“That’s right. This is a jail, isn’t it? Told when to eat, sleep, and stay until you die,” Zack said.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. My sister and I are only here temporary. My daughter is recently divorced and is moving in with a friend for a while,” the other lady said.
“And there is no room for you two?” Zack asked quickly, standing up and putting his hand out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you all worked up.”
“My name is Henry Nelson, my friends call me Zack,” he said, as one lady shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Zack,” she said.
“I said, my friends call me Zack,” he said, as he looked into her eyes with a blank look on his face. That seemed like forever to the woman. “I’m joking! Don’t you women have a sense of humor?” Zack asked with a wink of his eye. The ladies smiled, and he sat between them. Before they knew it, they were giggling at Zack’s antics.
“My name is Emma Lou, and this is my sister Pearl Ann.”
“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” he said, with his boyish grin.
“This might be a fun place after all,” Emma Lou said to Pearl Ann.
Jack took the Nelsons, Emma Lou, and Pearl Ann on a tour of the facility. As they walked through the hallways, people peeked out of their rooms to see the new recruits. Jack pointed to the polished floors. “These floors are polished every night.”
Two ladies opened their doors to see the people on tour. Rose, a heavy-set woman, and Adel, a thin, almost frail, woman, watched Jack’s every move. They had seen his tour too often. He was the nicest guy when he wanted to impress you. But they all knew never to get on his bad side. Jack was a full-time bully and loved to intimidate the staff.
Jack kept looking back, motioning for Zack to keep up with the group. He lingered behind, opening doors, just being inquisitive. Zack opened another door, only to see it was a linen storage area. Then the next door was locked. “Why is this door locked?” he asked, getting Jack’s attention.
Jack quickly went back and got Zack by the arm. “Let’s stay together.”
“Okay,” Zack said, pulling at Jack’s tightly held grip on his arm.
They continued the tour and visited the entertainment area. It was a great room and had to seat twenty people, if needed, with a seventy-inch TV screen and several game tables near the windows, overlooking the garden area. It even had a snack counter with a soft-serve ice cream machine.
“Pop, you’re going to love this TV area for your game shows,” Patty said.
“Things are looking up. You might want to move in with me,” Zack said to Patty.
Jack pushed open the dining room doors, and they all wandered around. It was a beautiful dining room with tables to accommodate groups of four, six, and up to eight people.
Zack pushed open the double doors leading to the kitchen. Jerry, a cook, was unpacking an insulated box of lobsters, and packing the lobsters into three smaller boxes. Troy, another cook, was removing big rib-eye steaks, adding three to each box. As Zack walked closer to the men, they put the lids on the boxes.
“What night do we have steak and lobster?” Zack bellowed out.
“Various nights,” Jack said, pushing him into the dining room through the double doors.
They were escorted out of the dining room down the hall to the nurses station. where the tour would end, and the room keys would be given out. On the way, once again, Zack’s curiousness forced him to open another door. “Wow, look at this,” he exclaimed, getting the attention of the others.
As he walked in, he could see a sunken spa in the room. The water was really hot, based on the steam coming off it. There were two massage tables and a half-burned candle on a shelf, with fancy oil bottles next to it. On the other side was a weight area that most gyms would envy. The room had relaxation written all over it, and Zack was making his plans.
“Now, this tops it off,” Zack said, as he walked around the room.
It took only seconds for Jack to stop the group and get over to Zack. By that time, Zack had entered and seen too much. A lot more than Jack wanted anyone to know. He got to Zack while he was sitting in the spa, enjoying the vapors of the hot steam.
Jack grabbed Zack by the arm again; this time even tighter, making sure he knew Jack meant business as he whispered into his ear. “Look, old man. Just stay in the common area, and you’ll be okay,” he warned him as Jack pushed Zack down the hall.
Being a former police officer, Zack was not accustomed to anyone pushing him around. It might have been the age difference or the size of Jack that kept him from reacting to such treatment. Either way, Zack mentally noted that Jack could be a potential problem.
Jack finally got the group to the nurses station and paired them with a staff worker. Julie, one of the staff members, escorted Zack, Tom, and Patty down the hall. As they walked, she explained details regarding meal times. They arrived at room 103 and stopped.
“This is your room. As you can see, there are no door locks for your safety. Let’s go in and meet your roommate,” she said.
“Roommate? No one said anything about a roommate,” Zack said, looking at Patty.
Tom quickly responded. “Pop, you don’t want to stay alone.”
“Yes, I do,” Zack said, shaking his head up and down like a child.
“His name is Dave Thorton. You’re going to love this room. You won’t even know old Dave is around. Mr. Thorton, I’m coming in with visitors,” Julie said, as she tapped on the door.
She slowly opened the door and walked in. Zack, Tom, and Patty followed. The room was dark with the drapes closed tightly. It was hard to see, the small TV in the corner generated the only light in the room. The room had an odd odor, hard to describe.
“If I knew you were coming, I would have cleaned up,” said a voice from the corner of the dark room.
Julie opened the drapes and cracked the window. “Let’s get a little light in here and some fresh air.”
As their eyes adjusted, they could see the room better. There were beer cans on the dresser, a month of newspapers stacked beside a chair, and a trash can, overflowing. Dave had a white undershirt and boxer shorts on and was in bed propped against the headboard. He was stuffing pork rinds in his mouth with one hand and holding the bag with the other. Julie could see, by the expressions on their faces, that they were shocked at the condition of the room and Zack’s new roommate.
“Dave, this is Henry Nelson, your new roommate. His friends call him Zack.”
“Holy shit!” Zack mumbled.
Tom knew this was not a good sign and hurried to introduce himself and Patty. “Hi, I’m Tom Nelson, and this is my wife, Patty,” he said, extending his hand. Dave took his orange-stained hands from the bag and wiped it on his once-white shirt. From the look of the shirt, that wasn’t the first time. Dave bent forward and shook his hand, giving them a big smile, which didn’t enhance his appearance. His teeth were orange, with chunks of the pork rinds between his teeth.
“Holy shit,” Zack said again.
“You’re not one of those religious nuts, are you?” Dave asked, pushing back into the bed.
Patty slightly shoved Zack forward. “No. You don’t have to worry about me preaching religion,” Zack said, trying to muster a smile.
“So, your friends call you Zack,” Dave said, leaning over, offering him some pork rinds.
Zack declined. “You better stick to calling me Henry. I don’t see us becoming friends.”
Julie got Zack settled in with his personal items and gave him time to get acquainted with Dave. Tom and Patty said their farewells, and Zack walked them to the front entrance. It was time for Zack to get on with his new life.
Chapter 4
Dr. Walter Ross sat at a table, waiting for his noon appointment at his favorite downtown restaurant. He had a large payment due for the money he borrowed from an investment company and had hoped the meeting would buy him some time.
Over the years, Dr. Ross had suppor
ted his real estate investments and gambling habits with the profits from Riverside and a trust fund structured by his father before his death.
He loved to gamble and held box seats during horse-racing season at the New Orleans Fairgrounds. When the season was over, he would make several trips a month to Las Vegas, where he would sit in a plush, Las Vegas sports booth for hours at a time, betting on horse races. He enjoyed the good life but was not very lucky, and over the years, he borrowed all he could from his trust fund and mortgaged Riverside Inn to the fullest. The lawyers for his trust would extend no additional money until he paid back his advances.
Larry Dunbar was the president of Louisiana Investment Bank, a privately held company. Larry started the company in the late 1970s when his NFL football career was cut short because of drug use. For twelve years, he was one of the most feared defensive linebackers in the NFL and earned enough money to start his private banking business. Standing six foot five and weighing two hundred and sixty pounds of solid muscle, people would never take him for a banker.
Larry eliminated the long process for the wealthy when they wanted to make a quick loan. There was virtually no limit to the amount he would lend but for only short terms, usually twelve to eighteen months. There were no credit checks, large applications, or waiting periods. You called Larry or his partner and discussed what you needed the money for, and if you made a good pitch, he gave you the money within twenty-four hours. You could make a payment any time during the term of your agreement, but you best not miss the final payment date. It was just that simple.
Larry and his partner, Michael Vail, arrived at the restaurant and parked in the valet line. The valet attendant traded his car keys for a ticket stub and parked his car. The hostess walked them to the table. One couldn’t help but notice Larry and Michael walking through the restaurant, with Larry’s size and Michael being but an inch or two shorter. Both dressed like they had just walked out a fine men’s store, wearing tailored suits, white silk shirts, and ties that just made the entire outfit. To top it off, they were both good-looking, turning heads as they passed.
“Walter, how are you?” Larry asked.
“Fine, Larry, nice to see you,” he said, standing and shaking both of their hands. “Please sit down.”
The waitress took the cocktail orders and handed everyone a lunch menu. She rattled off the specials of the day and the side dishes. They could tell and were impressed that she was a seasoned waitress for such a nice, upscale restaurant
“I never get tired of hearing these beautiful ladies speak with that little Southern drawl,” Larry said, watching the waitress walk to the bar and place the order. “She knows I’m looking at her, that little flirt.”
The waitress brought the cocktails to the table. She engaged in a pointless conversation with Larry before taking the lunch order. Walking off, giving a smile and a wink, making sure he knew she was interested
The waitress delivered the food, and until that point, Larry had not talked about business. It was nothing more than small talk, mostly football. He took the last sip of his cocktail and motioned for the waitress to bring him another drink. Larry and Michael ate like someone was waiting for their chair. They finished their meals quickly.
“So, Doc, you got my three hundred thousand?” Larry asked in a kind but firm voice.
“I’m working on it,” Walter said.
“Walter, we agreed to one year, and you’re pushing eighteen months,” Michael said.
“I just need a little more time,” he said, looking for some expression, acknowledging that they agreed.
“Sorry, Doc. I gave you one six-month extension,” Larry said, taking a sip of his fresh cocktail that the waitress had placed in front of him.
“I know but—” Walter said when Larry cut him off.
“No buts, Doc,” Larry said, as he stood up and drank the rest of his cocktail.
Larry walked over to Walter, and with one arm on the back of the chair and the other resting on the table, he whispered, “Have my money by Friday, or you got more problems than you can handle. Thanks for lunch and be sure to leave a good tip. See you Friday noon, your office.”
Walter sat shocked. The size of the man up close was downright frightening. Larry went from Mr. Nice Guy to scary within seconds. He was all business, and Walter knew he had a serious problem.
Larry and Michael walked out to the valet and got in his car, but not before the waitress slipped Larry a note with her phone number. She smiled as she walked back in, turning her head slightly to make sure he was looking. “Call me, big guy.”
“I will,” he said.
Dr. Ross returned from lunch, early in the afternoon. Going straight to his office at Riverside Inn, he went through his private entrance in the rear of the building to avoid his secretary. Sitting in his overstuffed chair behind his desk for a while, he wanted to visualize his plan. Over the years, his customers came to him through referrals, highly recommended people he could trust. In the world of black-market organs, to attract customers, one couldn’t run newspaper or television ads.
His plan was to call his friend, Amir, in India. He thought about it for a good while to be sure he was making the right decision. He had never had to solicit for business, ever—and he wasn’t sure how it would be accepted. People always called him and months later, when an organ became available, he contacted them. He had put himself in a bad position, and he was not sure how he would produce organs to sell so quickly.
With three-hundred-thousand dollars due within a few days, he had to decide quickly. He knew he had made a lot of money effortlessly on his part over the years harvesting organs. He just needed to continue for a little while longer and pay down his debt. It had been a long time since his days in Calcutta, and somehow, he had gotten away from the basics of how he got started.
One summer, Dr. Ross earned extra credits for college in Calcutta, India; his school allowed fourteen students to do a beginner program. His friend, Amir, was from Calcutta, and his father was a kidney transplant specialist who supervised the students and looked after them during their stay in India. Walter Ross wasn’t a doctor yet, but while he was there, he learned about harvesting organs and that sometimes, people were worth more dead than alive.
The main cities in India had a system for organ transplants much like the United States. But once people left a major city, like Calcutta, things changed. In the poverty towns, it was all about the money. Death meant the possibility of an organ transplant, and it went to the highest bidder.
Wealthy people always got what they wanted, and they would not go through the traditional hospital wait list and proper match for a transplant. So, they would seek organs for sale in small towns, where a few thousand dollars offered got attention, and the word spread rapidly. If a kidney for an adult was needed, people would line up, offering their body parts for sale. If a child’s kidney or any other transplantable body part was wanted, parents were providing their children. It was the way of life in poverty-stricken countries.
With poverty, comes crime in almost any country, and that is when Walter Ross learned about harvesting organs and selling them on the black market.
Walter was working at a hospital in a small town outside Calcutta. He was practicing general medicine near the makeshift emergency room when an older man arrived. Severely injured on a construction job, doctors operated but gave him little chance of survival. A young man wearing wrinkled and dirty clothes, looking like he hadn’t taken a bath in weeks, kept an eye on the injured man’s family.
It was about an hour later when a doctor went to the waiting area and talked to the family. Promptly, the mood of the family changed and what appeared to be the man’s wife dropped to her knees with her hands over her face. From the emotion of the woman, it was evident her husband had died.
The man watching the family for hours made his approach. Walter moved closer and listened. The man was trying to convince the wife and family to donate her husband’s organs, but the man
’s demeanor, appearance, and lack of education didn’t work. The family asked him to leave.
Walter followed the man out of the building and asked if he could talk to him. The man spoke good English and agreed. He convinced the man to have a cup of coffee with him, and they returned inside. His name was Jamar, and he was from Kazoo about three hours away.
He took his time talking with the man and finally, he opened up to Walter. He had driven over one hundred and fifty miles to get to Calcutta. He was a runner for Dr. Raj, who headed up a small hospital in Kazoo. If the family agreed to donate the organs, he would have them sign the one-page document, and he would call Dr. Raj immediately and start the arrangements.
Walter asked the obvious question. “What’s in it for you?”
“If the people agree, I get forty-six thousand, seven hundred fifty rupees,” Jamar said.
“In dollars, how much?” Walter asked in frustration.
“About one thousand,” he answered.
“It doesn’t sound like a lot of money, one thousand,” Walter said.
“I live in a small town. There is no work, and this is a good source of income for me. One thousand dollars will feed my family for six months,” he said.
“So, what does Dr. Raj do with the organs?” Walter asked, as he leaned forward to the man and spoke in a low tone. “Does he do the transplant?”
“No. Dr. Raj prepares the organs for shipping and sends them to a doctor in Luxor, Egypt,” Jamar said.
Walter was intrigued; there was a runner, a shipper, and a physician involved. They were all getting paid, more than others. That is when he came up with a middleman being needed, one who could present himself in a convincing matter.
“What if I get the family to donate the organs? What’s in it for me?” Walter asked.
“I’ll split the money with you,” Jamar said.
“Call Dr. Raj; tell him your situation. At this time, you have nothing; with me, we will get the donors, but we need two thousand dollars more. I’ll keep two thousand, and you’ll get one thousand,” Walter said, giving the man a slight smile. “I’m your only hope,” Walter insisted.
True Blue Detective Page 3
