A PUPPET ON A STRING

CHAPTER 1

"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