Джордан Шор - The Search

His wife suddenly turned her focus to the counter by the gate. “Perhaps we should get in line. They always start boarding the passengers with the highest row number first.”

“Yeah…” He frowned. “Why is that?”

“They do it to save time. So the passengers with the lower row numbers don’t block the aisle for the rest of us.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to board all the passengers with window seats first?” he suggested. “I mean, now, people have to get up to let the others in, and by doing so, they block the aisle for the rest of those finding their seats. Boarding window-middle-aisle, would save more time, am I right?”

She patted his chest gently.

“See, that’s what you get from solving Sudoku.”

“Sudoku boarding,” he said, making her laugh.

She looked up at him and gazed into his eyes, and once again he began to feel tearful. She looked so cute with her glasses on, and this time, her glasses had slipped down her nose, just a little bit, but the sight was enough to break his heart.

He decided that he would tell his wife the truth as soon as they got back from the funeral.

Friday evening

As the yellow taxi kept circling the tall building, the gentleman in the apartment on the top floor was still staring at the ceiling. But he was almost finished.

The people who lived in the tall building didn’t need to go to work. Even though the majority of them probably had jobs, they didn’t need to earn a living. The concerns of those living in this building were only of the petty kind. They had the sorts of problems with no actual impact on their quality of life. One might say the residents of the tall building lived “carefree” lives.

The building itself was a stunning Art Deco-inspired tower, which rose above all the other buildings in the neighborhood. The building had its own spa, and a gym area with a swimming pool for the residents to enjoy. Several exclusive restaurants in the neighborhood offered fine dining experiences, each one specializing in their own cultural cuisine. So, therefore, the residents of the tall building, always had outstanding dinner options of their choice. Many designer fashion stores and luxury retailers were in the neighborhood as well, and most of them understood the shopping experience itself to be a priority and offered their customers champagne and strawberries while the customers were making their selections.

As the yellow taxi once again turned the corner of the building, once again the driver must have noticed no person waiting at the entrance of the building who matched the specific description given to him. That was because Dr. Sherman was still lying in his bed and staring at his ceiling, though he was almost finished.

The bedroom was the main reason Dr. Sherman had bought the apartment. Even if it didn’t have an en-suite bathroom, it did have a magnificent view of Seattle and the Pacific Ocean. The good doctor loved to sit on the balcony and admire his view. He would watch the people below on the street, who were so tiny and small that to him they looked like toys in a sandbox.

Dr. Sherman had bought the apartment for some measly three-million dollars a few years before as more of an investment than a place to live. He figured the apartment would increase far more in value then the cost of owning it, even if the apartment had a hundred-percent mortgage. The apartment also gave him easy access to many of his patients.

The main reason Dr. Sherman had earned his doctor’s degree was in order to please his father, and most importantly to get access to his grandfather’s trust fund. He quickly discovered, though, that he had no desire to help people with their illnesses or discomforts. Just the mere thought of what people expected from a doctor made him sick to his stomach. He did, however, put his doctor’s degree to good use, as he became a private practitioner who specialized in discreet house calls. Free of charge, he’d visit his patients and prescribe them the medicine of their choice. He was basically a drug dealer with a doctor’s degree.

If any of Dr. Sherman’s patients actually needed medical care, he’d recommend a specialist he was associated with, not only earning a small commission on the side, but also, more significantly, relieving him of the ordeal of actually engaging in doctoring. However, if the patient was an attractive female, he would try to put his education to good use and help his patient—or at least give the impression that he tried.

Dr. Sherman prescribed and delivered all the medicine personally, but more notably, he sold the medicine to his patients for ridiculously high prices. He, in some sense, had his own private pharmacy located in an apartment building that he indirectly but actually owned. His childhood friend owned and ran the pharmacy, and the owner of the building was on paper the doctor’s wife’s stepbrother, who thought signing a particular document made him the co-owner of a local basketball team. The deal also included season tickets and a huge variety of supporter gear. His wife’s stepbrother was so pleased with the deal that he, in fact, kept his promise not to share this information with his younger and much brighter stepsister.

Technically, the doctor didn’t charge his childhood friend any rent. Even though his friend paid the rent each month, the doctor gave it all back in cash, so his friend got a free business space and the benefit of deducting the cost of the rent on his income taxes. In return, Dr. Sherman had access to his friend’s pharmacy, and he could come and go as he pleased. He only paid normal retail price for the medicine he prescribed and sold to his patients at a premium.

The rent income from the apartments in the building pretty much covered the cost of owning the building, except for maintenance and cleaning. However, that expense was a small one, and the good doctor always made sure to pay the janitor and the cleaning lady in cash, so he wouldn’t be on the hook for any benefits or employee taxes. Since his patients always paid him in cash, the doctor always had plenty of it, and he made sure to pay for their medicine in cash as well.

Dr. Sherman’s wife was a very fortunate woman. She had all the privileges anyone could ask for in a carefree life, such as a personal maid, a personal driver, and most desirably, a credit card without any spending limit. The doctor’s wife knew he’d bought the apartment a few years back, and Dr. Sherman was sure his wife knew for what purpose he intended to use it. But his wife didn’t seem to care about what he did as long as he did it with discretion.

Mrs. Sherman’s husband was the true definition of a perfect gentleman, and he was now almost finished.

Dr. Sherman could easily afford a pedicure, but like most men, he didn’t care about the welfare of his feet, or the welfare of other human beings. His toenails were as dirty and disgusting as they were long. The big toe on his right foot had a minor infection of some sort, just where the nail attached to the skin of the toe, and all of Dr. Sherman toes were drenched in the usual sweat. Combined with today’s growing infection in his big toe and a slight but distinct smell of fungus, this all resulted in a disgusting odor of human decay.

Dr. Sherman’s bedroom had a luxurious wall-to-wall carpet with an oriental design, and even though the fireplace was fake, it still created a ‘harmonious environment with a natural glow.’ Above the fireplace, a gigantic television was mounted on the wall, and it probably had all the features one could possibly need, but none of that mattered since the television was off. Even if the television had been on, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference at this particular time, since it was moving up and down against the wall, leaving any potential viewer with a shaking image.