Chapter Fifty Six

My brain was feasting on the facts and figures that Cy was regurgitating through the night. I hadn't realized that my blockage of numbers had broken free . It felt really good to remember and to not have the numeric figures jump up on the page and then scamper off like ants. We had gone from discussing how much money I'd managed to sock away before my accident with the chicken, which by the way was nothing to sneeze at, to the large purchases made on the promises and down-payments of my investors. Cy had layed out a litany of product endorsements for me to approve or dismiss. I was having real "Marty" fun!

Cy opened up a portfolio of movie scripts that he had received from potential clients that he wanted me to look over. He was interested in becoming a producer of a major motion picture. There was the "Swoosh" sound of pages turning as he leafed through the manuscripts. The noise came from Cy's mouth, not the paper.

"Here's one about a man that builds an automobile engine that runs entirely on pee." He could hardly contain his excitement. "The big oil companies try to kill him, and the carmakers try to get the license to the design so they can bury it." He took the cigar from his teeth and stared at me intently. "It's called Urine Trouble."

There was a lengthy pause as we gazed at one another. I could not muster a reaction. He tossed the script to the floorboard. "Plop!" he said.

"Here is one about a professional baseball pitcher that gets abducted by aliens. During the course of his kidnapping they reverse a couple of bones in his forearm and he develops the nastiest pitch ever seen. If you can make contact with the ball, it bounces right off the bat and into your forehead." I studied Cy's forehead just to make sure it wasn't based on a true story. "This one is called Screwball."

Pause. "Plop!"

"Ok, this one is a little more cerebral. There is this mean guy that commits a murder and gets away with it. He gets sick and the Doctors discover he has a brain tumor. After they remove it he becomes a really nice fellow, but he is haunted with the knowledge that he killed his wife. A year later he falls in love with the policewoman doing follow up on the crime he's responsible for. She gets all caught up in a moral dilemma when he finally confesses his deed."

"Wow, that sounds pretty good! How does it end?"

"That's something the author needs to work on. Not all movie scripts end up going to the screen with the same endings. I'm not at all happy with the payoff here."

"Let me guess. I would say that since she's a good cop, she talks him into turning himself in and they give him a break because of the medical circumstances." I held my hands up in a "Voila" styled wave.

"Not exactly. She bends the facts to implicate a guilty murderer who had escaped conviction from an earlier crime in which she had botched the investigation and he got off on a technicality. She and the real killer start a wonderful life together."

"That sounds a little immoral, but still compelling."

"Plop!" He threw the script to the floor in anticipation." Then the guy grows a new brain tumor and kills her."

I scratched the scar on my head.

"Anybody need a Starbucks?" Ted called from the front seat. Serge was behaving himself, with his arms around Ted's waist and staring up at him with affection.

"I could use a break. How long until we get to Louisville?" I asked.

"Almost there, but we have a lot of things to get done as soon as we arrive. We better stop now and get everything adjusted." Serge reached up and slipped Ted's hat off of his head and placed it on his own.

Ted looked different without his hat. This is the first time I'd seen him without it on. I studied his reflection in the rear view mirror with new interest. He had short, wavy brown hair that was matted down on his skull. I had just assumed all along that he must be bald, this revelation came as quite a surprise to me. His eyes met mine in the mirror and they shifted left to right in a nervous reaction. I got the feeling that he didn't want me to see him without his hat. He tried to wrench it off of Serge's head but the monkey had decided not to give it back.

"Let go you little bastard." I was concerned about Ted's sudden disdain for Serge's antics. The wrestling became more pronounced and Serge squawked with displeasure. "Let go you dirty little motherfucker!" The car swerved dangerously. Ted's eyes kept shifting from the monkey, to the road, and back to me. "Give it back!"

Right before the car hit the tree and I was thrown 200 yards from the wreckage, a streetlight illuminated Ted's entire face. The hat had been hiding an unusual scar just below his hairline. It looked very familiar to me.

It was my scar.