Deadeye: Coffee with Three Shots

By Douglas Zubka

In this last of the John Fiction series, John discovers the crazy possibilities when the Venter club card system is breeched. A practical joke gone awry sends him spiraling down yet another rabbit hole that includes Mieko and mayhem in pursuit of whatever lies at its end. Employing his usual brand of wit and sarcasm with Donovan, Rita the the characters of the Sheer Ambrosia coffee house, he discovers that things are not always as they seem. We hope you enjoy this adventure of John Fiction and his friends in their final adventure together.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Zubka
• Release date: May 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463085509

Douglas Zubka

An avid coffee enthusiast, Doug Zubka's background includes a variety of jobs and volunteer activities. He continues to cultivate his fascination with psychology, social engineering and design in his writing.

Book preview

DEADEYE:

Coffee with Three Shots

Douglas J. Zubka

Copyright © 2020 Author Name

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9798645314163

DEDICATION

For my brothers Gerard & Ken who know me for what I am, know better themselves, and still manage to love me regardless.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Marion, and mom (my editors) for putting up with the author’s inability to properly punctuate. Your perseverance and contributions while reviewing the material in its raw form will save sanity of the readers who follow.

FORWARD

In the early part of 2012 I was challenged with the notion that I could write a story. As this was proposed by my mother, it was difficult to resist, but resist I did. Resistance became futile when I shared that idea with my (then) girlfriend who reinforced my mother’s opinion. Redeye: Coffee with a Shot was my first attempt at writing anything more than a school paper or newsletter article. Looking back at the story, this is now obvious to me.

It’s been said that anyone can accomplish anything once even if it’s only by accident. With this in mind, I set out to prove to myself that the first story was more than an accident by creating Blackeye: Coffee with Two Shots. While I believe it is better than the first, it is up to the reader to make that determination for themselves.

Writing two books surrounding a character just didn’t seem adequate. After all since childhood we’ve known that three is a magic number so I decided to complete the series with Deadeye: Coffee with Three Shots as I’ve grown fond of the creative process involved with writing a fictitious story. There’s something about twisting the events taken from reality into a narrative that is enjoyable and makes time inconsequential. While punctuation is seriously not a personal strength, my mother Judy and (now) wife Marion have absolutely no issues reminding me of that fact and shamelessly offering their advice and corrections. It’s a good thing they both love me.

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PROLOGUE

The room is still pitch black when my eyes decide to open against the brain’s better judgment. I find myself lying on my right side with my head firmly embedded in the pillow. The sun hasn’t even thought about starting the day, but my internal clock tells me that the alarm clock should have already announced itself by now. Disgustedly I roll onto my left side looking for the edge of the king-size mattress that’s out there somewhere. I always seem to make it to the middle of its expanse in my sleep so this is a bit of a struggle especially through the mass of thick covers, in the brain fog of waking. Just as the illuminated face of my alarm clock comes into view, it announces 5 a.m. with its annoying electronic whine. I reach out to shut it off with a whack and miss twice but find it on the third try almost falling out from beneath the covers. This has become part of the list of my rituals associated with my return to work. Some days seem to be led by alarms, and endless electronic prompts that tell us when to do what. This programming has been so effective that apparently, even while asleep, my unconscious mind races to wake me before the damn thing can sound off. While my eyes open before it sounds, I have yet to actually accomplish stopping the alarm before it sounds again. Someday it’ll happen, but not today.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts in from the kitchen. The coffee maker woke up 10 minutes before my eyes did, and the smell begins to ignite the fires of consciousness. Getting out of the bed is more involved nowadays than it was in my youth. My back and knees argue against the effects of gravity especially so early in the day. A few quiet expletives slip from my lips as I rise against their protests and I take it for the reminder that it is that I am not as young as I used to be. Somehow my feet find their slippers all by themselves and they take me to the back hall closet on auto-pilot. Mindlessly donning my coat and hat the slippers shuffle me to the coffee maker where I pour the first nourishment of the day. Next comes the hard part. In accordance to the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you live" I head outside into the cold January pre-dawn morning remote opening the garage door from the kitchen as I step outside.

Great! I grump in displeasure to no one, It snowed, I discover this fact almost immediately through the thin soles of the slippers but I continue forward on my mission undaunted by the icy discomfort. The seriousness of the mission weighs greater than the annoyance of trudging through the ankle deep blanket of wet snow. Surviving the short crossing, I set my coffee cup on the workbench in its well stained usual location then turn to light the grill right next to me in the hope that its 40,000 BTU’s will take off some of the chill of the morning. It finally lights on the third try and provides a small bubble of heat against the numbing thirteen degrees of the garage. At least now, I’ve created a personal bubble of heat to warm whatever is nearest it. I light the first cigarette of my day using the grill as my lighter. The combination of the frigid morning air with my first drag of nicotine awakens me to the reality of the actual pre-dawn temperature so I grab my coffee cup to help with warming my hands.

With my half-frozen fingers curled firmly around the warm cup, I can already feel a small rush of dopamine in expectation of its contents. I take another couple of puffs on the cigarette before bringing the warm brown liquid at the cup’s rim to my lips for the first sip since my eyes opened all of maybe 5 minutes ago. The first sip is always the best; the top of the pot for my fellow coffee snobs. A sigh of gratitude escapes me as the caffeine comingles with the nicotine in my blood and I think that my heart will keep beating for one more day. Still running mostly on autopilot my brain begins reviewing items on its mental needs of the day while my heart to pumps the jet fuel throughout my system. My morning ritual usually produces its full effect in about five minutes. Knowing this, I turn around to warm my backside while I wait.

Addictions attended to, I return to the warmth of the house to get ready for work. I chip my feet out of their slipper-sicles and grab a second cup of coffee, before thawing them while I shower. Surprising to some, I’ve become gainfully employed with a real job with a real desk and all the perks that come with a nine-to-five. I’ve been working for the same hospital that I’ve spent so much time in as a patient so my usual attire consists of comfortable slacks, a collared shirt, cowboy boots, and with the cold weather, a sports jacket. Remembering that it’s January and the temperatures are below freezing, I find the auto start for the truck before choosing my brown suede jacket for my ensemble to match my brown slacks and faded green button-down collar.

Passing back through to the kitchen, I trip over yet another pile of unwanted stuff left by the previous owner of the house and wonder when, if ever, I’ll be able to move freely through more than the four rooms I currently occupy. Without going into too much detail, I live in a house that is now owned by my friend who is also the police chief. He got it posthumously from an old lady who collected stuff; lots of stuff. There is so much stuff in fact, that when I took occupancy there were paths created between all the stuff to navigate from room to room though the middle of all the stuff. Think ten pounds of crap in a five-pound bag amount of stuff.

So, anyway, Police Chief Wallace hired this kid Alastair with whom I have a sordid history. That is a whole other story that began with his murderous brother and ended up with a sad attempt with a Molotov cocktail. It’s already been extensively chronicled so I’ll just get to the point. Alastair is supposed to be removing all the stuff, but he is kind of slow, not just with his work, but in general. Life hasn’t been very charitable with this kid. Don’t get me wrong, he is a good kid, he just hasn’t had many good breaks or role models. I create a mental note to call Wallace again about the lack of progress, then I fill my thermos with good coffee and make my way back into the garage where my old black Dodge Ram should be warm by now.

The old pickup has already warmed her cabin for my comfort in the whole ten minute journey to the hospital surrounded by the usual morning crowd who never cease to provide some form of entertainment with their antics. This morning, Brad Paisley is in my iPod singing about what it means to be a guy. While he sings about building a fire in a cave and other assorted ideas, I sip again at my coffee and glance around at the neighboring vehicles that are also waiting for the red light. I swear that from my vantage point above the crowd, I should see more faces, but it seems that these days everyone uses the intermission of the traffic signal to finger-paint on their devices. [Facebook update: OMG! Another red light!] From what I witness in traffic every day, I’m definitely ready for autonomous vehicles since no one pays attention anyway; I’m guessing that AI has to be better than this. Meanwhile I just light another cigarette and sit back to wait for the green.

The light changes to green and I immediately witness yet another morning traffic accident. This one occurs with the two yahoos right in front of me. Apparently the car in front of me rolled into the car in front of her while she was distracted. The guy she hit got out of his car, already holding his phone to his head, and has walked back to her vehicle. Meanwhile, it looks like I’m going to be trapped behind these two idiots while they argue and will miss my green light.

Somewhere in the back of my brain the phrase fortune favors the fool pops up. I take stock of my situation. I’m in the left turn lane. The traffic on the right allows no room to get around that way, and there is a median to my left separating the left turn lane from the empty oncoming traffic lane. So without further ado, I use the mechanical advantage that the Ram’s power and ground clearance offer to jump the median on the left into the oncoming traffic lanes. Freeing myself from behind the two knuckleheads I pass them on their left. Legal? Probably not. Safe? Hell no. Effective? Absolutely, and I make the light on a yellow to boot!

Satisfied with myself for both avoiding a delay and more importantly possibly being a witness, I navigate the rest of my trip without further interruption. The Ram brings me safely to the hospital’s employee parking lot with plenty of time to spare. Stepping down out of the Ram, I’m greeted with a familiar voice from behind my shoulder. I should give you a ticket for that little stunt back there ya know, The voice belongs to my good friend and cop Donovan who snuck up behind me in his unmarked police cruiser. Donovan is roughly the same age as I, but larger, sweatier and more cynical, if you can believe that. He’s divorced and remains single which I believe is partly my fault for his technology addiction, but again, that’s another story that’s already been extensively chronicled.

"If I get a ticket, then what do you get? I saw you right behind me and I made it through on the yellow. What did you make it through on, orange? How the heck did you even make it over the median in that thing anyway? I asked while turning to face him with a sarcastic smile.

Wasn’t easy, he replied with a Shit-eating grin. But there was no way I was going to wait for those dunderheads to figure out I was a cop. Let the rookies deal with that crap. I’ve more important things to deal with than idiots that can’t pay attention long enough to sit through a freakin’ red light,

So, what is on your top-ten list this morning? I asked, still barely containing my own smile.

Going home to bed, he responded wearily. Pulled an all nighter again,

I thought you looked more rumpled than usual, I chided.

Yeah, he yawned. This Barrington case is a real pain in the butt. I’ve got to get everything to the state’s attorney by Wednesday and I still don’t know how we’re going to make that happen. Anyway, after I get some shuteye, want to meet for coffee? What time are you done today?"

The usual, I replied. Four o’clock,

With that, Donovan picked up his phone and said, "Samantha, would you please wake me at 1500 today?

The inordinately sexy female voice of his phone replied, Certainly sweetie. Is there anything else I can do for you?

Not now Doll, he answered. Then he placed the phone back on his dashboard’s magnetic mount.

You really need to get out more, I said. You know like with an actual woman?

Bite me, He grunted. Let’s not do this again; it never goes well for either of us,

Remember Nurse Rita? I asked, She took a shine to you last time you were here for lunch. You know she’s single, I prodded, and then fueled the fire further with, Heck, a woman like that is just what you need to get your act together. Ya know, she and I take smoke breaks back by the dumpster on occasion. I could ask her for you, you big chicken,

Bite me, was all he said before putting his car into gear and speeding out of the parking lot.

Laughing aloud, I reached back into my truck to grab my thermos. I locked the Ram with the fob and headed up to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast. Since making the yellow, I figured I’d celebrate with a brief breakfast before getting into the workload of my day. Before you ask, no, the hospital is not known as a high quality eating establishment, but the food is reasonable, the prices are really cheap, and I have to clean zero dishes. I call that a win.

Breakfast went as usual. I sat alone and ate as I pretty much always do at work. Watching the crowd is entertainment enough for me. I sit alone because I don’t mind it. Being alone doesn’t require filling in the silences for the sake of filling them in with idle chatter. What I see around me though is that many others also sit alone but just don’t realize it. They physically sit it in groups while mentally ignoring the people they sit with; their faces tilted downward, mouths chewing and fingers swiping. It’s all too bizarre to witness. Occasionally though, a group will come in together and the usual library-like quiet of the room erupts into bouts of laughter and conversation, but once these rare packs disperse, everyone goes back to their electronic solitude.

Looking around, I spot Nurse Rita sitting at the far end of the room at the same moment she glances my way. I raise my cup in a salute of good morning. She smiles and mimics my caffeinated greeting with her own. We both know that we’ll talk by the dumpster later. It’s pretty much a daily ritual. Nurse Rita was an integral part of my convalescence which was, come to think of it, quite some time ago now. Suffice it to say that while I was an in-patient, she was the nurse responsible for my recovery and subsequent early exit from the hospital. It was her volitional participation in that charade that makes me think she would be good for Donovan. She’s got attitude. He, on the other hand, may or may not be what she is looking for, but isn’t that purpose of dating? How else does a person find out? Besides, the personal entertainment value of watching Donovan squirm over a dinner is priceless in its own right. So maybe I have an evil side. Stuff like that is what keeps life interesting.

My office is a cubicle in the middle of a cubical farm. It’s not one of the smaller cubicles by any means which seems to be a source of the office’s social status somehow. It has an L-shaped desk and has room enough for a little table and two chairs for visitors, in case company should ever stop by, which no one ever does. It’s still a veal pen by my definition since I’ve been in roomier jail cells. Only the chosen few are still allowed to have doors for privacy. Since the cubicle walls are only about four and a half feet high, the rest of us just prairie dog when communicating with a nearby colleague and any amount of privacy to be maintained is solely on an honorary and discretionary basis by one’s fellow workers. Because of this layout, I don’t know that Helen is in the middle of a nasty divorce [totally her fault], my boss Shirva, a devout vegan, is a closet Taco Bell-aholic, and Maria and Trent are sleeping together. Yeah, about that last one, it’s probably the most interesting. I was working late last Friday and could hear them in Maria’s cubicle. So, I’m just glad we don’t have an open floor plan.

Like Maria and Trent found out the hard way I’m very quiet in my work and no one usually knows whether I am in unless I happen to swear at my computer for its incompetence. Other than my swearing under my breath at my computer the day doesn’t hold much in the way of conversation. There are occasional hiccups in the routine, but I’ve become a pusher of paper so to speak. The majority of my day is filled with the methodical review of records. I look for anomalies, inconsistencies, and missed opportunities for billing; stuff like that. When I can identify an error in judgment or billing, I send a file with a little sticky note on it to the manager of the appropriate department for them to deal with. It’s truly exciting stuff. To me, it feels like Monday morning quarterbacking to second guess doctors and nurses who have to make judgment calls on the spot like they have to, but according to Shirva, my eye for detail has saved us from several rather expensive lawsuits and has helped to get the billing department back up to snuff as she says.

The funny thing is, or at least as I see it, what I do is effective basically because of the sticky notes. I’m supposed to use the computer, but it’s about as user-friendly as was my ex-wife. Prior to me circumventing the computer system, errors were reported via the computer to the managers of the appropriate departments. These reports were not only trackable, but have also been subpoenaed and subsequently used against the hospital by some of the savvier defense lawyers. Sticky notes are not as trackable. No tracking, no problem. Issues resolved, no lawyers involved, That’s a Shirva quote by the way. She’s full of little gems like that. Honestly, I’ve nothing but respect for the woman. She is hyper-intelligent and a really good boss, but the way she words things sometimes combined with her thick Indian accent makes me think she learned her English by reading a combination of Dr. Seuss and Samuel Clemens.

Oh, by the way, I probably forgot to mention, my name is John; John Fiction actually. I’m in my late forties now and starting life all over again. Because of the earlier referred to adventures, I landed this job after a long stint of unemployment and a short-lived contract hire and I’ve been working here for a couple of years now. I’ve survived a marriage, a couple of other murder attempts, and an attack by a grizzly bear and I still can’t tell you which was the most dangerous. Standing 6 feet flat (6’1" with my boots on) I keep my hair military short. Some consider me handsome; my fiancée Mieko does anyway.

Technology hates me as much as I do it as you will come to find out. I mean really. Most people have smart technology. Mine is all smartass. I love good coffee and I smoke. Boring, right? Oh, one last thing, I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m a bit too sarcastic, but I just don’t see it. So enough about me, it’s time to go meet Rita for a cigarette behind the dumpster. Hopefully she’ll accept a double date with Donovan, Mieko and me.

CHAPTER 1

When I arrived at our usual spot shortly after four, Donovan was nowhere to be found. When I didn't see his car in the lot I figured that his cop duties have kept him into overtime again. It’s not unusual and no real loss though since I was already there, I could just relax at the counter with a pour-over while I waited. The coffee house is named Sheer Ambrosia, after the food of the gods in Greek mythology. Considering the primary fare is drink, not food, this name’s amusing, but Sheer Nectar just doesn’t have the same ring to it I guess. Sheer Ambrosia is not one of those cheap and easy places with a drive through; it’s a meeting place where people come to sit and talk with one another.

Certainly, many still plug in and ignore everyone else, even I’ve been guilty of that from time to time, but overall, the clientele come for more than grab a cup and run. It is not unusual for the regulars to greet each other, sit apart with their own tribes, and then call a good-bye across the room to everyone as they depart. It is a go-to not a pass-through establishment. The Barista, Sebastian, who is as much of a bartender as he is a psychologist, is there to greet me as always. He sidles up on his side of the counter to start my pour-over as I find my usual perch on my side. What’s new? I ask.

SSDD he says. It’s been kind of quiet today. I sent Huge home early so don’t order any food. It’s just me here for awhile,

Huge? I asked inquisitively, "Is that what you’re calling Eugene now?

Well, isn’t he? asks Sebastian.

Definitely, I affirm, but big guys are usually assigned nicknames like Tiny and such, aren’t they?

Maybe, he waffles, but in his case he likes to be called Euge for short. It’s not a huge leap,

Pun intended? I ask.

Pun intended,

You seem moody, I observed. You’re off your game. What’s gotten those knickers of yours in a twist today?

Mall cops, he replies cryptically. And without further explanation, he finished my pour-over while I sat watching him in silence then left for the far end of the bar.

Sebastian is one of the most interesting people I know. With his ginger appearance, he presents a quiet, well mannered, non obtrusive public image and is probably one of the best baristas that have ever been. He always looks like he’ll fall over at any minute from a lack of sleep. His taste in coffee is far different than mine since he prefers the lighter and fruitier beans while I like them dark and sweet, but he tolerates my ignorance and serves me anyway.

While waiting for Donovan, I’m interrupted by an elbow at my left arm. This kid just came out of nowhere and looked to be wiping down all of the furniture that wasn’t currently occupied. Sorry sir! he said quickly in apology. I didn’t mean to bump you; I was just trying to move this ch…

Easy kid, I interrupted. It’s OK. No damage done. But why are you wiping chairs in the first place?

Cause Sebastian told me to, he said sheepishly averting his eyes to his obnoxiously bright sneakers.

Reaching across with my right hand, I added, My name is John. I’m a regular here. Who are you?

C-c-christopher, he replied without accepting the proffered greeting. I,I,I just started yesterday and I think I messed up a lot, so I came in early to k-kinda make up for it,

That explains a lot, I replied still continuing to extend my hand in greeting. I added, It’s a pleasure to meet you Christopher. Have you ever worked in a coffee house before?

Um, no, he said, either continuing to ignore my proffered hand or just not seeing it with his eyes still diverted downward at his oh-so bright sneakers. I, I n-n-never even had a job, b-b-before. This is my first one, b-b-but I don’t think it’s gonna work out cause Sebastian doesn’t seem to like me too good, He was twisting his feet as he talked as if it helped him find purchase for his words somehow.

Don’t you worry about him, he is always like that, I said, finally withdrawing my hand. It’s Jerry that you have to watch out for. He’s crazy. Have you met the owner Curtis yet?

That’s when it happened. Christopher just kind of imploded right there on the spot. I can’t really explain what happened other than to call it as I saw it. Donovan came in and took the seat to my right. He didn’t say a word. He just leaned his considerable mass forward onto the counter looking right past me and directly at Christopher. That was when it happened. Christopher dropped his rag on the counter and called over to Sebastian, Done! and then quite literally ran from the building. While I was directly between the two, I never heard a word between them or saw anything more than those sneakers for a clear half mile as the kid ran like the wind.

After a minute of silence, I turned to Donovan and asked, What the hell was that?

Donovan answered with a shrug and a sly grin. I knew there was a punch line in there somewhere, but I couldn’t figure it out. So I sat and waited while sipping at my coffee. Sometimes you just have to wait for it. Eventually patience pays off.

Shortly Sebastian came back down the counter and pulled a house coffee. He delicately placed it before Donovan only saying Thanks. This one is on me, Then without further ado, he turned and made his way back down the counter and disappeared into the back without explanation.

I turned to Donovan who was sitting just staring forward focused on something way off in the distance. He just sat there sipping at his coffee with a grin. What did I just miss? I asked.

All he replied was Nothing, He just sat there still grinning for a minute then finally he added, Just keeping the peace,

OK, I said before going back to my own cup and matching his thousand yard stare at the nothing. I figured that I would find out eventually. I always did. After a while of just sipping and staring I said, It just seems that the faces in this place keep changing quicker and more often than they used to. The only original one that is still around is Sebastian. Twyla moved to New York to open her art studio, Rhys went to California for that modeling job, Bert and Dawn moved on to bigger careers and the newest part-timers haven’t hung around long enough to get to know them. It’s like they need a revolving door for their employees with this place lately,

Donovan finally snapped out of his reverie and added, Yeah, Sebastian hasn’t had much luck with keeping anyone lately, I wonder why,

Maybe it’s the way he’s hiring. Does he have some sort of electronics fetish or something? You have to have noticed the pattern. Haven’t you? I asked.

Donovan asked inquisitively, What pattern?

Just think of the names of the last several that came through here, I said. Say them out loud and you will see what I mean,

Donovan accepted the challenge holding up one hand to tick them off a finger at a time. "Let’s see, who was first? There was that guy Sonny, Sonny Erickson I think, and then there was the one Asian kid Sam Sung, then the two girls Adell and Nakia and finally that Chinese girl who only lasted three days. I think her name was Cassie something, was it Cassie Oh? What am I missing?

Say them again, I prompted, but only the names. Then tell me there is not a pattern.

Donovan began again, Sonny Erickson, Sam Sung, Adell and Nakia, and… Oh, I get it,

He laughed, Holy crap! I never caught that before. How the heck did I miss that? It’s obvious when you put them all together like that. But at least these new guys kind of have it together. Have you met Santa yet?"

Santa? I asked in wonder. Do you mean Huge?

I wouldn’t call him that, Donovan replied flatly. He looks more like a Santa Clause out of season to me,

Everyone calls him Huge, I said, but I think you have a point too,

You need to get your ears checked old man, called Sebastian who magically appeared back near the register. It’s not Huge, they call him Euge as in short for Eugene!

Well he is huge and he hasn’t complained about it yet, I retorted with a grin.

You’re an idiot, laughed Donovan. Anyway I think that the original point was that good help is hard to find for this sort of gig, he replied. It doesn’t pay all that well and they have to deal with jokers like us.

Harrumph to that!!! spouted Sebastian with enthusiasm from his spot across the bar, and then added Especially, when idiots keep pushing for favors for their kids who have zero clue about what work means,

So! I exclaimed, That is what that was all about! Whose kid was that? I