Water Hammer by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

I'll never forget the conversation that I conveniently and surreptitiously overheard – and, yes, recorded – at a now-defunct little, dingy, jaundice-yellow-paint-a-faded, hole-in-the-wooden-lapboard-wall-sided watering hole on Judah Street in the ever-foggy Outer Sunset district of San Francisco. 

It was back in the early spring of 1992. It must have been about 7:00 PM when I sidled on in for a cold dark beer. Yeah, yeah, that was the name: Sidle on N. A clever play on words with the N standing for the N Muni streetcar line that ran past the front door – the olive-colored front door that no one ever cared (or dared?) to close.

I remember looking at that tilted small poster on the cracked wall. Some purple-costumed loon billing himself as Mysterieau of San Francisco. Ah, but that is another story. (Mysterieau of San Francisco is a novella by yours truly.)

Well, without further ado, here’s the verbatim transcript from that micro-cassette. Hmmm … where is that PLAY button? Oh, there it is. <click>

[the sound of the city tram passing, clacking down the old, in-the-street, standard-gauge tracks]

Jim: “John, how do you think your court case will go? Are you going to win?”

[the sound of a glass being set down on a wooden table]

John: “I don’t know, Jim; I don’t want to jinx it, but I feel pretty good about it, I guess. At least my lawyer says not to worry.”

Jim: “Your lawyer says not to worry. Ha! Keep your hand on your wallet, sport.”

[Jim laughs for a few seconds]

John: “Yeah, I know, Jim; I should probably worry. Hey, speaking of lawyers, I’ve got to tell you about the most bizarre conversation that I have overheard in some time.”

Jim: “Ok, shoot. Let’s have it.”

John: “Well, I was down in the Lower Haight having lunch by myself in a tiny Chinese restaurant about two weeks ago.”

Jim: “Ok, sounds very believable so far. Continue.”

John: “And trust me, Jim; I wasn’t eavesdropping, but the joint is so small that you just can’t avoid overhearing conversations in there, especially if you’re eating alone.”

Jim: “Ok, I got the scene.”

[a waitress walks up to their table; the sound of stiletto high heels on a concrete slab floor]

Waitress: “Would you two gentlemen like another round?”

John: “Sure.”

Jim: “Yeah, thanks.”

[the sound of her high heels walking away]

John: “Ok, where was I?”

Jim: “On her ass.”

[Jim chuckles]

John: “Well, I wouldn’t pass that up. You know you wouldn’t, either, Jim. You’re a dog, too – just a slyer one than me.”

[Jim coughs and clears his throat]

Jim: “You were justifying your auditory snooping.”

John: “Ok, well, there were about four conversations going on in there, but the one that won my mind’s primary attention was the one just behind me. Apparently one of the guys had been screwed out of child custody by a family court lawyer.”

Jim: “Ah, family court lawyers. Such lovely creatures. The predators of the hyper-emotional. The ghouls of the ghouls. Ok, I’m still following ya. What next?”

John: “Well, apparently he was really ticked-off by it. I mean REALLY ticked-off. So much so, in fact, that he had his buddy, a licensed plumber, take the lead in his revenge plot.”

Jim: “A plumber? What did the plumber do? Did he whack the attorney in the head with a piece of galvanized pipe for $500?”

John: “No, nothing so horribly and bluntly violent like that. Something insidiously ingenious. Something that Hollywood could make a movie around.”

Jim: “Ok, I’m now waiting with freshly baited [sic] breath. Keep your story pumping. Don’t let your pipe get clogged now.”

John: “You’re a real comedian today, Jim. Are you high again on something?”

Jim: “No, I’m as sober as ever, and I’m all ears. Please do continue. I’ll restrain myself for the remainder of your tale. I promise.”

John: “I doubt that, Jim, but I’ll recommence anyway. Alright, the guy says that he had his plumber pal call the offending lawyer at his Diamond Heights residence, and that he offered him a free promotional water hammer arrestor installation, just on the whim that he might be experiencing a water hammer issue in his home, and, well, you guessed it: He agreed to the installation.”

Jim: “Wait a second. Water hammer? What the hell is that?”

[the waitress returns and places two glasses (of beer, I presume) down on the table]

John: “Thanks.”

Jim: “Thanks, again.”

[the sound of the high-heeled waitress walking away]

John: “What is a water hammer? It’s that banging sound in the pipes that occurs in some houses and apartments after you turn the water faucet off.”

Jim: “Oh, yeah; I know what you’re talking about now. Ok, resume, master storyteller.”

John: “Well, next, the plumber gives the pissed-off-at-lawyer dude a new water hammer arrestor from his van.”

Jim: “Water hammer arrestor? Ok, let me guess … it suppresses the pipe-banging noise.”

John: “Jim, you must have taken your smart pills today.”

[John laughs for a few seconds]

Jim: “But, is he going to install it himself? The lawyer would recognize him, right?”

John: “No, Jim, he gives it to him so that he can modify it. He takes it apart. Apparently there is a piston mechanism in it and an air chamber. He places some water-soluble poison powder in the air chamber on the end. It becomes a time-released toxin-administering mechanism. The chemical that he inserted is called Thalene.” [sic]

Jim: “Thalene? You must mean thallium, John.”

John: “Yeah, that’s it.”

Jim: “That shit is nasty, John. They can’t even use that on rats or roaches anymore.”

[the sound of another N train passing]

John: “Well, slowly, over about six months the lawyer is poisoned to death. The autopsy leads them to believe that it was thallium, but they never find a source. They never find a single grain in the home. Not even a speck. Nothing. Über-clever, isn’t it?”

Jim: “Woah! Hold on. Wouldn’t others who drank the tap water in that home over those six months be poisoned, too?”

John: “No, not necessarily. I overheard them say that visiting guests would never get a dangerous amount in their system after a few visits. He was single and no one else lived with him. And, he had no pets. You would have had to have lived in that home with him to have died from it. He said that it slowly accumulates in the body. It’s more of a chronic exposure than an acute one.”

Jim: “Wow, we’ve got a great screenplay on our hands here, John. The next epic revenge thriller. I can write it up. We’ll be rolling in greenbacks! Hey, it didn’t really come to pass did it?”

John: “Well, I don’t know, Jim. I haven’t been reading the Chronicle or watching the local news as of late. I guess if we learn of a local lawyer’s mysterious death in the last year, we should go to the cops.”

[the sound of a wooden chair (mine) sliding on a concrete slab floor]

The audio tape ended and I turned the old cassette player off.

Then Monique (Agent 32) walked into the den. I looked up at her. What a cute pinay [Philippine lady] she is.

“I thought I heard some men talking. What was that, Parkaar?” [my ailing alias]

“Oh, just an old taped recording of a conversation in San Francisco from a couple of decades ago. I used to use these analog audio snippets in multimedia art back then.”

“What in the world! Did those people know that they were being recorded?”

“Uh, I doubt it, 32.”

“Are you recording me now?”

<click>