In Memory - a Short Story Page 2
“A Long Island Iced Tea contains gin; gin contains coriander; coriander contains petroselinic acid.”
“That explains the blood anomaly, but what does it tell us about what happened?” Worfolk said, still not quite tracking with Justin’s thought process.
“I’m allergic to coriander. I must have had a reaction to the coriander in the gin.” Justin only partly revealed his epiphany. It wasn’t simply a reaction to coriander, although he was being honest that it was a factor. It was, more precisely, the unique combination of components in the liquors that made up the Long Island Iced Tea, in combination with the herbal deposits in his brain, all triggered by his actual sensitivity to coriander.
The two doctors discussed the matter for a while longer, and finally agreed on the assessment.
~~~
Memory or no memory, there was still a dead man that Justin had to deal with. The hospital’s legal services office couldn’t actually represent Justin since he wasn’t on staff, but they were able to direct him to a reputable firm for top-notch defense attorneys.
Given the 72-hours-after-arrest legal limit for the preliminary arraignment, Justin was able to go straight from the hospital to the courthouse, never having to spend any jail time. The hearing immediately followed.
Even though Justin pled guilty, knowing full well that he had killed the man, the evidence was overwhelming for self defense; the District Attorney’s office opted not to pursue such a weak case.
Justin’s inevitable legal battle for having stood up four thousand paying customers at the conference was still in the making and would likely go on for months, even years.
~~~
Justin returned home, with a quick pit stop, his memory, both normal and enhanced, completely intact. The staff at the hospital accepted his coriander explanation and never questioned his memory’s viability. The secret of his experimentation was safe.
Home at last, Justin went to his study—his special place—and loaded Chicago at Carnegie Hall into his stereo’s auto-changer for hours of sound with nothing to see. Justin’s father made perfect sense now. Jokers were wild. They could be whatever the player needed them to be at the time, and it was time for Justin to play his hand. Five jokers—gin, vodka, rum, tequila, and triple sec—would be the winner tonight.
He remembered every label at the liquor store. He remembered April, Julia and the mugger—the three people he’d sacrificed on the altar of the greater good—and thought about the guilt he would always bear. He remembered the band at the bar and the street people. He remembered that he could forget, if only for a while, and mixed himself a tall glass of “tea.”