PURGATORY – Part 1 – The 4th Short Story in the Detective Eddy Case Series

ON THE 1st INSTALLMENT OF…

 

PURGATORY

 

NEWS FLASH

 

“Thanks for tuning in San Francisco. In breaking news today, authorities state an illegal Meth Lab, located at the center of the abandoned Hospital in the Presidio, is the cause of last weeks’ devastating fire. Real Estate developers were quick to submit a bid to renovate the remaining structure as equal opportunity housing – the Governor is expected to approve this proposal and break ground within the year.

In unrelated news, authorities need your assistance. The identity of a man discovered by two joggers at Lobos Creek Beach remains a mystery. Badly burned over most of his body after a severe car accident, Doctors are keeping him suspended in a medically induced coma; authorities are hard pressed to uncover his identity and are asking for the public’s help…”

 

FLAT LINE

 

Someone was watching the news that night in a dark room, blue light bouncing off the walls. Windows drawn, doors locked, 9mm and 2 magazines within arm’s reach. This guy knew who was rigged up to life support in San Francisco County General, covered under layers of bandages.

And this guy wanted him dead. Cross me once, shame on me. Cross me twice and I’ll fucking bury you myself motherfucker. That was his motto; and you know what they say about mottos. They never change.

Just a blip in the news. If you weren’t paying attention, like so many, you’d miss it. But he didn’t miss anything. Devil’s in the details.

Called a guy that knew a guy that didn’t know him. “I need you to infiltrate SF General and remove the John Doe in the Burn Unit.” Hitmen always ready for action. Cash always king.

That night the guy worked through the corridors with ease, found the right door, the room unguarded. Clearly the staff didn’t know who was on deck, if they did – they’d know he was nothing but…. Could have prepared for this. Oh well. Too bad, so sad. Quickly he went to work. Pull Pull Pull. The heart monitor went flat.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Sleep tight my precious. Out the door the guy disappeared. Job done.

Don’t be so hasty boy. Can’t mess with destiny.

Try as you might. If it’s not your time, it’s just not your time.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

All three nurses ran in to check on John Doe. Their heartstrings plucked to his sad little tune. Only one was on duty the day they brought him in. Barely breathing, burned over most of his body, side of his head, neck, part of his face. Black hair clinging to what skin was left, blue stains instead of tattoos. Broke their little hearts. And when no one came looking… well… let’s just say they became his biggest advocates.

Standing there, all three a gasped at the scene, their patient lying still on the bed, blood stained bandages where needles were ripped from his skin, oxygen mask cast to the floor. Stabbed through the heart would have felt the same to these three. Who would do such a thing? To a helpless person teetering between life and death.   Yet the small monitor on his forefinger kept a systematic pulse.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Still alive.

Somebody call a doctor STAT. Good thing they were in a hospital.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Deep in sleep. It was better that way. Clearly his life was in danger, ripped the story from the media. Around the water cooler tales boiled. Hitman, drugie, meth head, jilted lover.   Miss any? If you can cook up a story – their bandaged patient had a leading role in it. Mystery man on a hospital bed has that effect on people.

Each night, Nurse Lucy sat by his bedside and read from her favorite books. Tonight, The Adventures of Huckleberry Fin. Taking pause to make the story most adventurous. A firm believer a person can hear, even if they’re seduced in slumber. And each night her patient just lied there. There’s something to say about persistence. Someday it will pay off. Well – at least that’s what they say.

 

TOUGH CALL

Harry answered on the second ring. “Hello. Governor Hawthorne speaking.” Never got tired of saying it.

The Coroner wasn’t as cheery. Rarely are. “You alone?” Harry didn’t like the sound of this. “Yes.” Gazed out the window of his hotel room, the tiny lights of the city flickered.

“The body you brought in.” Paused. Coroners were accustom to giving bad news, just not of this magnitude. “It’s not him.”

Might as well drop the Atomic Bomb!

KA-BOOM!

“Excuse me?” Harry lurched forward in his chair, not sure if he heard him right.

The Coroner expected this reaction. Prepared. “Listen Harry.” Dead Serious. As coroners often are. “I wouldn’t bullshit you. Meet me at our spot midnight tonight; I’ll prove it.” Just like that, hung up the phone. Conversation Dead.

The words were ringing in his ear. Harry couldn’t wrap his mind around this. How could this be? Paid good money to see this through. Gave his word this was over. Oh how quickly things change. Better make sure before jumping to conclusions.

Driving under the Bay Bridge it dawned on the good Governor that even this was part of the plan. A pawn in his own game. Play with fire – get burned.

The city was shrouded with thick fog, rolled down his window as he worked his way through the docks, the air cool against his skin. Parking was a cinch at this hour, finding the right cargo crate took some finagling. Knocked twice on Box # 7120873. The metal latch moved and the door opened. Harry ducked in.

The old Coroner, off the clock that is, was standing over a slab of ice and a cold dead body reviewing his notes. Diesel standing watch by the door. A nod expressed his disappointment. It wasn’t his fault he killed the wrong guy. Just following orders.

“Harry! Good to see you.” Shook his fraternity brothers’ hand.

“Good to see you too Drake, thanks for coming on such short notice.” Harry was being gracious, for the amount of money he spent, Drake should be his bitch. “So what’s this?” Harry motioned to the body covered before them.

“Well Harry.” Shaking his head, pulling down the drape to reveal the face, eye socket shattered, bullet went straight through. Coagulated blood at the corner of the wound looked like Jell-O. Old Stiff. “I’ll give you this much, even in his current condition.” Looking down at the corpse, tilting his jaw to show his good side. “He really does look like him…his cosmetic surgeon did an excellent job. Almost twins really.” Nodding. Let go of the jaw. “Like I said on the phone, this is not your guy.” Looked Harry dead in the eye. Continued. “According to his medical records. Mr. Samuel Douglas Outlaw, aka Sammy Detroit, aka Sammy Tokyo – had heart transplant surgery in 1992.” Flipped open his file to show Harry the post surgery pictures. Pulled the drape further down to reveal the pasty tattooed chest. Paused for reaction. “That would have left a very detectable scar.” Swallowed hard. It was obvious now. The Coroner continued. “This guy doesn’t have a medical scar on him.” Scared all right, just not from a scalpel – well at least not by a doctor. Both men stood there. Drake continued. “You paid me good money Harry to make sure this was him. On the flip side, you paid me good money to tell you if it isn’t.” Harry liked an honest man. Refreshing. “In my professional, medical capacity… this is not the body of Sammy Detroit.”

This evidence hit him hard. Top men on this assignment, did all his homework. The man he sent Diesel to pick up – was supposed to be the real Sammy D.

Close… but no cigar.

“However.” The Coroner continued. “I hear the city morgues’ got more bodies on ice than 6-packs on Super Bowl Sunday.   I’ve volunteered to help comb through the corpses.” This was the best he could do. But he knew – Sammy Detroit didn’t play fair. “Listen, if I come across a match – you’ll be the first to know Harry.” Nodding his head in silence. “But I don’t think I’m going to find him.” On a lighter note. “He’s not the first criminal to use body doubles – nor the last.” Shake Shake. “Fortunately, they start running out of volunteers. It’s not the best way to evade capture.” Placed his hand on the Governors shoulder. “Can I give you some advice Harry?” Interjected quickly before protest. “I’m out of line – I’m sure.” Continued just the same. “Keep your nose clean of this. You’re not the young reporter on Obits anymore, following Deuce all over the city cracking cases.” The Coroner was a wise old man. “You’re the Governor now, and can do much more good from that seat, than one in the gutter with the likes of Sammy D.” Said enough. Covered the body, motioned for Diesel to take care of it. Time to swim with the fishes.

Harrison might be the Governor. But first and foremost he was a family man. Family comes first. Always has, always will. And Eddy was family alright. Made a promise this was over – determined to keep it. A man who keeps his promises – now ladies – that’s what we call a keeper.

 

ON THE HOUSE

Sitting in a dark corner of The Fairmont Hotel bar, Harry pondered the truth over a couple dry martinis. His nemesis, if only by association, was alive and free somewhere, maybe even his city. What would Harry tell Julia? He’d be picking her up from the hospital in a few short hours. Lie to her face? Let her go back to New York unsuspecting. Sammy lurking in the shadows.

Sip Sip. Drown Drown. Sip Sip. Took a look at his Rolex. Eddy and Kitten would be driving through some tiny village in the desert by now. Sip Sip. Oh Shit. Sip Sip.

Well after closing, the bar stayed open for the Governor, especially when the Mayor walks in.

“Harry, I just got your message, I’m so sorry I’m late.” Two martinis making their way from the bar to their table. When the bartender walked away, Harry got to the point.

“It’s not him Gavin.” Nodding in dissatisfaction. The Rolling Stones never wrote a song about that. “Just left Drake and it’s painfully obvious. The man Diesel shot – isn’t Sammy D. That fucker is still out there.”

Slammed his drink fast, his eyes scanning the city, motioned for another, two more already on their way. The bartender was no fool, when the Governor and the Mayor are talking at your bar this late at night; they need those drinks to keep on coming. On the house.

“Not him?” Julia flashed before his eyes. Gavin downed his too. Worry creeping into his mind. Eased back in his chair, pressed his tie down, though it didn’t need fixen’. Smoothed out his hair. “What a fucking mess huh Boss? I thought we had this in the bag.”

Harry coughed. Shook his head side to side. “Man, I sure could use a smoke right now.” Harry’s eyes wandering over the dark familiar room. If walls could talk.

“We quit Harry, remember? It’s bad for business.” Needed to lighten the mood. “Good news is – no one questions the meth lab story – media’s eating it up like pudding.”

The Governor nodded. “Signed the proposal this morning. The Presidio Trust had plans drawn up years ago, they were chomping at the bit the minute police lines were cleared.”

Shake Shake. Shop Talk wasn’t cutting it tonight.

The bartender returned with two more drinks, a pack a smokes and a box of matches. Harry caught his eye. Old Timer. Remembered him from back in the day. Way back, when Deuce was the chaining smoking detective and Harry was just a reporter with a big dream. Smiled to the old man. “Thanks Jesse.” Closed his eyes, nodded, stepped away.

Gavin grabbed the pack, tore it open, pulled out two, handed one to his uncle, struck a match, leaned over, the light casting onto Harry’s face.   Puff Puff. Felt good going down. Inhale Exhale. Made up his mind, Harry continued. “I’m not going to tell either one of them. Far as they’re concerned… Sammy’s six feet under. I promised Deuce I’d take care of his kids. This is between Sammy and I now – and I’m not playing fair anymore.”

Look whose dirty now.

 

MUERTO MEANS DEAD

Meanwhile, in the depths of Southern Mexico…

“So let me get this straight hombres.” El Guapo was taking a long drag off his cigar. Rolling the smoke over this tongue slowly, savoring the flavor. Anything to hide the wretched scent of his surroundings. Turned to face his two distinguished guests. Fernando and Esteban chained by all fours to a cold cement wall. The room was small, dark ‘cept for a slight beam of light pouring in through a slat in the ceiling. The Muscle had taken a firm beating for their oversight.

“Juan Carlos may have sent you to take care of Azul. But I hired you to eliminate Sammy.” Accentuating the word eliminate. Dragging the vowels out. “You are known as the two best killers in Mexico.”

Esteban quick to announce. “We’re number one now Boss – The Preacher is dead.”

SLAP!

“Yes. He is. Thank you for reminding me.” SLAP! “Now I have no one else to call to finish YOUR job.” This was life insurance for The Muscle. “You let me down AND you let down my friend.” El Guapo was pacing the cell, about four feet in each direction. Both men stretched beyond reach. Pain swelling in their joints, wounds dripping with blood. “I am a man of my word hombres.” Looking them both in the eye just inches away from their faces. Could feel his warm breath. “I do what I say and say what I do.” Pulled away. “You will make me an honest man again.”

Who’s kidding who? Drug Lord wasn’t Latin for Saint.

But The Muscle wasn’t going to argue with the hefe. Fernando spoke up. “I’m very sorry El Guapo for letting you down. Never again. I will personally make sure Sammy is MUERTO.”

El Guapo stopped his pacing, slid off his shades and stared Fernando in the eye.

“Too late.”

 

LATER

Lucy was sitting by her charge, reading the end of The Count of Monte Cristo, her eyes welling with tears as Dumas wrote away his agony. Finished the book, put it down. Sat there, closed her eyes. Gotta catch some shut-eye when you can.

That’s when he made a groan. Soft and muffled, it rumbled from his chest. Woke Lucy up, leaned in to look at him. His hair had grown and she kept it trimmed as a pomp. Felt right. Her little James Dean doll. The side of his face healed well, couldn’t see the burns if he turned just right. Applied vitamin E nightly. His body, well, it was still a man’s body if anyone was curious. Skin a bit melted, still handsome and still functioning cause I know you were wondering.

Lucy checked the monitors; his heartbeat was speeding up, breath growing full. It was coming. Any moment now. Been waiting a long time for this. Finally… he…

OPENED HIS EYES.

Just like that. Wide. One still the color of dark chocolate , the other stark white with a jet black pupil. Caught Lucy by surprise, didn’t flinch, seen it all. Both eyes focused on her – she didn’t stir as he squinted and squirmed.

“Well hello there.” Wide Grin. “Welcome back trooper.” He just blinked repeatedly. Didn’t say a word. “I’ll call the doctor.” Lucy rose and grabbed the phone. Mumble Mumble. Turned back to him. “The doctor will be right here. How are you feeling?” Her voice was soft and soothing, he tried to sit up, stunned. “You may experience difficultly moving, speaking, and remembering right now.” Just the basics. Baby Steps. “But don’t you worry; we’ll whip you into shape in no time.” Smiled gently, leaned in to fix his pillow as she adjusted the bed.

He took a deep inhale – took in her lemon fresh scent. Mmmm. Lemonade on a hot summer day. Fixed his eyes on her. A vision. Heaven? Probably not. Clearly not hell either.

“You’re in the hospital.” Soft blonde hair gave off a glow. Like an angel. Black cat-eye glasses shimmered as she fussed over him. The absolute first thought to cross his mind – right after ‘where the fuck am I’- was ‘I’d like to Bada-Bing that babe’. Ahhh, it’s good to be alive. Back in the saddle again.

His doctor rushed in, startled is see his patient awake after all this time. Checked the monitors and charts. Grabbed the stool, brought it close, sat down and stared at his patient. When you think you’ve seen it all – a surprise. Took a lot to surprise this doctor. “How you doing kid? It’s good to see you. Welcome back.” Bewildered he nodded. The Doctor continued. “I’m going to ask you a few questions and we’ll take it from there – okay?” Nod Nod.

“Do you remember your name?” He sat there, confused. Nodded side to side, universal symbol. “Don’t worry. This is completely normal. Do you know what year it is?” Side to side. “Ok then. I’ll start.” The Doctor gave a soft smile. Nice bedside manner.

“You were in a car accident.” Let that sit in. Blink Blink. Waited for his patient to process. “You were badly burned, several broken bones and what appeared to be gunshot wounds.” Looking down at his fingers, knuckles stained blue, skin sensitive and spread over like frosting. Stretched his fingers out – still worked. “You’ve recovered nicely from all your injuries.” That’s putting it lightly. The good Doc just lost $1000 in the office pool. Hey – he never expected this kid to live. Glad to be wrong for a change.

His patient found his eyes, hanging onto his every word. There was more…

“You’ve been in a coma.” Ka-Boom. “You’re lucky to be alive kid.” Lucy quick with the water, their mystery patient took a long sip.   Found the words and the know how to speak. That was a good sign.

“How long have I been out Doc?” Both medical professionals turned towards each other. Doctor…

“One year.”

Looked out the window, just kept nodding his head.   That was a long long time. Mumble Mumble Mumble went the Doctor, stood up, shook his hand goodbye. Eyes out the window. Nothing. Nothing. Nada.

 

TO BE CONTINUED… Part 2

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Happy Tales! xox Pulp Paige

My name is Paige Turner and I write Pulp

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