1 Chapter 1

Above the bar the televisions are showing the game. Frank is not watching it, he is hardly focusing. Through the windows in the fading day. First Avenue is turning grey. Rain lashes the streets. To live in Seattle, you have to love the rain.And Frank loved Seattle.The inclement weather outside only rivaled  the inclement thoughts  through his mind. Mid-forties and forced among the ranks of the unemployed.Drifting towards the dole queue with each passing failed job application. Had the information age finally caught up with him? Or was it just another  . Perpetuated by another profit taking merchant bank on yet another punctured Ponzi scheme. Robbing the poor, to pay themselves. Displacing workers and families onto the streets. The redundancy payout would last a few months.

Assuming he did not piss it away first."Fuck 'em." Frank curses under his breath.Frank stared into this glass for an answer. As though he was searching for something. Something scared he'd lost. And that it could only be found. At the bottom of his glass. The large ice cube that embodied God had now melted to half its size and rattled freely against the sides of the known universe. The ever diluting cosmos of bourbon had become watery and had lost its dark matter.If nothing appeared on the horizon before then, he would have to join the welfare line. The thought depressed him. He had two choices. To sit rocking in a corner. Or suck it up get on with his life. If not for himself, then at least for his three kids.Finding sanctuary at a bar on First Avenue. Jefferson's. Tomo , the high priest and self-anointed druid Sharman, dispensed his own brand of medicine. InFrank's case. Bourbon. The crazy glue that held his life together. Numbing his senses and dubbing his mind to whatever he was trying to desperately cling onto. Or whatever he was desperately trying to forget. Deferring any dependency issues, until after the next drink. Surrounding himself with fellow journeymen.

Each with sad tales of despair and misfortune. Each more pitiful than his own.To look at Frank, you would have thought he was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress. A returned serviceman. Shell shocked. But it was far worse.He had an ex-wife from hell. Divorce had been a battle field. Few knew the emotional scars he bore. Unemployment only irritated the invisible wounds.Family courts turned a blind eye. Siting that if he had no a vagina, he had no rights. As lawyers burnt his money quicker than Salem Puritans burnt Mid-Wives.

Whatever was left, could be found at the bottom of his glass.In the end, Frank simply gave up and surrendered. Drawing a line in the sand. He stepped over it. And got on with his lie.Each day, hoping to find the strength to take one more breathe. Take one more step. To live. Hoping one day she would find closure. But that day had yet arrived.

"So what did you do to piss her off?" Asked Tomo hoping to avoid the same mistake.

"I cut some card I shouldn't have... And she hasn't forgiven me after all these years." Frank rattled off the lyrical reason. Confusing Tomo further.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she had some kind of depression after having Jack... And ever since then I've been responsible for everything that has ever gone wrong with her life... Before during, and after... That what it means."Tomo backed off to give Frank some space to think. It was going to be a dark day in the office. Old wounds were beginning to bleed. Annoying him.

Hoping the bourbon would cauterize them. Frank was never one to blame others for where sat today, but himself.Frank resumed his close up observation with God. Slowly melting. Slowly running away to hide in shame. Even He couldn't figure women out.He had thought about writing a book. After twenty years of being shat on why not some pay back. But who would believe it if he told them. The truth really was stranger than fiction. A story of despair and villains. A tragedy that would mess with most people's head. As it had messed with his. He would not wish that upon people. Anyway, Accountants don't write books. He was a numbers man. An analyst, not a wordsmith. He would leave the horror story to Stephen King. Frank grinned at the thought.'Good luck with that!' Turning to one side as though to inform him.Fearing even Stephen would cower at the thought and soon be drinking with him.'You deserve a purple heart man.' Consoled an angelic Stephen looking over to Frank.Taking a sip of the Tennessee bourbon. Frank sighed deeply.

Killing the thought, Stephen and the half dozen angels that were sitting too close.Sniffing the bourbon laced smelling salts to revive himself. The cube of ice had now melted to that of a pebble. God had given up on him. But he'd be back.Washing the remainder of the drink about the bottom of the glass, now the color of pale piss. Gulping it down, he contemplates another.With little thought he looks over to the barmaid.

"One for the road thanks Chelsea." Frank raises the glass and rattles the pathetic remainder of God within.It would only be his fourth, or sixth for the day. Not that he was counting. He was not going anywhere in a hurry. Keeping the dark thoughts at bay for another hour. Was it depression? Depression was a dirty word. Depression is what other people had. He may have been glum, down. Out perhaps. But not depressed.Closing his eyes he imagined a small candle flickering in an immense darkness.Hope. Of a future beyond the now. He had would not surrender to the darkness so easily.What was the grand lesson that God was trying to teach him? Suffering?Yeah. An ex-wife would do that to anyone. And where were the damn Guardian Angels that were supposed to have been looking over him? No doubt sitting beside him drowning their sorrows too. Frank wondered if they ever got depressed. Chelsea pushes a drink a glass in front of him.

"Thanks Chelsea." Frank smelt the strong aromas as though savoring a fine wine.The earthy odors aroused his nostrils. Twitching at the fresh earthly fumes.

"Cheers boys." Frank saluted his angelic friends.Chelsea looks over to see who Frank was talking to, but only saw him talking to himself. Taking a mouthful, allowed it to waltz over his tongue before swallowing the elixir that had kept him sane the past months.How long had he been out of work he wondered? Had he lost track of the months that had passed since his redundancy? Five, six, seven? Had it been that long? After a year he would be seen as damaged goods. Some absences could be explained away as holiday, time out. But sooner or later the reality of his situation could not be buried so easily.Patrons exit the bar to the safe haven of their parked vehicles.

Suddenly a gust of wind rushes in through the bar doors of the bar as though to escape the foul weather outside. Sending a cold draft through the bar. The icy air slapped his face. Distracting him from the dark thoughts. Caught between channels his mind switched. And he reaches for his drink for protection.Heavy rain and hail stones pelted the bar's windows. A log fire at the far end flared with flames. The dimming day outside had surrendered to the edarkness. He was reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of the bar. It insulated him from the reality of the cruel world outside. Maybe another one be fore he goes he thought. Hoping to sustain the simulated sanctuary a little longer.

His mind searches for life lines. Family? What family? They may as well have been strangers. Having nothing in common with them but their parents. And even then he thought he had been adopted. Blood maybe thicker than water, but bourbon tasted better. Daniels was his kin.He thought of his father. His hero. Also an accountant. Something Frank had vowed he would never be. Yet here he sat. What would his father say about Frank's lot? Silence was the loudest thing he ever said. Recalling the time his father had given him a blank check for his study.

Harboring the guilt that he had not repaid him since. But knowing he would never want to be repaid. To his father it was a gift. Not a debt. It was family. Not business. It was his way of saying, 'I love you.' Without ever having say it verbally. It was a generation althing. Something Frank vowed would not repeat with his son Jack.Frank's only regret that he had never told him he loved him. Hoping that his father was proud of him his accomplishments. As Frank was of his him.Knowing as a parent himself, you make sacrifices for your children. So they can get ahead. Even if it meant you went without.What would his father say right now?

"Toughen up... Pull your socks up... And have another drink." Frank heard his father's voice resonated in his mind.Echoing his own belief. Maybe he was not adopted after all. Maybe he was an only child and the others were? Frank grinned and took another swallow of bourbon.The television commentary became agitated. Frank looks up to see a fight had broken out.

The crowd had become jubilant as two players began beating the shit out of each other. Referees stood back and allowed padded Neanderthals to punch the other senseless. Before eventually pulling them apart. With no apparent injury. Such was the brutal mating ritual of Ice-Hockey players. The game recommenced as though the fight had never happened and the clock counted down the final seconds. Seattle T-Birds win as the final hooter blows.The crowd erupts in a frenzy of chants. Tomo flicks through the channels to find something to keep the bar's few patrons entertained for a while longer.

"T-Birds won again... They could go all the way this year." Tomo predicts his forecast.

"I could put a fiver on them for you if you like... They'll be paying good odds."

"Yeah, I'll be in." Accepts Frank reaching for his wallet.Just then Tomo catches a golf channel, recalling he had missed out backing a particular golfer he followed.

"You won't guess what happened?"

"No what?" Asked Frank intrigued by the Sharman's wisdom.

"The one time I don't back bloody Noren... And te bugger comes in!"

"That's not like you, what happened?"

"He was seven shots behind going into the final round... Paying thirty to one... But I couldn't see him catching the leaders." Tomo shakes his head in disbelief and the grief.

"Ain't that always the case? ... He's overdue to win a Major soon... Watch this space mate." Consoles Franks.

"You'll get him next time."Looking around the spacious bar. Frank sees a couple near the log fire. A young couple. Looking every bit in love. Full of hope and a future ahead of them. Good luck to them he wishes them.

Wondering what trials and tribulations would bestow them. Wondering why is it that some people breeze through life effortlessly. While others stumble and fall? Holding hands, the couple laughed and looked into each other's eyes. Love. What would he have done anything differently if he had his time again? The truthful answer would be no. His destiny had already been scribbled well before his soul ever bisected his 

Accepting that no matter what he had done, the outcome would have always be the same.Turning around further. Sees a man sitting at a corner booth reading a newspaper. Content with his red wine. Enjoying his newspaper. Comfortable.Seemly without a worry in the world. Frank tried to unravel the man's profession. Lawyers, perhaps. Sharp dark suit. Brief case. Black polished shoes.An accountant or business man passing through.

Stopping in for a drink before retiring for the evening. Frank had never really noticed the man before. Strangers come and go he figured.Pondering the man further. Obviously employed, perhaps self-employed.Who knows, maybe the man was unemployed, running on fumes. Putting on a façade of respectability to fit in. Frank was becoming cynical again. His analytical mind could not help picking away at someone's life. Who was he to judge others when his own life was in disarray?Returning to his drink. The ice had melted to weaken the taste of bourbon.His tongue played with the flavors, searching for key notes that registered it authenticity. Grinning with satisfaction as he found the subtle adulterated taste again.

The dark thoughts had retreated to the shadows of his mind and feeling a warmth seep in his bones.Inhaling deeply, and sighs.

"You okay Frank? You killed a few with that one." Tomo asks looking over to him.

"Yeah... A lot on my mind." Frank admits.

"You know there's always work here if you want one. It isn't much but it will keep you off the streets."

"Thanks mate... But I still have a few irons in the fire... I appreciate the offer."Working bar and flipping burgers was minimum wage. A far cry from his former profession.

Still if he had to bite the bullet, he would. But it would have to be the last resort thing.Did he really have irons he had in the fire? He still had money in the bank.But he knew the vultures would be circling. The IRS was after him for child support and taxes. Assuming the credit card people get to him first. It felt like he was under attack from all quarters. How long could he keep them at bay? Bills would soon erode whatever nest egg he had stashed away. Beggars could not be chose. But minimum wage was not going to cut it to match his commitments.He needed real work and real money. And real soon.Taking out a note book Frank examines the list of recent applications he had made online. Running his eyes down the scribbled listings, marking the number of stars he would give to their potential success.

It was not looking good, with most receiving barely two or three stars.'Hmm', he thought. Surmising up his chances at any of them.Did twenty years of experience count for nothing? Was he too long in the tooth to be competitive with the younger generation? Had he gone past his use by date? Or were the others simply better qualified? His mind was still sharp.But he had to accept that he was getting old.

He could feel it in his bones. He had lost the spring in his flat-footed step.

"I'm not dead yet. You don't get me that easy." Frank mutters to himself.

"You good over there?" Tomo inquires.

"Yeah. Yeah. All good... Just thinking aloud?"Frank knew he still had some fight left in him. Experience counted for something. He still had most of his looks. Frank sucked in a deep breath and sighed again. Tomo looks up in time to see Frank.

"One of those days." Noting his glass was now empty. Frank orders another drink,

"One more for the road. It looks shocking out there."

"Seasons changing. Be glad to see the back of this winter... It's been brutal."

"You got to love the rain to live in Seattle." Frank added his reason for living there. Tomo pushes another glass in front of Frank. Then splashing extra shot on top.

"One for the road Frank... On me."

"Thanks mate." Feeling a warmth of gratitude come over him. Tomo was alright.

He valued people. Understood them. Bartenders were like clergy who tend to the lost sheep that have wondered from the path. Albeit from the Avenue outside. The bar was a no more than an open confessional. Sins confessed and hearts are laid bare. With redemption could be found at the bottom of a shot glass. Today the blood of Christ was bourbon.

His body, Walkers crisps.Amen.Instinctively Frank looks around and sees the man staring in his direction.Longer than usual. Their eyes make contact. Registering the other's presence.

The man gives Frank a subtle nod and resumes reading his newspaper. Flicking it to allow the pages to fall open. Frank returns to his drink. Perhaps he had overheard the conversation with Tomo.

He appeared unobtrusive. Kindly. Frank left it there. He had bigger worries on his mind.Marilyn. What to do with Marilyn.