Shortly before, I took a hard jab to the head from another kickboxer during training. I shook it off and completed the sparring rounds. And now I had no idea where I was. I stood looking around in the half-light of the parking lot, knowing I must have driven myself here.
I couldn’t recall my vehicle. Other trainees were chatting and laughing as they headed for their own cars. They slapped me on the back, their voices like from the bottom of a well.
Finally, only three cars remained in the lot. The keys in my pocket had to fit one of them. Sure enough. The black Nissan pickup.
I started the engine.
Shock followed shock. I couldn’t remember where I lived, not even the name of the city. I couldn’t remember my Mom’s telephone number to have her come get me. I remembered none of my friends’ names, not even that of my long-time girlfriend. I sat there in the dark literally not knowing what to do.
I was not accustomed to helplessness. I was an ex-cop, a Green Beret paratrooper. I had been to wars, worked mean streets as a cop in two major cities. I was the guy others came to for help.
Later, I realized I suffered a concussion.
Relying on pure logic, I finally made my way home using the address on my driver’s license. I failed to recognize my apartment when I got there, but the keys fit the door. I stepped inside, hoping I was in the right place. I found the light switch, found the bedroom. . .
When I awoke the next morning fully recovered, it was with a new sense of humility and understanding for those many people in the world who suffered through permanent hardships and lived in their worlds of darkness.
Police Detective James Nail is wounded and his daughter murdered in an attack on “Right-Wing” TV personality Jerry Baer. . . As he tracks down the shooters, he discovers a conspiracy that leads to an international cartel of “One Worlders” that may implicate the President of the United States. . .