Already Gone Page 8
N. I still don't understand that. How do my beliefs about something create my reality?
S. A simple everyday example may help. Let us say that you are overweight. It is a physical fact, and it upsets you to a considerable degree. So you watch what you eat. You begin a round of diets. You exercise at the gym. You do all of these things based on the idea that you are overweight BECAUSE you eat too much. Instead, you eat too much because you BELIEVE that you are overweight. Until you suspend that belief, you will continue to overeat. I call that a root belief. It is a belief buried deeply in your psyche. Your behavior and the reality you experience is created by all of your root beliefs.
If money or the lack of it is the problem, you must alter your beliefs and expectations about abundance. You must come to understand that you are not pleased with your present money situation precisely BECAUSE you are not pleased with your present money situation. You must change your root belief about money and abundance.
N. How does one change a root belief?
S. The trick is to act quickly before you think. For example, regarding your money situation, you're walking downtown and see a sign in a store window to donate money for a Thanksgiving food drive. Your first thought is to give a few dollars to enable someone who is down on their luck to enjoy an excellent turkey dinner. You pause outside and look in your wallet to see how much cash you have. You pull out two twenty dollar bills. You could give one to the food drive, but that would leave you with only a twenty to get through the day.
Then you THINK—I don't have enough money to give some away. I need what I have. And then you've walked past the store on your way to the dry cleaners.
The Thanksgiving food drives gets nothing. Why didn't you go inside the shop and donate the twenty dollar bill? It was your first inclination, but your thought got in the way. Next time, act quickly before you think. If you get in the habit of doing this often, your mind will change its expectation, and it will become your new root thought.
N. Still smacks of wishful thinking to me.
S. Just try it my friend. ACT AS IF. As If a current situation or experience is just the way you want it. That may be difficult if your surroundings scream that it is not so but try anyway. Look beyond what is happening now. If you are only able to see what is then you will create only more of what-is. You must disregard how things are and focus your attention instead on the way you want things to be.
Ignore your previous experience and ACT AS IF. If a lack of money is your problem Act As If it were not. Throw a few dollars in a collection bucket. Give some money to a homeless person. Cause another to prosper. Whatever you want or desire for yourself, give to another. Do this genuinely and what you give away will come back to you many times over.
S. If one simply—ACTS AS IF—instead of just seeing WHAT IS—literally astonishing results will occur.
N. Still sounds like nonsense to me but who knows you may be onto something there. Now let’s get back to Marcus. I’m anxious to see what happens next.
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Checking into the Polynesian Sands motel, Marcus regretted ever leaving the Hiwakulani. Located next to The Miramar Apartments in Waikiki, the Sands had seen better days. A young man his age, but heavier, with round unblinking eyes, checked him in. "You're good for one week," the young man said. "No house cleaning service so you're on your own there," he continued handing Marcus the room key.
Walking to his room, the linoleum on the floor was so buckled and warped that in some places the floor boards showed through. But at $270.00 a week it was all Marcus could afford.
Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed the number for his friend Jimmy Almanac. "Hey, brother, it's me," Marcus said over the phone. "Marcus," Jimmy replied, "was hoping I'd hear from you. What's going on? I spoke to Paulie, and he said you were on vacation somewhere."
"Yeah, in Hawaii," Marcus replied. "Thought I'd take a couple weeks off and soak up some sun." "Listen, Jimmy, I need a favor. Could you have one of your buddies at the station run a background check for me?"
"Sure, Marcus. Hope you're not in any trouble. What are we looking for?" "Oh, just about anything. Nothing serious. I just need to check this guy out."
"OK, shoot."
"Name's Roy Dunn, Navy, Petty Officer stationed at Ford Island, Pearl Harbor.” “I've no idea what his current address is but I need to find out." "I'm on it, Marcus. Give me a day or two, and I'll call you back."
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Wednesday morning Jimmy Almanac called a friend at the local precinct. "Sergeant Herrera," the voice answered. "Hey, Armondo, it's Jimmy. Jimmy Almanac, how are you?” "Hey, buddy. Haven't heard from you in ages. Still running that game in Mission Bay?"
"No, we're on hiatus right now." "Smart move. The Department's been cracking down on illegal gaming lately." "Don't I know it," Jimmy replied.
"What can I do for you, buddy?" "I need a solid, Armondo. Can you run a background check for me?" "For you, sure. What's up?" "Nothing serious, just doing a favor for a friend of mine." "If you say so Jimmy. Got a last known for me?"
"A Roy Dunn, No Last known. Navy active duty. Stationed at Ford Island, Pearl Harbor.” “Would appreciate anything you can find."
"Sure thing. Tell you what. Meet me after my shift tonight at The Island Tap, and I'll give you what I find." "I'll be there. And thanks."
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The Island Tap, a cop bar in Gardena known for its dollar fifty drafts, giant deli sandwiches, and top heavy women bartenders. The bar was jammed with cops, just off duty, when Jimmy arrived. He spotted Sergeant Herrera right away, seated alone at a table watching the door. "Hey buddy, good to see ya," Herrera said, standing and presenting his beefy hand for a shake. "Same here, partner," Jimmy replied, "quite a crowd in here tonight."
"Yeah, it's like this most nights now that the City's cut back on our OT. Have a seat, and I'll let you in on what I've got on your boy. Born 1959 Chula Vista, California. No priors. Active Navy. Seaman. Boatswains Mate. Currently on shore duty at Ford Island, Pearl Harbor. Busted from Chief Petty Officer to Seaman. Has an address at 267 Fargo, Pearl City, Hawaii."
"Busted?" Jimmy questioned.
"Afraid so. Don't know the reason. Navy records, you know. Can't get at them through regular channels. Credit's OK. No liens or lawsuits." "The bust is what bothers me," Jimmy said. "Any way we can go deeper into that?"
"Maybe, if it's important to you. I've got a guy at BUPERS who owes me a favor. Could check with him." "BUPERS," Jimmy said. "What's that?" "Bureau of Naval Personnel. Like a Human Resources Department in a corporation. Bunch of paper pushers. I helped out a Yeoman there on a misdemeanor once. Owes me."
"I'd appreciate your calling in the favor and getting back to me, partner," Jimmy said. "It might be important to my friend." "I'll take a shot at it, Jimmy. You still drink Jameson's?" "Only if it's after five," Jimmy answered. "It's six," the sergeant replied. "Let's have a few."
≈≈≈≈≈≈
Willy phoned Marcus first thing Thursday morning to tell him the good news. "Spoke to Billingsley. We're on for Friday night. I filled him in on Cracker's background, and he's agreed to meet her for an initial consultation. We'll meet and have Cracker drive to his home."
"We'll have to ditch Roy," Marcus replied. "I have a feeling that he and the Doctor won't hit it off." "That won't be a problem," Willy replied. "Billingsley insisted that he'll meet with Cracker only. You and I are not included." "That's fucking great." Marcus bellowed. "Then Cracker can cut us right out of the deal."
"Don't panic I've thought of that. The Doctor said that Cracker can and should record the sessions. I have a digital recorder she can take with her. We'll be able to hear everything that transpires."
"I don't like it." Marcus responded. "I think we should find another shrink who’ll let us sit in." "Listen, Marcus, Billingsley charges over $250.00 an hour. He's willing to meet with Cracker on a no-fee basis. Besides, I don't think we have the funds between us to pay a
nother therapist."
"You've got a point,” Marcus replied. “Since we cut Albrecht out of this, I'm sacrificing the salary and bonus he offered me. Maybe we should fall back on taking Cracker to La Jolla to meet with him."
"That ship has sailed, my boy," Willy responded. "By now Albrecht knows you've gone in another direction. You mentioned yourself that he closed your account at the bank. Let’s push ahead with our plan. Call Cracker and tell here it's on for Friday evening. Ask her to meet us at the Rum Jungle. It's a nightclub on Bishop Street near the Pagoda."
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Thursday morning Marcus' cell rang again while he was having breakfast. "Marcus, it's Jimmy." "Hey, buds, what's up?”
"I've got that info you asked for. Roy Dunn, 267 Fargo Avenue, Pearl City, Hawaii. Currently stationed at Pearl on Ford Island. Seaman. Born 1959 Chula Vista, California. No priors. Active Navy. He was busted twice and reduced in rank and pay from an E-8 to an E-3. Most recently for running a slush fund."
"Slush fund. What's that?"
"I'm told it's like loan sharking. He lent money to sailors and marines at a twenty percent weekly vig. One of his customers lodged a complaint with the Master at Arms, and he was nailed. Apparently the Navy takes a dim view of their sailors acting as money lenders. Before that, he was busted for being drunk while on duty. I'd stay clear of this guy, Marcus. He's bad news."
"Good advice, buddy. I'll be careful. Thanks a bunch. I'll call again when I'm back on the Mainland."
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The Rum Jungle, a cave-like pub, attracts an almost exclusively local crowd. The open bar, carved from burl wood, was Willy's new watering hole. The music is loud, the clothes are all but nonexistent and the décor is gaudy. Carrying three glasses of beer, he chose a table by the front door and waited for Marcus and Cracker to arrive.
Cracker was visibly upset and arguing with Marcus as they walked in the door. "I'm not happy about going there alone. I wanted you with me," she snapped at Marcus. "Can't be helped," Marcus replied. "Billingsley was adamant that he'd meet with you alone. No spectators. That includes your partner Roy," he continued as he led her to Willy's table.
"Virginia, I'd like you to meet my associate William Boggs," Marcus said as Willy stood to greet them. "A pleasure," Willy responded, taking her hand. "Another associate I see," she said eyeing Willy skeptically. "At least you didn't bring Miss Priss with you. What's your angle on this deal, Willy?"
Willy, smiling over the tops of his joined fingers to show that he took no offense said, "My angle, as you put it my dear is a modest split of any funds we uncover. And may I ask where your associate Roy is? Marcus mentioned that you and he were partners."
"Yes, partners in a business we run out of the Glade, but Roy doesn't run me. I told him to stay behind so I could have some quality time with young Marcus here. Hadn't counted on a third person tagging along."
"I'll stay out of your way my dear. You can be sure of that. For now, you'd best be on your way. Your appointment with Billingsley is in 30 minutes. Here's his address along with a digital recorder," Willy said, handing a slip of paper to Cracker. "I filled him in on what we're looking for regarding Frank James. Please cooperate fully and meet us back here at the bar afterward. We'll be waiting."
"Fine," Cracker responded, placing the note and recorder in her handbag. "One question before I go. Are these trips into the past safe? It's been awhile since I tried this with Albrecht, and I don't recall much of what happened." she asked.
"Completely safe my dear, you're always in control. You can open your eyes, sit up and stop the regression at any time," Willy replied. "OK, I'll be back. And . . . Marcus, perhaps you and I can have a nightcap later in private?" she cooed squeezing his arm. "We should get to know one another," she added on her way out the door.
"I have a feeling that Roy's out there on the street planning to follow her to Billingsley's," Marcus said. "I'm pretty sure he plans to cut us out of this deal." "Wouldn't surprise me," Willy replied sitting down on a chair and leaning back with a smile. "Either way, Cracker has to come back here later tonight."
"Why?" Marcus replied. "She can simply take the recording, meet Dunn somewhere and play it back for him." “Well for one thing Marcus, she's under the impression that Billingsley is charging a fee for the sessions and that we're paying for it. I've sworn the Doctor to secrecy in that regard. That will keep her on the hook for a while. For another, I have her purse."
"What?"
"I lifted it from her handbag while she was looking lovingly into your eyes. She'll be back here in a few hours; you can be sure of that. I'll return her purse once we've heard the tape of the session. Then we'll have a pretty good idea if there's anything to Albrecht's theory or not. We'll take it from there."
"What about this Billingsley guy? Can he direct Cracker to a particular past life?" Marcus questioned. "My understanding, from speaking with Albrecht and Billingsley, is that a patient is inclined to go to a lifetime that held the most significance for them,” Willy replied. “I'm going to assume that a life lived as Jesse James' brother would be quite significant."
"Are we going to get all the info we need to find this treasure from just one session?” Marcus questioned. “I think not my boy. I'm betting that Cracker will have to visit the good doctor several times to acquire the information we need."
"Well, let's hope she agrees to go back for more visits," Marcus said. "She will if for no other reason than she has her eye on you. I suggest you have that night cap with her and turn on the Marcus charm."
"The things I do for you, Willy," Marcus responded, smiling broadly. "Let's go across the street and get some dinner. We have a few hours to kill until she returns."
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The cab dropped Andrew Tisdale off in the lobby of the Somerset Condominiums. He was met, almost at once, by the ever vigilant Chet. As the property manager of The Somerset, Chet took his duties seriously. There hadn’t been an incident at his condos since his hire three years ago, and he intended to keep it that way. He knew all the owners and tenants and this tall, heavy set guy was certainly not one of them.
"Can I help you?" he asked courteously. "I believe so," Tisdale responded, bending over slightly to shake his hand. "I'm looking for an associate of mine. A Mister Reno." "An associate?" Chet asked. "You and this Mister Reno work together then?" Looking around to see if anyone was watching Tisdale replied, “In a manner of speaking, yes." "In what manner might that be?" Chet questioned. "I don't see that that's any of your business, pal. Let me speak to your supervisor."
"My supervisor is in San Francisco. I'm the property manager here, and I'm particular about who I let in to see my tenants." "So Reno is a tenant here then?" Tisdale challenged. "No, Marcus is not a tenant here," he blundered.
"I never mentioned his first name, buddy. If he's not a tenant, he must be staying with someone here who is. Do you have a Marjorie Remick living here?" Realizing he'd been outsmarted, Chet decided there was no harm in admitting that Marjorie was a tenant.
"Miss Remick is in unit 410," he replied sheepishly. "Thank you," Tisdale responded, turning away from Chet with a sneer.
Thirty minutes later, Tisdale was back in his car and on the phone with Albrecht.
"The info I got at the Hiwakulani was right on the mark. Reno and a Marjorie Remick seem to have started up quite a friendship while he was staying at the hotel. This Marjorie shares an apartment with another hotel employee named Holly Sullivan at a place called The Somerset Condos. This Holly answered the door there and stated that Reno and a guy named Willy had been there and left. Left for good it appears."
"Willy! I'll be damned," Albrecht declared.
"You know him?" Tisdale asked. "Yes, William Boggs. He's an associate of mine. A rather unreliable one it seems." "What else did she say?"
"Just that Marjorie was out, and she didn't know when she would be returning." "Marcus is with her," Albrecht replied. "Of that we can be sure. And William
is involved with this somehow. Did you ask where Marcus and William are staying now?"
"Yes, said she doesn't know where they are." "Did you give your name to her?" Robert asked. "Yes, I'm afraid I did." "Then Marcus may find out that I'm on to him. I foolishly mentioned your name in a conversation with him and William when we met at my home."
"Anything else?"
"I went back to the Hiwakulani to take another shot at talking to your Virginia McCracken. It seems she left there a few weeks ago for another job. The bartender who replaced her didn't know where she was working now. Checked with the front desk and the bellhops but no luck there either."
"Fine. If you should locate her let me know but don't approach her again. I fear you'll have no better luck the second time around. Send me your bill, and I'll call if I need anything else."
≈≈≈≈≈≈
Willy checked his watch for the tenth time then stood up to compare it with the clock over the bar. There was a fifteen-minute difference. "Bar time," he said to no one, in particular. "Where's Cracker? She should have been here by now."
A moment later the door to Rum Jungle creaked inward and Cracker rushed in. "There's my purse," she said anxiously as she grabbed her black bag from the table. "You left it here earlier," Willy replied rather too smugly Cracker thought. "I was holding it for you. So, how was your session? We're dying to find out."
Returning her purse to her handbag, Cracker turned to a waiter and ordered a Mai Tai. "I must admit I rather enjoyed meeting Doctor Pete." "Doctor Pete?" Marcus replied holding the chair out for her. "You must have hit it off with Billingsley."
"I suppose I did," she replied. "Compared to Albrecht, he's a breath of fresh air and his house is magnificent. He appears to be loaded. You wouldn't believe the view. I could see from Kahala to Koko Head to Molokai from his deck."
"And the tape? You do have it with you I assume?" Willy asked. "Right here," she replied, pulling the digital recorder from her handbag.