by Chris Troman
swung shut behind Sam as he sauntered across the reception to the desk on the far wall. All the consulting doors were closed, good he sighed. "How's it going J.W?" Sam greeted the man at the desk. "Working like a trooper bro", came the reply from the recumbent figure. His feet sat on a cupboard behind the counter, as he rotated back and forth on the swivel chair.
"I thought you were in last week, you been steaming it too?" Sam leaned in, "no but I've got a break and I need a little help." He laid down an envelope bulging with notes. J.W. slid it from view with consummate skill and grinned. "I didn't know you partook of medical enhancement, trying to burn the candle at both ends?" Sam shook his head. "No the kind of help I need is locked in your patient files. I need to trace up some cases, see if they tie in with my findings." J.W. looked towards the closed doors. "That kind of thing could get a fellow in deep trouble, but I think I just need a bathroom break, can't bust me for being human." He pointed his thumb at a cabinet and walked off.
This was almost too easy thought Sam, as he rifled through the files. His notes sat atop the cabinet for reference. "What the blazes do you think you're doing?" A hand was suddenly on Sam's shoulder, as a thin man in a doctor's coat grabbed him from behind. Luckily Sam was wound up from the day's events, and jumped like a gazelle. He knocked the desks contents flying, and was out the door like a shot. Two alleyways later he sat panting and cursing his luck, all that money and nothing to show for it. Dejectedly he slunk off, and found a watering hole to drown his sorrows in.
Hours later and in a more sedate mood, Sam sat in a booth thinking what he could do next. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. "Sam man you sure pulled a corker today", J.W. was beaming as he hovered over the drunken doctor. Sam turned his morose face up to his friend and beamed. He had just seen what J.W. was waving like a fan, his sheets and another with names and addresses on it. "Doctor Finley was sure shook up by your little games, but he couldn't have got a good look. He said the guy that got him was a great big fellow, with mussels like coconuts the big galoot. Anyway they bought my story that I was in the john, and I always said we needed security. When it all cooled off I spotted your notes, so is this what you need?" "I could kiss you J.W. your a savoir", and Sam pocketed the notes. After that it got a little hazy. At one point J.W. bet Sam he couldn't balance a shot glass on his nose.
Sam awoke next day with no memory of how he got home. He reached into his coat pocket, and pulling out the notes breathed a sigh of relief. Now he had some investigating to do. Over coffee and hot buttered toast he scanned down the list. Mr. R. Peterson 34 Wordsworth Place, not far from here Sam mused. "Ye shall inherit the earth, go forth and live in peace for you turned the proverbial cheek all your days so sayeth the lord." One for the positive camp thought Sam; I'll start there. A good shave and a long shower made Sam half presentable, a good suit and a freshly laundered shirt did the rest. "Clothes maketh the man", quipped Sam as he stalked down the street. His plan was simple. He would pose as himself, his university I.D. could see to that. But he would be doing anecdotal research on what makes a good life. Cold calling was his cover.
Sam looked up at the well-tended facade of number 34, and the he knocked. Footsteps heralded the opening of the bright blue door. Sam smiled at the rosy-cheeked gentleman, spun his tale and was soon ensconced in the living room, surrounded by all the trappings of a well-lived life. Yes indeed the old fellow had enjoyed a good existence, and now full of memories of his past, he rested waiting the time when he would rejoin his wife Elsie. As the sun sank Sam bid Mr. Peterson goodbye, and convinced the first experiment had been a success headed home.
After a morning spent recovering, from an evening celebrating yesterday's success, Sam picked a negative prediction. In the hope of using the same technique he headed for todays laboratory, but as he approached his destination an elderly man came out of the door. Damn thought Sam, as he hung back. The man headed down town, so Sam shadowed him. Intent on cornering his prey, and extract the necessary data. At a shabby store the old man opened the unlocked door and proceeded in. Sam waited a while for him to emerge, but it appeared that his subject was in for the duration. So Sam approached.
As the bell tinkled Sam looked around the shop, it was long overdue for a renovation. An elderly lady sat behind the counter. "Can I help you sir?" "Is Mr. Ronson in" Sam replied in a noncommittal tone?" "Not another bill" she sighed. "No" he corrected her. "I am doing a study on what makes a good life, and he is on my list." Sam held up his I.D. "Well you don't want to talk to him about that, he hasn't known five minutes of a good life to my knowledge". Then she proceeded to go on about how his wife had run off with his business partner ruining the business. "It's only my pension that keeps me here, and something to get me out of the house". Even his kids had turned against him. "It's a wonder he's not put a bullet through his head, poor man." Sam thanked her; he had decided he would not disturb her boss.
As he stepped into the street Sam pulled out his notes, and scanned down the page. Here's one he thought, James Doolan. The address was Charles Winchester hospital, not too far and another negative, so off he strode. Once in the grounds he found an attendant. "Is there a Mr. J. Doolan working here?" It turned out he was just finishing for the day, and Sam was directed towards a ruddy-faced man. His target was slightly stooped, as he headed off along the street.
Sam followed at a distance, if he was a negative he might be a bit jumpy. The old man moved with purpose, and finally stood before a bar on Henley Street. Sam followed him in after a pause, and took a seat next to him at the bar. His subject already had a beer at his lips. Impatient to get results, Sam dove in "You look like you've had a hard life."
The man put the beer down and smiled. "No friend I've had a good life, fifty years a gardener. It's paid my way, my wants are simple, and I married a good woman. I've been happy all these years." He stretched his arms wide to indicate the years. "I've got four good kids, they still come round at weekend with kids of their own. I think Mark Twain said a job ain't a job, if you don't feel obliged to do it. I always said if I didn't enjoy my gardening, then I'd just up and do something else". He paused, took a sip and went on. "It's more of a pleasure than a job. I exercise every day, get fresh air, and no boss over my shoulder. When you smile you find people smile back, it's a happy world I live in."
Sam felt a sinking feeling as the gent unfolded his life. "But why have you come in here like a man wanting to drown his sorrows?" "It may seem that way but I'm here on a purpose. You see I'm drinking to the memory of my brother James. He liked to stop in here, and he died last week."
Reeling Sam blurted out with a giggle. "Your not James Doolan?" "No sir, I'm Jamie. His younger brother. You'd think people would mix us up, but even as a lad he was always the serious one. While I was off dreaming of moon pie, he'd be inside studying. I knew he'd go far, he managed the hospital I worked at. But he was never satisfied; his wife was always henpecking him. Spending his money all the time, that's why he always stopped in here. He needed a drink to face her. His kids never went to his funeral, just my family and his wife. If I were of a nasty turn of mind, I'd say she only wanted to make sure he was dead, poor chap. Well I'm off home; I only wanted one drink for his memory. Mary will be missing me if I stay longer, and I never let my dinner go cold."
Staggered Sam got up too, and headed for his local haunt. J.W. was already ensconced in a booth, and Sam soon joined him in a round or several, giddy from his days work. "Why you so jolly" enquired J.W. "Won the raffle?" Beaming Sam slurred, "I sitting on the most important discovery since man began, want to know my secret?" "O.K. bro" J.W. was intrigued. "Everyone has his life mapped out before he's born. You can't escape it, judgment from above", and he sat back grinning.
J.W. showed a full set of teeth. "Thought you had me there fella, good one." Sam shot forward and whispered "it's real, I'm goanna tell my assessors next week. It'll sky rocket my research." J.W. mulled it over a second. "Well I'd not want to know my every move. I just want to be free, to do wha
t I want, do what I please, any old time." Then he continued to hum the song to him self. Sam took another swig of his drink. Then suddenly leaning in J.W. enquired. "Didn't you break some ethical code? Won't they throw the book at you?" Sam suddenly sobered up. What if J.W. was right, how do I know I'm destined for greatness? As this though struck him, he knew he had to know his fate. Sam got up and walked out, leaving the stewed J.W. in a world of his own again.
The fresh air rushed past Sam, as he half ran the four blocks to his lab. Luckily due to the nature of the work done there it was open all hours, and swiping his card he strolled in. Soon Sam was fumbling for his key. On flickered the light, and routing out a sampler kit. He adroitly extracted a drop of his own crimson identity, and placed it in the D.N.A. reader. The new Megamax 5000 hummed away to itself, as Sam paced up and down next to the bench. Then with a start, out came the printed sheet. He immediately fingered, it as the paper slowly chugged out. Already he was crossing out sections he knew the purpose of. By the time it had finally left the machine, over half of it was eliminated. Sam
