She knew he’d never race again and the doctors only talked in percentages about the rest.  The prospect of spending the rest of her life chained to a man who might never walk must have been a terrible concept for a 23 year old to come to grips with. Tommy saw the distress building in her eyes as they spent day after day cooped up and bored in an overheated hospital ward that stank of piss and iodine.   Meanwhile Jocko was calling her at night to see if she needed anything.  Jocko was big time.  Travelling on private planes to races and hanging out between events in Monte Carlo with the sponsors and movie stars.  Tommy knew it was over when Julie said she was thinking about making a trip back to Europe to see some old friends.  He kept hoping against hope that he was wrong.   A few months later they sent him an invite to the wedding.   Knowing that to Jocko, Julie was just this year’s girl, one more trophy to parade around in front of his friends, almost killed him.

The memories came flooding back as he rolled the bike into a corner.   He could almost feel her behind him again, her arms tight around his chest, her breasts pressing into his back.  In Europe they rode without helmets.  Julie would rest her chin on his shoulder and her hair would blow across his face as they wound through the towns.  He could still hear her voice whispering in his ear, smell her perfume and feel the softness of her cheek as she snuggled against him.  The ach never went away.

5k, half way.   The wind was making his eyes water.  Not long now Jocko.

Julie always lived on the edge, running at anything that caught her fancy.  She counted on her looks and personality to provide a soft landing from life’s little mishaps.  But they weren’t nearly enough to protect her from Jocko.  The good times ended after she caught him in bed with some party girl.   Jocko’s ego demanded retribution once she left and told everyone why.  He set out to destroy her and by the time it was all over Julie was badly broken.  Easy prey for the dirt bags who hang around the edges of that world.  She discovered heroin after hooking up with one.  When Tommy finally found her, Julie was an HIV positive junkie on the way to an early grave.  He took her home and prayed.

Tommy spent as much time as he could with Julie.  At first they had good days when she could walk outside and sit in the sun.  As Julie became weaker he’d spent his evenings studying beside her bed as she slept. He held her in his arms as she died.  Jocko didn’t bother to attend the funeral. He told his cronies that he had actually done Tommy a favor by saving him from a life with that crazy bitch.

Over the years Tommy would occasionally run into Jocko at civic functions where out of necessity they maintained a veneer of friendship.  As far as anyone knew they were just a couple of old buddies getting together to raise money for charity.

Just under 3 k to the boneyard.    Hanging in back there old buddy?

Tommy’s thoughts drifted back to his last conversation with Jocko.  He couldn’t believe the son of a bitch had the guts to show up at the house, but then again Jocko was so used to everyone kissing his ass that he expected to be treated like a star no matter where he went.  Jocko needed some advice about a delicate situation and who better to talk to than his old racing buddy?    He had a big evening planned and wanted to make sure his performance would be up to par.  He was looking for a little insurance, you know, just in case.  Tommy knew this wasn’t about a hot night with Lauren, Jocko’s current wife.  He’d passed Lauren as she walked out of the clinic a couple of weeks back.  The makeup didn’t quite hide her bruises.  On a whim he took a quick look at her file.  It told a familiar tale.  It wouldn’t be long before she ended up on the street, assuming she was lucky enough to make it that far.  Tommy suggested that Jocko visit his own MD but Jocko was adamant that things be kept quiet.  He had a reputation to protect and there was always someone looking for a little dirt to spread around.  In a way it made sense.  People were always talking.  In fact, word on the street was that Jocko was doing his 21 year old receptionist.  Not a big surprise given that he liked them young and impressionable.

So you didn’t tell anyone you were coming here?

Not a soul Tommy boy, far as anyone knows I’m delivering a bike.  This is just between you and me.

Tommy considered his options for a moment and said, Hey what are friends for?

Jocko was found in his room at the local Holiday Inn.  What exactly he was doing buck naked in a hotel room three blocks from his house remained a mystery There were several juicy theories centered on various combinations of drugs and sex.  Frankie the Pole was assigned to the case and along with his partner questioned Jocko’s receptionist who wouldn’t admit to being anywhere near that room.  The cops didn’t believe her but as Jocko was the only other witness they didn’t get far.  The coroner had a room full of urgent cases to deal with and in the absence of some obvious crime not much reason to go deep on Jocko.  He figured that lots of people would be only too happy to see Jocko off.  Most of them like him were Jocko’s ex-customers.  He called out to the Pole during the autopsy.  Holy Shit, Frankie come over and take a look at this, the son of a bitch actually had a heart.  It’s mean and cold but there it is.  He was still laughing as he listed the cause of death as cardiac arrest.  The big guy’s ticker just gave out.  Happened all the time.

Later that day Detective Frances Polwicki informed the media that there were no signs of foul play and in spite of the unusual circumstances the police were satisfied that no crime had been committed.  He also stated that he had been misquoted and had never told a reporter over drinks that running around a hotel room naked with a sex toy stuck up your ass is not illegal, even if it was kids stay free week at the Holiday Inn.

The mayor put the paper down, checked his watch and leaned back in the limo seat.  He felt good.  For the first time in ages he could breathe easy when he thought of Jocko.  This was an election year and the last thing he needed was to have a big supporter found dead with a load of coke or some other shit in his system.   Sure the whole hotel thing was bad, but he could deal with that.  Boys will be boys and besides everyone knew Jocko was a player.  In reality the guy was a fucking time bomb.   The Mayor made a note to confirm that Jocko’s last campaign contribution had cleared the bank.  He also reminded himself to talk to the Chief of Police about that idiot Polwicki.

The GPS beeped and the screen read Destination Ahead.  The headstones were already rolling past on his right and he could see the gates coming up.  The late September sun created a soft glow through the trees, casting shadows that flickered in his eyes.  It was a perfect afternoon to be on a motorcycle.  Tommy pulled over and waved the hearse past.

Well Jocko this is it, end of the line.

Jocko’s burial was a quiet affair with none of the pomp and posing of the church service.  Tommy noted that at least half the crowd had disappeared and those that remained looked like they couldn’t wait to do the same.  So much for loyalty, he thought.  Lauren caught his eye and gave him a tight smile.  The minister said the prayers for the dead as the casket slid into the ground.  And then it was over.  Jocko was gone but Tommy felt no elation.  He climbed back on the World Championship Special and hit the starter.  Tommy took a final look back as he passed the cemetery gates.

See you soon old friend, don’t take any shit from Satan.

It all caught up to him on the ride back to his office.   He’d arrogantly told the salesperson to pick the bike up there rather than at the graveyard and now he was regretting it.  Tommy was drained, pain shot up through his legs with every bump and his side hurt as he leaned into the turns.   The salesman met him in the parking lot as promised and looked genuinely concerned at his condition.  Are you sure you’re OK?  Tommy waved him off mumbling some words about it being a while since he had ridden.  The salesman passed Tommy his business card and said, look sir you were great today and we all appreciate what you did.  Listen, if you ever want to take a bike out for a spin just give me a call, anytime, it’d be a pleasure. They parted after a quick handshake.  Tommy was ashamed that he had badly misjudged the man.

He was suddenly overcome with a terrible feeling of loneliness.  Snippets of the day’s events swirled around him as he limped towards the office entrance.  He felt light headed and his vision was narrowing.  He tried to focus, push past the dull ringing in his ears and get to the door.  There was a flash of blonde hair and he felt the grip of strong hands.  Julie was looking down at him.  She had come back for him, talking to him as she wiped the tears from his eyes.  He tried to reach up to touch her face but nothing was working right.

A bright light startled him and he jumped.  His eyes slowly refocused. Steve Jackson, one of his partners in the clinic was holding the penlight.

Steve flicked the light in Tommy’s right eye.  Sorry about the light T.  Just checking the usual stuff.  How are you feeling?

Shitty but I’ll live.  I guess that bike ride took more out of me than I thought.

No kidding.  Did you have anything to eat today?

Not since breakfast, I went right to the service from here.

Damm, Tommy that had to be close to 10 hours ago. You know better than that.

Hey Steve it’s OK, I’m coming around, just let me relax here for a few seconds and I’ll be fine.

Yeah well it’s your call but at least promise me you’ll stick around long enough to get some fluids down.  Don’t fuck around with this Tommy. You should go see Charnel or one of the other neuro guys first thing tomorrow.    You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you came in here.  Sorry bad pun.

Tommy managed a smile. Steve you’re no standup comedian, but thanks for looking after me today.

Steve grunted an acknowledgement and pulled the EKG pads off Tommy’s chest.  Well your color is coming back and I can’t find anything obvious, so maybe you got lucky.  Take it easy for a while and make sure you pay a visit to one of the head guys tomorrow.   Seriously man, you scared the shit out of us.  You’re lucky that Amy was there to catch you.

Amy?  Tommy came up blank; Amy who?

Amy Wagener our new GP, remember you interviewed her three weeks ago over the phone.  She started today.  Great way for her to meet the boss.  I bet she was impressed as hell when you drooled all over her blouse.

Another day, another charity function.  Tommy joined in the applause as Lauren left the stage.  Sometimes people surprised you.   There was a lot more to her than anyone had imagined.  The Jocko and Lauren Jabloski Charitable Foundation was a great success providing, as the Mayor so eloquently pointed out, incredible benefits to the city.   With the formal presentations over conversation around the table resumed and Tommy picked up where he left off.  That’s the thing about hearts, he told the folks, even with all the resources we have today, sometimes you just can’t predict these kinds of things.  I’m not sure I could have saved Jocko if I had been standing right beside him when it happened. They nodded in understanding; after all Dr. Tom Johnson was the Head of Cardiology at the University Hospital. When it came to hearts Tommy Johnson was the best.  Number one in his field.

He looked across at Amy and winked.  It was time move on.