The List

This insanely long post is long. It is late and I am tired. Perhaps some of my readers can suggest a better way to end the story. Probabaly it needs heaps of work for anyone to understand what the heck I am going on about and why the doctor does what he does.

The List

It would be the perfect spot for that hebe cutting. Grandma finally decided. She looked up from the spot where she was digging. Hearing a noise she leaned on her well worn spade as she squinted into the glare. The postman had come. Sighing, she put down her spade and made her way over to where the mailbox was. There were three letters today. Two were of such a nature that doesn’t interest people like Grandma. One was one of those letters addressed to the ubiquitous “Householder”, the second was so forgettable that no one is really sure what it was about anymore. The third was, however of considerable interest. One of those letters that have that little plastic window on it, it had “Canterbury District Health Board” in bold type on the top left corner. It was addressed to “John Sinclair”.

When John returned home from work that evening, there on the kitchen bench was that letter. "It's about freakin' time" he thought as he opened the envelope. It was an appointment for him to see one "Dr Chantage Consultant". Finally, he was at the top of the waiting list. He had waited more than a year fo this appointment that would in all likelyhood take about 15 minutes, 20 at the most. "The public health system has gone down the proverbial" he muttered, throwing the letter on the table. He made himself a strong cup of tea and then sat down at his computer to ask Google about this "Dr Chantage".

The morning of the appointment, and Doctor Chantage was agitated. He was as usual reading the Press at his favorite early morning coffee haunt - "The Daily Grind" he had ordered his usual - Flat white - but it was taking longer than usual. He glanced over toward the man in the grey suit seated in the corner, taking care not to turn his head or make it obvious that he was looking at anything other than the article in the paper that detailed someting about a rates increase proposed for some reason. The man had removed his glasses. "That was the signal". He watched out of the corner of his eye as the man paid and left. "half a minute yet" he thought to himself. He watched the second hand slowly make its way around the face of the clock suspended above the counter. "It's time". He got up and went to the bathroom. Sure enough, under the spare toilet roll in stall three, he found the package. Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet he pulled a pair of latex gloves from one of his pockets. Pulling them on like he had done so many times before, he operated on the package. Inside he found a business card for an auto electrician by the name of "Reynold Mardel", and a small black device no larger than a cellphone with the words "Cardio Call" written on it. He placed them in a small zip lock bag, pocketed it and made sure to flush the excess packaging and the gloves, he made a show of washing his hands and went back to finish his coffee. "Make no change from the established routine" he told himself - he finished his coffee, made a show of reading the front page, and smiling at the cartoons. His job was now half done. As he made his way back to his car, he noticed a parking ticket. Swearing under his breath, he looked at it and screwed it up. Whoever thought of ticketing a doctor for $96 for parking in the disabled car park? “ah well, it was bound to happen some day”.

The day had arrived and John was early for his appointment. Sitting in the waiting room he couldn't help but notice the TV in the corner. On it was a plaque engraved with the thanks of someone or other who had finally got to see a heart specialist after who knows how long stuck on the list waiting for what should have been a simple diagnosis of mild Ischaemic heart disease which turned into a full blown heart attack case in need of angioplasty, because it wasn't diagnosed sooner. A nurse put her head round the door "John Sinclair?" she asked, "Yes", John said as he stood. Finally he was going to see the doctor.

After the diagnosis, as soon as John had thanked him and left the room, Doctor Chantage picked up his phone and dialed the number on the business card. He left a message on the answering machine stating that the 'cheque' was 'in the mail'. He hung up and breathed a sigh of releaf. He now wanted nothing to better than to forget the whole thing. Hopefully the blackmailers would leave him alone now.

After being told by the doctor that his condition was likely to be some thing that by now he couldn't remember the name of (that's John that couldn't remember, the doctor seemingly knew off the top of his head), John was ushered into another room to be fitted with the listening device that would accompany him for the next two weeks. It would sit in his pocket, attached to the electrodes that were attached to him, and it would listen apparently to his heart. He was now, for a few weeks at least, the bionic man.

It is a little known fact that it is possible to devise what a person is typing by the sound the keys make as you hit them. Each key has it's own unique acoustic signature so that, with enough recordings of someone typing, and using frequency analysis it is possible to listen in on the typing of someone and discern the message without looking at the screen. Simply by recording the sounds of someone typing at an internet cafe for instance, you can have access to their most personal data

One week later, as John arrived at work, he noticed a white van with "Lincoln Shuttle" written on the side parked outside. Upon entering the bank where he worked, he was arrested for five accounts of unlawfully accessing an information system, and for the theft of 5.1 million dollars. He wasn't granted bail. One Dr Chantage was at the court the day that John was convicted. He was there to pay an overdue fine for $96 for parking in a disabled persons car park without a disability sign.