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I almost fell asleep in the shower. I tumbled into my mother’s bed and slept for a whole day. All I know is I went to sleep and it was daylight, I woke up and it was still daylight, but slightly earlier in the day. I crawled and stumbled my way to the bathroom and was overwhelmed with the smell of potpourri as I peed. I wrinkled my nose. Neither I nor my dad could stand the stuff. I found my way out to the living room and made it half way back to my mother’s bedroom when I froze in my tracks. There was a man sitting at the kitchen table with my mother. An older gentleman. I didn’t recognize him. I turned slowly and looked at the two of them. There were two cups of coffee and I looked like I had walked into the middle of a quiet – intimate – afternoon chat. ‘Hello Jack, your mother has been telling me all about your adventures across the pond,’ he said. He had a very loud voice. The booming kind of voice you would expect a drill sergeant to have. I scratched my bare chest and. Fuck! She knew me too well. But it did give me an idea. Just maybe...In answer, I reached up and loosened the black silk rope holding her robe closed. I pulled it free from the belt loops."Turn around," I ordered firmlyShe did so with a saucy flip of her hips; a dare, a challenge.I made a loop at one end o the belt and slipped it over her wrist. I pulled that wrist behind her into the small of her back. She resisted slightly as I caught her other hand and gently pulled it back behind her. She was strangely quiet, subdued almost, and there was a visible tremor to her whole body. The sauce had mellowed."Please, not this..."It was a barely audible whisper. But she stopped before she finished."What did you say?" I asked, concerned.She cleared her throat."Nothing. Just a bad memory."I secured the two wrists together behind her. There was rope left over, and I figured 'What the hell. Let's go for broke.' I wound the rope up and around her forearms to her elbows, pulling each wind a little.
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‘He committed suicide so the police are investigating.’ ‘You mean the real police or the morality police?’ ‘MP’s of course.’ I merely nodded. ‘There aren’t any where near enough real police to track down my stolen moped but there are plenty enough of them to investigate suicides.’ ‘They think he may have had help.’ ‘Whatever for? I assumed he would have used a gun.’ It was society’s dirty little secret. Almost anyone could get a gun. They were so common that it was just assumed that everyone was carrying one. The argument had been that if everyone was armed, criminals would be reluctant to accost people and rob them. Instead, it just increased the number of accidental shootings and made it easier for anyone to kill themselves or anyone else for that matter. ‘He was listed you know,’ meaning he was on a list, a rather secret list, of those who could not own guns. ‘I didn’t know. I assumed he had a gun like everyone else.’ Including myself I might add. I had even taken a course in.

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