The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King

by Sam Lee Jackson

  Mr. Stein said, “Four to five dollars.”

  “Four to five dollars,” Paz repeated. He looked at Little Joe, “How much can you sell opioid pills for on the street?”

  “Twenty-five to forty dollars apiece.”

  “You do the math,” Paz said looking at the rest of us. He turned to Mr. Stein, “We’ve all heard about opioids, but even I don’t know much of the technical stuff. Tell the boys about opioids.”

  Stein shrugged, “Opioids are a legitimate pain killer. Opioids like oxycodone, hydrocodone, methadone and fentanyl are prescribed every day. They are also highly addictive, and addicts will do almost anything to get their hands on them. And, you can’t just cook them up like meth. For instance, oxycodone is made primarily from a semi-synthetic opiate. These are Schedule ll controlled substances. Heavily regulated, and hard to come by, unless through legitimate sources. Doctors and clinics all over America are getting rich prescribing these drugs. If they were available on the street, can you imagine the money involved?”

  “Might as well be us,” Paz said.

  “You the supplier?” Pike said to Mr. Stein.

  Stein looked at Paz, and Paz answered. “Out of all the clinics Mr. Stein’s company has in the Valley, there are two that serve as their main distribution centers for the southwest. The pills are shipped in from the manufacturer, then those two supply the other clinics. Some of those shipments will end up, let us say, diverted.”

  “And no one will notice?” I asked.

  Mr. Stein looked at me. “If my company opened a dozen more clinics, that would be noticed. Think about this. In Mohave County four doctors prescribed 6 million pills. That is not a big county. That’s enough pills to medicate every citizen in the county four times a day for a week. This is a big business. Why should those guys get rich, and not us?”

  “Where’s Mohave County?” Wally Chen asked.

  “Up around Kingman. A stone’s throw from Vegas,” I said.

  “How much we gonna sell this stuff for?” Peggy asked.

  “Mr. Stein, Mr. Pike and I will figure that out.” Paz said this to Pike. When Pike looked at him, Paz said, “You in?”

  Stein was surprised. “I thought this was settled.”

  Pike said, “It is.” He nodded at Paz. “I’m in.”

  Paz stood. “Mr. Stein, why don’t you and Mister Pike come back to my office?”

  Stein stood. He and Pike followed Paz to the back. We all sat for a moment, looking at each other. Peggy began to grin.

  Frank went behind the bar, “Bar’s open,” he said.

  We all stood and moved to the bar to get a drink. Peggy stood next to Pony Boy. “We’re all gonna get rich,” he said.

  42

  I sent Nacho and Jimmy to the Scottsdale hook-up bar as bait for Tommy. The next afternoon I was in El Patron, at the bar, nursing a beer. Nacho was next to me, Blackhawk and Elena up in the apartment.

  “So, he didn’t waste any time,” Nacho was saying. “As soon as Jimmy and I sat down he came over.”

  “So, he wants in, but he doesn’t want Pete in.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d relay the message. He offered $75.000. Trying to make himself irresistible. I told him if it was a deal, I’d be back tonight with you.”

  “He ask my name?”

  “Yeah.”

  He was sipping a beer. He kept sipping.

  “What did you tell him?” I finally said.

  He turned to look at me. He was smiling. “I told him your name was Jackson and that you lived on a houseboat at Pleasant Harbor Marina.”

  My eyebrows went up, and he started laughing. He held a hand up to ward me off, “No, no, I told him your name was Smith.”

  “Jerk. What time tonight?”

  “Nine.”

  I sipped my beer and thought about it.

  I wanted Tommy to wait, so we didn’t walk into the club until twenty after nine. He was back against the wall and stood when we came in. God, I was getting to hate this place. What the DJ considered music was just an obnoxious, shrill, thumping abasement to my ears.

  Nacho nodded toward Tommy, and I followed him over. Tommy was studying me as I studied him. At last he put on his best sales smile and stuck his hand out. I ignored it.

  “Check him,” I said to Nacho.

  Nacho lifted both his palms up to indicated to Tommy to raise his arms. Tommy frowned, and didn’t move. Nacho stepped into him and lifted each arm away from his body, and began to frisk him. Tommy was startled, but he didn’t resist.

  Finally, Nacho was satisfied. “Clean,” he said. Of course, he was. I’d have been shocked if he wasn’t, but it was just another piece of theater to further Tommy’s belief in who I was.

  I waved Nacho away, and he took a spot along the wall, just out of earshot.

  Tommy and I both sat with our backs to the wall. “I’ve been told you want to see me,” I said.

  He leaned forward, “I want in,” he said.

  “In?” I said. “You think that’s it? You want something and it happens?”

  “I have seventy-five thousand reasons why it should.”

  The waitress stopped. I ordered Johnnie Blue on the rocks. Tommy already had a drink in front of him, but it looked untouched. He was here for business.

  I waited until the waitress brought the drink. “Those are compelling reasons,” I said as she moved away. I took a drink. “The trouble is, you tell people here,” I indicated the room with my drink. “That your name is Tommy. But, Tommy doesn’t exist.”

  He shrugged. “It’s as good a name as any.”

  “So, I had you checked out. The car you have parked outside is leased to Edward Burns, but that isn’t your name either.”

  He leaned back and looked at me. “You a cop or something?”

  I let out a genuine laugh. “No more than you are. But, I am connected. My associates have people everywhere. There are few secrets they can’t uncover. I’m told your name is Grover Hilland. You are thirty-three years old, you were born in Dayton Ohio. You are not married and never have been, you have no children that can be found. In fact, you have no next of kin that can be found.”

  I thought, this guy could be me.

  “The other pertinent thing we discovered is that you don’t seem to be employed, but you live well. That makes us wonder.”

  “I’m a speculator. I see something that I think will turn a profit and I put money into it.”

  “And you think I will turn you a profit.”

  “Yeah, the gold thing. I still think it looks hokey, but that other guy, he had a bag of gold dust. Who has a bag of gold dust? I had it checked. It was real gold dust. He told me how he got it, but I want you to tell me, before I, huh, invest.” He paused, frowning, “You know, I’ve haven’t used the Hilland name for a long time. It makes me suspicious you can come up with it.”

  “I didn’t.” I nodded toward Nacho. “See that guy? He’s not just here to keep me safe, he’s also here to watch me. There’s too much money in this for anyone to trust anyone. His bosses are the ones that dug into your past. And, believe me, they have the resources, local, state, federal.”

  “You said you don’t have enough money to buy into it,” he said.

  I leaned back and looked at him. “Pete has a big mouth.”

  “Pete? That his name? No, it wasn’t Pete. I overheard you talking to Pete. But, what I don’t understand is if these guys are so well connected, what are they doing with you?”

  I smiled, “Good question.” I took another drink. “I was the one that found the Professor and his magic machine. I brought it to them. They let me stay close enough to get some of the scraps.”

  “How’d you find him?”

  “I was, am, a geological engineer. I’ve been in mining my whole life. Since the beginning of mining, men have been trying to extract as much gold as possible from the earth. The interesting thing about gold is that it is not
formed on this earth. You can say all gold is extra-terrestrial. All the gold on earth came from outer space.”

  “That don’t make sense.”

  “No, it wouldn’t. Not unless you have the education about it. But, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that gold is heavy. The old miners took a gold pan and sluiced the gravel in the creek bed hoping for the gold to stay at the bottom. Modern day gold mines dig and there are machines that extract the gold from the rest. Engineers have always wondered how to get the most minute particle of gold out of the discarded tailings. No one ever found a way.”

  “Until now,” he said.

  That’s when I knew I had him. “Until now,” I repeated.

  “This Professor figured it out?”

  “He did. Up until now, no one had a machine that could spin fast enough to separate the tailings from the gold, without just burning up. I heard about this guy while I was in Nevada. He was just another crackpot, but there was something interesting enough about him to make me check him out.”

  “What was that?”

  “He is an aeronautical engineer. He figured out how to use a jet engine and something called LI900 Silica Ceramic. And, it worked.”

  “Where is it?”

  I drained my glass and signaled the waitress. I hitched around to look at him. “You seem like a smart guy. Probably as smart as me. I figured it out, so I’ll bet you could too. The largest gold mine in America is in Nevada. That’s where they found the Carlin Trend. There’s seventeen open pits and four underground mines. All we had to do is get permission to sift through the tailings at one of the abandoned places.”

  “Do they know you are getting more gold out of it?”

  The waitress brought my drink, and I dropped a fifty on her tray. She smiled at me and moved away. “Hell no. As far as they know, we are striking out just like all the other losers that have tried.”

  “How much have you got out of it so far?”

  “You said it yourself, I don’t have enough money. I’m getting the scraps. But, let’s say you come up with a hundred grand. We double, triple, quadruple the money. I take the original hundred as my fee. You take the rest, reinvest half of it, I reinvest my hundred. As long as there are abandoned gold mines, the goose keeps laying the eggs.”

  “What’s the Professor get out of it?”

  I looked at Nacho. Tommy’s eyes followed mine. “His life,” I said matter-of-factly. “And, his family, with enough money to last the rest of his life.”

  He thought about it, “Hell, man. That’s a lot of money.”

  “You talking about the hundred, or what you’re going to get back?”

  He finally took a drink. He was nodding.

  43

  It was late when I parked the Mustang and walked back to the boarding house. I was feeling good. Same as when you get that first big-fish strike, and you know he’s on the hook. I went around to the rear entrance and had the key in the lock when I heard a noise. Behind me, in the oleanders. I didn’t move. I made no sound and listened. I heard it again. It was a low moan. The street lights had ruined my night vision, so I stood and stared into the darkest part of the bushes, letting my eyes re-adjust.

  On the third moan, I moved silently back down the steps, and moved into the grass to muffle my footsteps. Now, I could make out a small dark mass at the base of the bushes. I cautiously moved to it.

  It was Reggie. She was curled into the fetal position. Her breathing was ragged and shallow. She was unconscious. I felt the pulse in her throat. It was slow and irregular. I fumbled my phone from my hip pocket, and hit Boyce’s speed dial.

  “What do you want?” her voice said.

  “I’ve got an overdose in the bushes behind my boarding house. My car is five blocks away, and I need to get her to the emergency room. Is your patrol car still in the vicinity?”

  “Yeah, they just picked me up. What’s the address?”

  I told her.

  “We’ll be there in two minutes.”

  It was less than that. They pulled up, their lights flashing. I activated my phone, so it lit up, and waved it at them. Boyce was still the bag lady. They all hustled over to me.

  “Anyone got Naloxone?” I said.

  “In the trunk,” one of the cops said. He turned and ran back to the car. Reggie was struggling to breathe. The other cop and I rolled her to her side, hoping to clear the airway. The cop returned with what looked like nasal spray.

  “All we have is the nasal inhaler,” he said.

  I rolled her back and put my arm behind her back and sat her up. The cop got the spray bottle into her nostril and squeezed. Nothing happened. He did it again.

  “I’m not sure it’s getting into her,” he said.

  I put my arm under her knees and back and lifted her. She was a bag of bones. She was skinnier than the last time I saw her. She probably hadn’t eaten since.

  Backdoor,” I said. Boyce got to the squad car before me and opened the door. Holding Reggie like a baby, I slid in. Boyce came in beside me. The cops were in the front seat and we were rolling before Boyce got the door shut.

  I held Reggie tight. I could feel the sharp angle of her shoulder blade, and her ribs were like those of a skeleton. She smelled sour, like old discarded meat.

  “Come on, baby,” I said. “You can make it. We’re almost there.”

  The cop in the passenger seat was on the radio, talking to the hospital. Boyce had hunched around and was watching us. She reached out and put a hand on Reggie’s back, gently rubbing her. Then I felt inexplicable tears running down my cheeks. “Hold on, baby, hold on,” I crooned to her. I had seen my share of death. I’d had friends and colleagues die. I had put a tourniquet on the shattered leg of one of my first teammates and watched him bleed out before help could arrive. What made this little drugged up loser any different? I turned my head, so Boyce couldn’t see. But, she was watching.

  The patrol car came roaring into the hospital drive, screeching to a halt under the Emergency Room overhang. They were waiting. They tore my door open and pulled Reggie from my arms They put her on a gurney and were moving inside before I could get all the way out of the patrol car.

  The Emergency Room was familiar. I had been in it when they were digging a slug, meant for me, out of Boyce’s beautiful body.

  I stood there, looking around, not sure what to do. They had hustled Reggie off, through the swinging doors and out of sight. I felt Boyce come up beside me. I turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide and compassionate as they searched my face. She put her hand on my arm.

  “Out of our hands now,” she said.

  I shook my head, slowly. “The Naloxone was running down her face. It never made it in her.”

  “Maybe some of it.”

  I shrugged, and shook my head. Hopeless and helpless. Two of the worst things ever.

  “You staying here?” she asked softly.

  I nodded. “Yeah. Right now, I’m all she’s got.”

  “I need to get some sleep,” she said. “Mendoza’s got me shadowing the supplier tomorrow, so I have to be up early.”

  “Like you say. Out of our hands. You go get some rest.”

  She stepped into me and hugged me. She held on longer than a normal goodbye would take. Finally, she broke away and turned, and without looking back walked out the automatic door. The two cops followed her.

  The waiting room was mostly empty with one Hispanic family. The mother was trying to comfort a crying baby. I found a corner and tried to rest, but couldn’t. I found magazines and tried to read, but couldn’t. Finally, I stretched my feet out, leaned back, and closed my eyes. All I could see was Reggie’s pale little face shining up at me from the dark.

  I must have dozed off. Someone sat in the chair next to me. This was an emergency room faux pas. You didn’t sit directly next to someone unless there were just no seats left. I opened my eyes.

  “Sorry Jackson,” Father Correa said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Just
resting my eyes, Father,” I said. I sat up and tried to unkink my shoulders. “Why are you here? One of your girl’s in trouble?”

  “Detective Boyce called me. She thought you might want some company. And, yes. One of my girls is in trouble.”

  I smiled. I have to admit, I was glad to see him.

  “Father, it’s three o’clock in the morning,” I said.

  He smiled back. “God’s work isn’t on a time clock. Have you heard anything.”

  “No, afraid not. And, that’s not a good sign. We tried the heroin antidote, but I don’t think enough got into her.”

  “The spray?”

  I nodded.

  He reached over and patted my hand in sympathy. He looked at me, “Jackson, would you mind if I pray?”

  “Right now, I’ll take all the help I can get. But, you know me, Father. I’m not much of a prayer.”

  “Everyone prays, Jackson. It is just that we don’t all do it the same way. The world is a wide and diverse place, and prayer is just as diverse.” He laid a hand on top of mine. “Some of us make a conscious act of it. Closing our eyes, getting on our knees. Saying our prayers as a direct and conscious act. Now I lay me down to sleep….Some of us, and I believe this includes you, pray in a way that you don’t formally call it a prayer. But, I believe it is prayer never the less.”

  I frowned.

  “Let me explain,” he continued, patting my hand. “Have you ever found yourself sitting alone, relaxed, in the quiet, maybe in the dark, and your mind is searching for something? Maybe a solution, maybe just clarity. But, some form of understanding. And sometimes, you find the understanding and sometimes you don’t. But, your heart and your mind are receptive to finding it. Have you ever had that experience?”

  I nodded.

  “That, in my opinion, is praying. To me, that is God allowing you to use the gifts he has given you to gain deeper understandings. If you hear a voice of understanding, it may be God’s voice, or it may be your own, but he is the one that granted you the grace to hear it. So, like I say, I think everyone prays. Some people just don’t use that word.”

  “Pray away, Father.”