True Blue Detective Series Book One
True Blue Detective
Vito Zuppardo
WHAT READERS
ARE SAYING
True Blue Detective
“I loved this book and can’t wait for the next to come out. Vito Zuppardo is an awesome author.”
—Amazon customer review, 5 stars
Tales of Lady Luck
“Great book of short stories.”
—Amazon customer review, 5 stars
“To many of us, Las Vegas and the mystique that beckons visitors to that unique world does not seem real—not real, that is, until you read this latest work of the Zuppardo, the master of ‘been there; done that’ when the mighty gambling casinos are the subject. I found the author’s frank explanation and colorful descriptions enlightening and deliciously funny. Tales of Lady Luck and the short stories throughout the book, with clever titles such as ‘Yellow Spats,’ will have readers ultimately staying up late to delve into more of the author’s experiences until they read the back cover. I enjoyed the literary visit to the kingdom of Las Vegas and the people who rule it.”
—Amazon customer Rosalind Tuminello, 5 stars
Tupelo Gypsy (Voodoo Lucy Book 1)
“I enjoyed the book. It went so fast I read it in a day. I fell in love with Lucy. She was trying to have a better life than what she and Wanda had in Mississippi. So I think she was having fun with those ladies and it sort of balloons into something she wasn’t expecting, but when the ladies liked her magic, and she was making tons of money, so why not? Some folks might still believe in the voodoo spells. A good read. I’m waiting for book 2, so get busy Vito. I read fast.”
—Amazon customer Patty, 5 stars
ALSO BY
VITO ZUPPARDO
True Blue Detective Series
True Blue Detective (2016)
Crescent City Detective (2017)
Vieux Carré Detective (2018)
Voodoo Lucy Series
Tupelo Gypsy (2018)
Revenge (coming 2019)
Lady Luck Series
Alluring Lady Luck (2015)
Tales of Lady Luck (2016)
True Blue Detective
True Blue Detective Book One
Vito Zuppardo
Copyright © 2016 Vito Zuppardo
Excerpt Crescent City Detective,
Copyright © 2017 Vito Zuppardo
All rights reserved.
ISBN (print): 1544879407
ISBN-13 (print): 978-1544879406
Publisher’s Note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictional manner.
Cover design: Dar Albert
Editing: Joni Wilson
No part of the book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic format without permission.
Chapter 1
It was the early hours of the morning when the garage doors opened. The signature headlights of Dr. Walter Ross’s Audi A8 shone brightly as he pulled the car out of the garage. He drove the car around the courtyard, stopping in front of the electric iron gates. The custom-made gates could be seen even in the darkness of night by the brightly painted gold arrowheads on top, an elegance people used to symbolize the wealth of the owner.
His Royal Street home was one of the few with such a stately appearance. In the world-famous New Orleans French Quarter, it was just a few blocks from hotels, antique shops, and restaurants in an area most people desired to live, but just simply couldn’t afford.
He turned out of the drive onto Royal Street, and within seconds, the taillights faded into the night. Very few cars were on the road that early in the morning heading east, making it a quick trip to the airport. The New Orleans airport, on the east side of the city, is backed up against Lake Pontchartrain.
Governor Huey Long approved the construction of the airport in the mid-1930s on a human-made peninsula dredged by the Orleans Levee Board. During World War II, the airfield was used by the United States Air Force and housed the Tropical Weather School. The private airport, converted years ago, is seldom used, but it’s an airport that Dr. Ross was always happy to visit no matter what time of day.
He pulled into the empty airport parking lot and drove around to the back, an area most people had access to only with the proper identification. Stopping at the security gatehouse, he put his window down and handed his ID to the guard on duty. A fat, plain envelope with twenty-five, crisp, one-hundred-dollar bills was all the identification he needed.
“Good morning, Dr. Ross.”
“Good morning. I was never here. No log book, okay.”
“No problem, sir. Tarmac three is where the plane will park,” the guard said, putting the envelope in his coat pocket. “The plane is on approach.”
The security gate opened, and he drove to the end of the driveway. Dr. Ross stopped the car and took a black box out of the trunk. Carrying it to the front of the car, he stood, trying to see the Gulfstream III jet approaching the runway. He could hear the engines and see the running lights, but it was still too dark to see the aircraft. The airstrip stretched one mile out into Lake Pontchartrain, and pilots best be on their A-game when landing or they would find themselves and the plane at the bottom of the lake.
The airplane wheels came down, preparing for landing. The nose of the plane tilted up, and it looked like it was going into the water. While the jet was still over the lake, he could hear the engines roar as the pilot gave full throttle to thrust the plane down to the runway for a perfect landing. It taxied to the edge of tarmac three.
The plane came to a complete stop. The engines were shut down, and the electric stairs descended, gently resting on the ground. The aircraft was pure luxury and could only be afforded by the wealthy.
The cabin door opened, and two men appeared at the top of the stairs. It was evident they were of Arab descent with their shiny, dark skin, looking like they were just greased with suntan oil. They stood at the top of the stairs and made it obvious they were there to protect and serve their boss as they put their hands in their pockets and pulled back their jackets, exposing the firearms strapped to their bodies.
“Dr. Ross?” one man asked with a thick accent.
“Yes?”
“Please, come up. Raphael will see you now.”
Dr. Ross slowly climbed the stairs, balancing the box in his hands. “Gentlemen, do you have my money?” he asked, as one man took the package from him at the top of the stairs.
A tall, tan man came from the back of the airplane.
“Raphael?” Dr. Ross asked.
“Yes, I am. Will I damage anything if I open the box?” Raphael asked.
“No. Just don’t break the clear seal. The box is refrigerated to the proper temperature,” Dr. Ross said.
One man held the box while Raphael opened it. “One heart and two kidneys, how much time do we have?”
Dr. Ross brushed his fingers across the plastic seal once again, making sure it was airtight. “The organs should be transplanted within twelve to fourteen hours for best results.”
“No problem, this plane will get us to South America in two hours. Your money is inside,” Raphael said, handing Dr. Ross a small, leather bag. Out of curiosity, Dr. Ross opened the bag and looked inside.
“It’s all there, two hundred and fifty thousand. We must go. Thank you, my friend,” Raphael said, as they shook hands.
“Tell Amir I said hello, and I look forward to seeing him soon,” Dr. Ross said, as he stepped off the airplane. Raphael shook his head, acknowledging he would tell Amir.
It took longer to drive to the airport than the entire tran
saction took. Dr. Ross walked to his car as he heard the electric steps of the jet being pulled up and the engine start. That quickly, the plane was ready for takeoff.
He put the leather bag of money in the trunk of the car. Then he quickly counted twenty-five bundles, making it two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
A smile came across his face as he started the car engine and drove around to the gatehouse. As he waited for the gates to open, the guard gave him a gesture of thanks for the money he received for his silence. The only information logged into the record books was a refueling stop for a Gulfstream III at 5:49 a.m.
Dr. Ross sat in his car and listened to the roar of the jet engines rushing down the runway. It was only seconds before the aircraft lifted off the ground and flew over the parking lot, gaining altitude quickly as the airplane passed through clouds, breaking into the early morning skies. It hurried through the skies with an ice chest of donated organs for a happy recipient, somewhere patiently waiting.
These transactions had become such a common practice for Dr. Ross. He forgot the professional oath he took, much less the fact that it is illegal, morally wrong, and breaks every ethical principle. Selling human organs to the highest bidder on the black market had become a way of life. He was a physician who just didn’t care about people; it was all about the money. He adjusted his Rolex watch, and he could see it was time to get to the hospital and make his rounds.
Chapter 2
Doris Bell took another deep breath and slowly exhaled. She looked around the room at all her get-well cards taped to her mirror, and the vase on her nightstand that once had fresh flowers blooming, adding some joy to her life and her room.
Time had passed, but little had changed for Doris, other than her health. She was born in the big, white, two-story stucco house on Wilson Drive over seventy-five years ago, in a beautiful area called City Park, just a few blocks from Bayou St. John. As a child, Doris and her sister would walk to the park and climb the oak trees. Spanish moss hung from the tree limbs. The trees had to be over seventy-five years old, based on the size of the trunk.
The girls would climb as high as they could, then walk down the large branches that draped from the middle of the tree down to the ground. It was what most children did repeatedly for hours at a time to entertain themselves, back in those days. Now, some sixty years later, Doris found herself back in the same home. It had been sold and converted to a retirement community.
It was called Riverside Inn or as Doris called it, a place to wait for the calling.
Over the years, Riverside Inn expanded by purchasing homes surrounding the property. Some homes turned into gardens with trees, fountains, and walking paths. It gave everyone outdoor space in a tranquil surrounding. Doris took another deep breath. It was getting harder and harder to get air into her lungs.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Bell?” the volunteer sitter asked, as she got up from her seat tucked away in a dark corner of the room.
Doris raised her hand for her to stop, as if to say—I’m all right, leave me alone. Doris never liked to be waited on, not at this point of her illness. She was given a sedative and could hear people talking in the hallway as she drifted in and out of light sleep. To her, the noise in the hall sounded like years ago when her brothers would fight in the stairwell. The only thing missing was the ear-piercing voice of her mother, yelling for them to calm down.
Christie Hampton, the only RN nurse on duty, walked into Doris’s room, checked her blood pressure, and looked at her urine output. She followed the tube in Doris down to the large bag attached to the side of the bed to assess any problems. While the tube looked fine, there just wasn’t any output, indicating her kidneys had failed. There was little more that could be done for Doris, even if she was in a hospital.
Riverside Inn was not a hospital, but a home for the elderly. The staff would take care of almost any medical problem, other than surgery. Most people came here to recuperate from a hospital stay and then were released. Others came because they were getting older, and their families could afford for them to get the best care while they were still enjoying life.
“Mrs. Doris, I’m going to give you something to make you relax,” Christie said, shooting a syringe full of fluid into the port attached to Doris’s arm. The port had been there for weeks.
Doris waved for Christie to get closer so she could whisper to her. Christie emptied all the liquid into the port and leaned in closer to her face.
“Do you need something, Mrs. Doris?” Christie asked.
“Yes, kiss my ass! You have been killing me slowly for the last month with whatever is in that syringe. You think I don’t know what you are doing to me,” Doris said with hatred in her eyes, motioning for her to get even closer. “Burn in hell, bitch.”
Christie left the room, shaken by Doris’s words, but knew it wasn’t uncommon for someone on their deathbed to spew out their thoughts in a delusional state of mind.
She took a break, going to the usual place everyone went to get away, the front balcony, looking out at Bayou St. John. Except for the occasional police siren from a distance, it was a quiet place. Downtown New Orleans had turned into a battleground for drug dealers and prostitution, and in the quiet night, she could hear the sirens miles away. Times had changed, and this was a big difference from the glamorous days when Doris Bell was a teenager. She had told the story often to the staff, so much that the younger personnel thought she was just an old feeble lady talking out of her head.
Doris would tell them that those were the days when people took pride in the way they looked and dressed. Women wore dresses with hats and gloves, and men wore suits and ties, just to go shopping or to a movie. That was when downtown businesses were thriving, and the movie theater was the place to be seen. Like most major cities nowadays, the downtown business districts had turned into nothing more than discount T-shirt and camera stores. The fashion days of the big high-rise department stores and people putting on their Sunday best clothes for a day of shopping were long gone.
Jack Warren, the night shift manager, was in charge of all employees, including the medical personnel, even though he had no medical background. His only real interest seemed to be bodybuilding, based on his large, steroid-induced, muscular frame. He would always join Christie on the balcony for a break. Coworkers had often caught them kissing on the balcony and getting a good look at Jack roaming his hands over every inch of Christie’s thin-framed, perfect body. It was well- known throughout the home they had more than a working relationship. Jack made it known early on that when they were out on the balcony, they were to be left alone. Very few people would stand up to Jack and dispute his behavior. While it was not appropriate in the workplace, the staff tolerated it.
Christie was built like an aerobics instructor and wore her clothes two sizes too small. It showed her shapely assets and that was all that was needed to get Jack’s attention.
“Doris will not make it through the night,” Christie said.
“We never expected her to last this long. If you had done your job, she would have been dead weeks ago,” Jack replied.
“That’s a little cold,” Christie said, lifting her head from Jack’s chest.
“That’s life. She would have died soon anyway; we just need to rush it a little,” Jack said, with a slight smile, displaying that he enjoyed his power. “Do you have everything ready?”
“Yes,” Christie said, escaping her job duties as a nurse by relaxing into Jack’s arms. It would only last a few moments before she would be snapped back to reality and have to handle another person whose time had expired.
It was 3:10 in the morning, and the alarm at the night nurse desk went off. That meant someone was in distress. “Room one hundred four, Doris Bell,” Christie said to the three night employees.
She rushed to Doris’s room with one employee close to her side. As they hurried down the hall, people sleeping were concerned and peeked out their doors. “Everything is fine, go back to bed,” Christie
said, trying to make light of the problem.
All the house residents knew that sound too well. It was never good news when the alarm went off. Christie opened the door to Doris’s room and quickly worked on her, but they employees could see she was gone. She did CPR on her while the aide set up the defibrillator, putting the paddles on Doris’s chest.
“Clear,” Christie said, as she hit the button and Doris’s body jumped off the mattress. She tried again, “Clear.” It didn’t revive Doris, and she was pronounced dead at 3:42 a.m.
The first call made was to Dr. Walter Ross, keeping with company policy. He was the president of the Ross Foundation, which owned Riverside Inn, and many other assisted living centers throughout Louisiana. He was the son of the famous Dr. Donald Ross, who developed the first successful organ transplant program in Louisiana and played a significant role in having organ donors sign up at hospitals. He was the dominant force in Louisiana who got the senator’s approval to ask people to be a donor when a person renewed or got their first Louisiana driver’s license.
There was no telling of how many lives had been saved and improved through the organ donor program. Dr. Walter Ross was in complete control of the family fortune after his father died, though many have said Walter could never fill his dad’s shoes. His only sister never worked in the family business and was happy with her monthly inheritance check. It worked for her because neither of them could ever agree on anything.
Christie picked up the phone in Doris’s room and dialed Dr. Ross’s private number. He received the call on the second ring. “Dr. Ross, this is Christie from Riverside Inn. Mrs. Doris Bell has expired.”
True Blue Detective Page 1
