Chaotic Be Jack

by Robert Tarrant

  As the loader operator turned to walk back to his machine, he grumbled, “I hear ya, but you’re not the only ones with other things to do.” The pole was again unchained from the loader and the machine repositioned. Smoke belched from the exhaust as the machine strained to dislodge the transformer from the opening in the wall. As it pulled free, the pole teetered back and forth on the bucket nearly toppling back onto the wall. The operator lowered the bucket until the pole steadied. Gently curling the bucket back, he nudged the pole onto an area of the wall still standing at its full height.

  Once the operator was satisfied that the pole was safely resting on the top of the wall, he again repositioned the machine. Now as he raised the pole and transformer from the wall, he was able to jockey the machine back and forth until the top of the pole was outside of the back wall. He slowly lowered the bucket to within a couple of feet above the surface of the parking lot where he uncurled the bucket and dropped the transformer and pole to the ground. A small cloud of debris dust rose from the parking lot. He backed his machine from the wall and gave Major Gonzalez a salute as he drove past on his way back to South Ocean Drive.

  Once the public works equipment and personnel were safely out of the area, the S.W.A.T. officers took up their preplanned positions. The board that had been found in a debris pile, cut to length and lodged between the back wall of the kitchen and the cooler door, was pushed loose and fell to the floor. One of the officers pulled the pin on a flash bang grenade, quickly opened the cooler door, and tossed the grenade inside. Immediately following the explosion, the door was jerked completely open and two officers made a tactical entry.

  Seconds later, the radio in Major Gonzalez’s hand crackled alive. “Area secure. Four found D. Repeat, four D.”

  The major exhaled deeply. “Damn it. Four more.” He changed the frequency on his radio and requested that dispatch send a representative of the medial examiner to his location.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The longer the day wore on without any additional word from Mark, the more agitated PJ became. She was alternating between binge watching the news channels and surfing the internet, devouring every scrap of information she could find about the impact of the storm in Hollywood. Intuitively, she knew that what she was doing wasn’t constructive, that much of the information was inaccurate and overly dramatized, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as if she felt to stop her incessant search for information would somehow signal the universe that she wasn’t really worried enough about Jack and that would spawn bad news about him. Her emotions and her mind were in this perpetual rotation, like a cat chasing its tail.

  Everyone else in the house had long ago determined that it was best to just give PJ the space she needed. Mid-afternoon, forcing herself away from the television and the internet, PJ went outside and started walking aimlessly. She clutched her cell phone tightly in her hand, attempting to will it to ring with good news. Unfortunately, her experience told her that the more time that passed without word of Jack being safe, the less likely that would be the outcome.

  She was so startled when the phone did vibrate in her hand that she nearly dropped it. She felt her breath catch as she looked at the screen and Mark’s name stared back at her. She had willed this call to come through a thousand times, but now she was afraid to answer it. She could wait a little longer for good news and she didn’t want to ever face the bad news call. Finally, she squeezed her eyes shut, drew a deep breath, and exhaled slowly to steady her voice. “Hello, Mark. Thanks for getting back to me. Any news?”

  “PJ.” The background noise faded and ended as if he had again found a quiet place to talk to her. She could hear Mark draw a deep breath before he began. “The information I have is very preliminary, but I promised I would get to you with anything I learned. Radio traffic indicates that S.W.A.T. made entry into the cooler at your friend’s bar.” His two second pause screamed at PJ that the news was bad. “Four people were found inside, all deceased.” Now he rushed ahead. “I have no information about identifications yet, so your friend may not be one of them. I can call you again as soon as I have confirmed identifications. I just . . . I knew how anxious you’d been for any scrap of information. I’m sorry it’s not better news. I’m sorry, PJ.”

  PJ was numb. It was the same numbness she’d felt the night she opened her front door to find two Florida Highway Patrol command officers standing there. The night they told her Bill had been killed. It was as if she had suddenly plunged under water and her world was now devoid of all sound. The only sound was the blood pounding in her head. She knew Mark was still talking, but the words weren’t registering. The words weren’t penetrating the inky-black water that now engulfed her.

  “PJ . . . PJ, you still there?”

  She nodded, but of course Mark couldn’t see her. He was hundreds of miles away on the other end of the cellular connection. Slowly she returned to the moment. “Yeah, Mark, I’m still here.” Grasping for any thread of hope, she asked, “Any information at all about the victims? Male, female, race? Anything?”

  “Sorry, PJ, all I have is the scrap of radio traffic that they had found four people deceased and they were calling for the medical examiner. I probably should have waited until I had confirmation on identities.”

  She exhaled deeply. “No, Mark. You did the right thing. I wanted to know as soon as you knew anything.” PJ paused before the cop side of her uttered the words the woman side of her didn’t want to face. “I’m sure Jack is one of them. That’s the only explanation for me not hearing from him. He must have gone back to the bar after his car got stranded. They must have sought refuge from the storm in the cooler. I guess it was built to double as a storm shelter. Do you know how they died?”

  “I don’t, PJ. Before they made entry there had been some speculation that the cooler was air tight, so . . . well, I really don’t know. I shouldn’t speculate. I’ll call you again as soon as I have confirmation on the identities. I’m sure I’ll know more then.”

  After the call ended, PJ found herself standing on the shoulder of the road, but she couldn’t remember which direction her friend’s house was from here, or how far she had wandered. She shook her head and said aloud, “Get a grip, PJ.” She knew this call had been coming. Oh, she didn’t know what the details would be, but she had known what the bottom line was going to be. There was no other rational explanation for not hearing from Jack. He could be a little irresponsible at times, but he would have never failed to contact her when he knew she was expecting him.

  Then another wave of realization struck her. Four people. Moe must have been with Jack. His car was found outside Cap’s Place. Damn, Moe’s gone, too. She had no idea who the other two people were. Could they have been the two guys from the armored truck heist and murders? Who knows? Who cares? All she really cared about was the fact that Jack was gone. Whatever may have developed between them would never be. The universe had snatched another man from her life. First Bill, then Tim, now Jack. Bill, her first love. The father of her daughter. Tim, her flawed partner, the man who taught her more about being a cop than all of her other partners combined. The man she fought evil with, but in the end couldn’t protect from it. And now Jack. The man who had slowly penetrated the void in her heart left by Bill’s death. And now she’d never know if Jack could have someday refilled that void. She looked up at the sky and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Why, damn it, why?”

  She stumbled into the undergrowth on the shoulder of the roadway and sat down on a stump left behind from a long-ago cleared tree. Bending at the waist with her head in her hands, she let her emotions flow freely. Tears unshed through the years when she thought of Bill but needed to protect Angela from her grief. Tears unshed after Tim’s death, because . . . because . . . well, because cops didn’t cry. The tears for what could have been with Jack, but now could never be, seemed to break the dam.

  PJ had no idea how long her sobbing lasted. Seconds, minutes, hours. Who knew. Who cared. She wiped her f
ace with the sleeve of her blouse. She could feel how puffy her face was and she really needed to blow her nose, but she had no tissues with her. Sitting upright, she took several slow, deep breaths and willed herself calm. She stood, looking around. Her mind fog cleared enough that she now at least knew which direction to the house. She had taken two steps when she realized that her phone was still on the stump. As she reached down and grasped it, it vibrated in her hand. The screen told her she had a missed call and a voicemail. Mark. She must not have realized the phone was ringing during her emotional purge. This was the confirmation. PJ filled her lungs with fresh air and slowly released it as she hit redial.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  In my groggy mental state I’d lost all track of time and place. I had a vague recollection of an ambulance ride and the bright lights of an emergency room. I was now lying on a hospital bed in a small space cordoned off by walls consisting of off-white colored hanging curtains. An intravenous tube was feeding something into my left arm. I could hear the murmurs of other people in the area, but the sound didn’t have the urgency I would expect in an emergency room. Suddenly, the curtains parted slightly and a nurse entered carrying a clipboard. She smiled as she saw me, but the smile couldn’t erase the fatigue on her face. She asked, “Hello there, Mr. Nolan, how are you feeling?”

  I was attempting to answer her, the words formed in my mind, but somehow I couldn’t transmit them to my voice. Finally, I heard myself croak, “Ah . . . good, I guess.”

  She raised the head of my bed into a semi-upright position and cradled my wrist to take my pulse before saying, “Well, if you’re feeling good, you’re the first person in history to experience carbon dioxide poisoning who awoke feeling good.”

  “Carbon dioxide poisoning?”

  “Yes, evidently you were in an enclosed space for a period of time without fresh air. The air you were breathing had too high a concentration of carbon dioxide. It was poisoning you. Fortunately, you were rescued in time. You are probably experiencing significant fatigue, and in spite of you saying you feel good, I would bet your head hurts. All of these effects should pass in a day or two, though.”

  Memories were reeling through my mind like puzzle pieces thrown up into the air. Enclosed space . . . the cooler. The cooler . . . Moe and Justin. Moe and Justin and someone else. Who else? I just couldn’t remember. I asked, “What about the others who were with me?”

  Her tired smile faded a little. “The others? I don’t know about any others. I wasn’t downstairs when they brought you in. I’ll check in a minute and see what I can find out.” She pulled the rolling bedside table closer to me and said, “There’s some water here and I’ll bring some fruit juice when I come back.” With that, she disappeared through the curtain wall.

  I took a sip of the water and struggled to remember what brought me here. Remember anything. It seemed like if I shook my head hard I could get the pieces of the puzzle to come together. Unfortunately, my head hurt too damn bad to shake it at all. Slowly though, a couple of images emerged and attached themselves to others. Random memories of the storm and our retreat into the cooler slowly began to flood my mind. I just had no idea in what order the pictures went, but at least the puzzle pieces were face up now.

  As I focused on my throbbing head, I wished I’d asked the nurse for an aspirin or something. As if she read my mind, she reappeared and held out a small cup with two tablets. “Here, Mr. Nolan, these should help your head some.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed the tablets with a sip of water and asked, “Any luck finding out about my friends? Those with me at the time.”

  She shook her head. “I put a call in to the ER downstairs but haven’t heard back yet. They’re pretty busy, but I’m sure I’ll hear soon.” With that, she disappeared again. The scrubs she wore were a pale blue, if they had been white I would have sworn she was a ghost, the way she appeared and disappeared.

  My ghost nurse was in and out of my little curtained home several times over what I guessed to be three or four hours. She brought me the promised juice and some type of nearly tasteless mush to eat. She promised the mush would help me regain my strength, but I had my doubts that any strength could be gained from food that didn’t need to be chewed. On one of her visits she told me that she had heard back from the emergency room and that Moe had been admitted and that Julia had been treated and released. It took me a minute to connect the dots and realize that Julia was the person I recalled being with us, but couldn’t identify. I asked her about Justin and after consulting her notes, she told me that only three of us had arrived. She immediately followed that statement with a vague comment about the fact that the fourth person may have been taken to another hospital. Okay, maybe, or maybe the fourth person wasn’t transported to any hospital because he was dead.

  After she had disappeared again I thought of numerous questions I wanted to ask her, starting with Moe’s condition. My brain just wasn’t processing information quickly enough to really engage in a dialog. Maybe on her next visit I can follow-up with my questions. While attempting to formulate questions about Moe, it occurred to me that I didn’t even know what my status was. Have I been admitted? Am I in some state of limbo, awaiting a decision on whether I am to be admitted? Unfortunately, I realized that as I thought of one question, I forgot the previous one. For some reason I just couldn’t stay focused. The pounding in my head was letting up a little, but every one of my limbs felt like it weighed a ton. The fatigue seemed to be pinning me against the bed. I closed my eyes and drowsed.

  I was roused from my semi-conscious state by the sound of my curtain wall being pulled open. My nurse was holding it back to afford entry for PJ. Striding quickly to my bedside and taking my hand between hers, PJ said, “Thank God you’re okay, Jack.” The nurse smiled her tired smile and left, closing the curtain behind her.

  I did my best imitation of a person who wasn’t befuddled and said, “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  PJ just shook her head and said, “I was so worried about you. Thank God.”

  Then I demonstrated my clarity of mind by saying, “Aren’t you somewhere else? You know, like in another city?”

  Regarding me skeptically, PJ replied, “You mean like in Gainesville? I have been in Gainesville,” she frowned subtly, “where you were going to join us. When I learned you had been found unconscious and taken to the hospital, I drove back down here.”

  It took me a minute to process what she’d said. I replied, “As you can see, I’m just fine.” I reached for the Styrofoam cup of water on the bedside table and promptly knocked it over.

  PJ grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the table and as she sopped up the water said, “Oh, yeah, I can see that you’re doing just ducky.”

  “Okay, I’m just a little unfocused, that’s all. Do you know, am I in custody?”

  PJ chuckled and said, “You mean have you been admitted? No, not yet. I think they’ll be willing to release you if someone agrees to watch over you for the next day or so.”

  “I’m okay. If someone can just give me a ride home. I’ll be fine. I don’t need a watcher.”

  PJ’s face darkened. “Jack, your home is gone. Cap’s Place was destroyed in the storm. At least that’s what’s been described to me. If you guys hadn’t been in the cooler, you’d all be dead.”

  Several more puzzle pieces fell into place and the picture was ugly. “Yeah, right. Damn.”

  “Look, Jack, Angela is still in Gainesville with her grandparents. My place wasn’t damaged. The power is even back on in my neighborhood. I’ll take you there. Once you get your strength back, we’ll figure out what’s next.” For the first time I noticed she was still holding my hand between hers.

  A vague recollection, that as I was being carried to the ambulance I’d seen the pile of rubble that had been Cap’s Place, slowly materialized in my mind. Nausea washed over me. I drew a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to will away the images. PJ squeezed my hand and sa
id, “Jack, tomorrow or the next day, as soon as they open the street, we’ll take a drive there and look for ourselves. Maybe it’s not as bad as it was described to me.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, I want to go there as soon as possible, but it’s as bad as described, I’m sure of that.”

  It took us another hour to get me released into PJ’s care. The endless string of mundane questions, forms, and instructions did seem to aid my mind in somewhat regaining its focus. The headache had subsided to just a dull throb, but my body still felt as if it was a hundred years old. We asked if we could visit Moe before we left the hospital, but he was sleeping, so we didn’t get to talk to him. The nurse at the nearby station said he was doing well and would probably be released tomorrow.

  We stopped in the emergency department and inquired about Julia. We were told that she’d been examined but that her condition was better than Moe’s or mine and that she had signed herself out. Evidently, she had just walked away. It seemed strange, but maybe she just wanted to get as far away from us as possible, as fast as possible. Who could blame her after everything she’d been through. I just didn’t know where she would go, she couldn’t have any money or even identification.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  My surprise when we walked out of the hospital and it was nearly dark made me realize that I had not only lost track of the time, I had lost track of the day. When I inquired, PJ told me it was nearly 8:00 p.m. on Friday. I remembered that we had opened Cap’s Place Thursday morning, but after that the timeline was a blur.

  We headed west from the hospital toward PJ’s condo. The farther we went, the less evidence of the storm was visible. The street lights and traffic lights were working at most intersections. There would be pockets of downed trees or water standing in low spots, but little major damage to buildings. PJ’s condo complex was located west of I-95 between Stirling and Sheridan Roads. The entrance to the complex was gated. Once inside the gate, we followed a broad tree-lined driveway leading in a wide circle around a dozen six-story buildings that looked like they housed four units on each floor. The buildings were arrayed around a green space that was large by metropolitan standards. In the center of the green space was a kidney-shaped lake ringed by a walking path illuminated by subtle lighting. The buildings were typical South Florida stone and stucco with the requisite tile roofs. Very tasteful and certainly not ostentatious. The occasional haphazard pile of palm fronds was the only sign of the storm. It seemed as if Ella had devastated some areas of the city while completely sparing others. PJ parked under a carport and we headed inside.