Damascus Road Read Online Free PDF

Let’s ride,
Jimmy. Let’s go for a ride. Don’t you wanna drive?
     
    Let’s go…
    Let’s go…
    Let’s….
     
    I shook the thoughts from my head and pulled to the curb. I
had exited the expressway without a plan, hoping to somehow find my dad like a
divining rod finds water. He had that ability to attract people. To draw people
to him. People that wanted to be led. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work for me.
Maybe that’s not what I wanted.
    Stepping out of the car, I found a coffee shop. It was as
good a place as any to start. I walked inside hoping for someplace quiet. That
wasn’t what I got.
    I found a place offering so many kinds and strains of coffee
that my mind reeled. Every genus and strata and constellation of coffee beans
and foam and chocolate shavings known to man. I squinted hard and tried to find
the listing that just said, “black”. Hopeless.
    “Coffee, black,” I said at the counter.
    Pierre, or whatever his name was, seemed stymied by my
request. Somehow a cup of coffee without foam, sprinkles or doo-dads was akin
to solving calculus equations in your noggin. I felt old.
    I found out later that people like Pierre were known as
baristas in the coffee house business. He wasn’t a waiter or a server.
Apparently that title was too demeaning. This guy was an artiste. I’d gladly
take someone like Karen in the diner. Sometimes it’s better to know your place
in life. Accept it. Swallow it. Let it sit in your gut and embrace it. If you
pour coffee, you pour coffee. Let it ride, man.
    There was no counter in the place. It was full of tables too
small for anything but a coffee cup and overstuffed chairs that seemed more at
home in a living room than a public establishment. I didn’t get it and maybe
that was the point.
    I slumped into one of the chairs and sipped my coffee. It
had depth of flavor, something beyond burnt grounds and being reheated. Right
on, Pierre. You’re the man.
    My sunglasses made the place too dark as my eyes adjusted,
so I took them off and clipped them to the front of my shirt. I rubbed the grit
from my eyes and looked around the place.
    Beside me was a guy working on a laptop computer. He was
analyzing a chart in glorious Technicolor like it was the Rosetta Stone. He was
about my age, maybe a bit younger. Worth a shot.
    “Excuse me,” I said, loud enough for him to hear.
    The man flinched like I had poked him. He looked at me with
a mix of alarm and disgust. Ew, another human being… interacting. Ugh… the
horror. He plucked ear phones from his ears. I hadn’t noticed them before. They
were attached to an iPod on the other side of his laptop.
    “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.
    He said ‘sir’ but it sounded like ‘cur’. Like I was already
wasting his time.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I’m looking for someone.”
    He recoiled a little. I wondered if he thought I was trying
to woo him or something. I shook my head.
    “Who might that be?” he asked.
    “Senator Ellis Marlowe,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to
know where his offices are, do you?”
    The man actually laughed at me. Laughed. At me.
    “His election offices are across the street,” he said. “I’m
Isaac Carter, the Senator’s Chief of Staff.”
    He offered his hand, and I shook it. Maybe not such a bad
guy after all.
    “I’m Jim Marlowe,” I replied.
    Isaac was smiling, nodding when the logic of the statement
seemed to dawn on him.
    “Marlowe?” he said, his finger pointing at me in a
semi-accusatory way. “Are you the--?”
    He didn’t finish the sentence, so I finished it for him.
    “I am. I’m his son.”
    Isaac nodded, a little less sure now.
    “Can we go see him?” I asked.
    I stood and finished my coffee in one throat scalding slug.
    “He’s uh…that is, the Senator is about to start a press
conference,” Isaac stuttered. “Perhaps we should wait.”
    “Perhaps not,” I said. “Might make for a good story.”
    My eyes found the front of the campaign office