True Blue Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  Patty had extraordinary results from using the drug. She gained some of her weight back, continued to have a healthy appetite, but most of all, it gave her a mindset she really could beat this cancer that had put her life on hold. The wonder drug medicine ran out by the fourth week. There were two more weeks of treatment, and she didn’t know how she could get through it without this drug.

  While some called it a miracle drug, the health insurance companies did not recognize it as necessary and would not cover the cost. Tom made phone call after phone call trying to get the insurance company to understand the importance of covering this drug.

  He explained the magnitude of the results and that using this drug was an enormous help in getting people healthy quicker. Unfortunately, the health insurance company did not think the same and denied the cost. The pills were four hundred and sixty-five dollars for eight pills. There was no question in Tom’s mind that the drug was worth every penny. He ordered the prescription for Patty to finish her treatment.

  Patty and Tom met with the doctor on the morning of her discharge. She had been through a lot, and the worst was over, she told herself. She saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It gave her hope.

  Her doctor looked at her chart and explained that her red cells were increasing, and that was a good thing. For now, her treatment was over, but the doctor clarified that regular checkups were necessary, and he would see her every ninety days for one year before he would release her. Patty knew she would never actually be released, for once she had cancer, she would always have a chance of it recurring. For now, she knew she would just take one day at a time.

  “You have made incredible progress on your road to recovery,” her doctor said, standing to give her a big hug. “I’ll see you in two months.”

  Both Tom and Patty were satisfied with the hospital staff. They were such compassionate people, something people expected but did not always find in the medical field.

  Tom had her suitcase packed, and they sat in the room, waiting for a nurse to come with a wheelchair and discharge papers to officially give Patty her release from the hospital.

  Her favorite healthcare nurse helped Patty into the wheelchair. What seemed like an eternity from when chemotherapy started was now finally over. She put a small bag of get-well cards and a potted plant that Zack had sent on her lap.

  The nurse pushed Patty down the hall to the elevator. She waved as she passed the nurses station and they all wished her well. As the elevator door opened, a young woman in a wheelchair was being rolled out. Patty made eye contact with her. She saw the same frightened look on the girl’s face that must have been on hers when she arrived. The unknown, the worry, and the disease itself had petrified her when she first arrive.

  “Honey, you’re in great hands. These ladies are the best,” Patty said as their wheelchairs passed each other, one getting off and the other getting on the elevator.

  “Thank you,” the young woman said as tears ran down her face.

  Patty was rolled to the main entrance of the hospital while Tom got the car. He pulled to the curb and saw Patty, patiently waiting. She gave him a big smile, and the nurse helped Patty into the car. Tom loaded the suitcases into the trunk and positioned the flowerpot on the front floorboard so the air conditioning could keep it fresh for the five-hour drive to New Orleans, something both Patty and Tom had looked forward to for weeks.

  The ride was smooth and comfortable for Patty. For short periods of time, she fell asleep. She remembered passing through Lake Charles and woke when Tom stopped at a Shell gas station in Lafayette, just off I-10 for fuel and a quick break. She knew the restroom here would not be as clean or private as the hospital bathroom, but she forced herself to use the ladies’ room, knowing they had another two hours to drive. The restroom was not too dirty, but Patty still avoided touching anything unnecessarily. She washed her hands and wrapped one hand with tissue so she could open the restroom door. Fortunately, another lady came in, and Patty eased through, touching no part of the door.

  Tom thought they would still get back to New Orleans before the afternoon rush hour, even with the quick pit stop. Pulling out of the Shell station, it was a left turn, and he was soon on the I-10 ramp heading east to New Orleans.

  “You’re okay?” Tom asked Patty, glancing at her.

  “I’m fine. Just a little back pain, been sitting too long,” she said.

  Tom reached over and rubbed Patty’s back. “We’re getting close; shouldn’t be more than two hours.”

  Traffic slowed as they approached the business district of the city. St. Charles Avenue exit was coming up about a mile away. They slowly got to the bottom of the ramp, turned left, and stopped at the traffic light. He could see in Patty’s eyes that the ride had taken a toll on her frail body.

  “Only a few blocks now,” he said as he rubbed her leg.

  The light turned green, and as they pulled off, they felt a slight bump on the back of the car. Tom looked at the rearview mirror.

  “Crap, not now; not this close to home,” he said as he stopped the car.

  Tom walked to the rear of the car and met a young fellow.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I was distracted,” the guy said, looking at the damage to Tom’s car.

  “It’s little damage, don’t worry,” Tom said, reassuring the young man.

  “My name is Jason. I go to Tulane, right down the street,” he said, pointing to the tower on the university campus. “My father can mail you a check for the damage or we can exchange insurance information.”

  The kid looked like he was not giving up and traffic was backed up trying to get around them, so Tom agreed to exchange insurance information. They both wrote down the information and got each other’s phone numbers.

  “Again, I’m very sorry,” Jason said, shaking Tom’s hand.

  Tom was happy to get back in the car and drive off, as was all the traffic behind him. He needed to get Patty home. It had taken a lot longer than they had planned.

  They finally made it home. Tom helped Patty up the five short steps leading to the house. He walked her to the bedroom, where she sat on the side of the bed while he went back to get the luggage. He placed the plant next to Patty’s bed after cleaning the edge of the flowerpot where some mud had poured over the top when he put in too much water.

  Tom went back outside to close the trunk and lock the car and was startled by the young man, Jason.

  “Jason!” Tom said.

  “I followed you because I wanted to apologize again,” Jason said.

  “I told you it was okay, it’s very minor,” Tom said closing the trunk of the car.

  “I know, but I felt bad. I saw your wife in the car, and she reminds me of my mother. She has that same coloring and the pink cap on her head. She has cancer, doesn’t she?” he asked.

  “Yes, she does,” Tom sadly said.

  “How is she doing?” he asked.

  “Much better, but still very weak,” Tom said taking a seat on the front steps.

  “It took my mom a long time, but she is much better now,” Jason said.

  “I appreciate that and thank you for stopping by and again don’t worry about the damage,” Tom said shaking hands with him.

  “Thank you, I hope your wife gets well soon,” he said getting into his car.

  Jason took out a small notebook and wrote Tom Nelson, 3705 Willow Street, and then wrote next to his name, wife sickly. Jason started the car and pulled off slowly, taking a right turn onto St. Charles Avenue, stopping at a traffic light on the corner. He looked at the people in the car on the side of him. Then he looked at the people in front of his vehicle.

  “There you are, hiding back there,” he said to himself looking at the rearview mirror. “In your big Mercedes, what did it cost? Eighty thousand? I bet you live in one of those big-ass houses on St. Charles Avenue,” he mumbled to himself.

  The light turned green, and Jason took off slowly and stayed to the right. He watched the black Mercedes in the
rearview mirror as it gained speed on the left side. The car finally passed him, and Jason got a good look inside. Driving was an older man and what appeared to be his wife. The car passed him, and Jason quickly pulled behind him. The traffic light at the next block turned yellow and then quickly turned red. The Mercedes started slowing.

  “Bingo! Got you now, old man,” he said as he slowly applied the brake.

  The Mercedes came to a full stop. Jason slightly hit his rear bumper. The man in the Mercedes got out and walked to the back of the car. Jason met him to view the damage.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I guess I was distracted. I go to Tulane, right down the street. My father can send you a check for any damage,” Jason said, looking at the man’s Rolex on his wrist and a big diamond ring on his finger.

  Chapter 8

  It was early morning, and Dr. Ross arrived at the hospital to make his rounds. He looked at the charts and reviewed the night nurse’s report. Nothing in the report surprised him, and all the patients should be discharged that day. His business with Jack was going a lot slower than he expected. He had experienced Larry’s zero tolerance for repayment of his loan and understood that Larry had clarified that he would come to the hospital to collect his money if need be. There was no reason for Dr. Ross to think any differently after Larry’s outburst at the restaurant. It was a side of Larry he had never seen.

  He tucked into a private office to make a call. “Jack,” he said into the telephone.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  “It has been two days, and I have not heard from you,” Dr. Ross said.

  Knowing it was not what he wanted to hear, he made his best effort to be convincing. “I know, sir, I’m working on it.”

  “It might be time to go to plan B. Do you understand?” Dr. Ross asked.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Jack, don’t see what you can do. Get it done and be quick,” he said, slamming the phone down.

  Jack could have arranged for one of the house residents to have a sudden death, better known as plan B. But that takes more planning, and time was not on his side. He called his friend, Raul, to meet with him. Jack had counted on Raul several times before, and the job was always clean and completed to the last detail. He needed that now.

  “Good morning, Boss,” Troy and Jerry said, flipping eggs on the grill. They smiled at each other and were ready to give Jack his typical breakfast.

  “Good morning,” Jack said, sitting down looking at the newspaper.

  “You want a nice steak with our special sauce on it?” Troy asked, smiling at Jerry.

  “Not today. Just some eggs over easy with bacon and toast,” he replied, looking at the headlines of the newspaper.

  “Coming right up,” Troy smiled like he’d just got a fish on his line. “I’ve got the eggs, you get the toast on the grill,” Troy told Jerry.

  The eggs cooked, and Troy flipped them on a plate, perfectly as he always did. Jerry looked over his shoulder, and Jack was deep into reading the newspaper. He took the pieces of toast and one by one dropped them to the floor. He slid them with his foot across the dirty floor, picking up every crumb and piece of dirt that had accumulated in the past five hours. Troy quickly picked them up, put them on the grill, and sprinkled them with cinnamon and melted butter.

  “Here you go, Jack,” he said, taking the plate to his table. “Enjoy!”

  Jack finished breakfast just as Raul showed up. They exchanged small talk and then Jack asked the question.

  “You got anyone in line? I need some quick cash.”

  “We always have something going on. What do you need?” Raul asked.

  “I need someone dying at a traffic light, a shopping mall, any place. Someone who has organs we can harvest. I’ll get you the juice. It’s not traceable, just looks like they had a heart attack. I have the paperwork ready to harvest the organs.”

  “We pulled the bump and go on that Zack guy’s daughter a few nights ago. It was just like you said, late at night coming from the St. Charles Avenue ramp,” Raul said as proud as he could.

  “I have other plans for her. We are desperate, so do what is needed now to get the doctor the organs he needs,” Jack said.

  “You sure the juice can’t be traced?”

  “No, Dr. Ross has never been questioned on this. He removes all the organs based on the paperwork the deceased signed, or I should say that we forge. Remember, you must get the driver’s license. Without it, we can’t copy the signature,” Jack carefully pointed out.

  “Are you sure the juice can’t show up in any other part of the body?” Raul shot back.

  “It’s very small amounts that flow into the organs, and they will already be with Dr. Ross.”

  “Dude, this is not my first rodeo. I just need everyone doing their job,” Raul said.

  “Just make it happen and fast,” Jack said.

  The double doors leading to the dining room burst open, and Zack came into the kitchen with a plate of eggs in his hand. “Hey, Troy! My eggs are runny.”

  “Okay, Mr. Zack, I’ll get you some more,” he said.

  Zack saw Raul standing in the corner. Raul did not recognize him, but a good detective never forgets a face. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, quickly walking out.

  Jack watched Zack leave the kitchen. “If Zack only knew the planning I have gone through to get to this position.”

  “My friend, you need to relax. Everything is in place. My guy told me his daughter-in-law looks bad off,” Raul said.

  “I just need it quick and clean. I have the paperwork ready, and Dr. Ross is on call. She would be dead soon anyway,” Jack said.

  Raul left, and Jack gathered the newspaper and took it with him.

  “How was breakfast?” Troy asked with a blank look on his face, waiting for a reply.

  “Fine, the cinnamon toast was a nice touch,” Jack said.

  “You know us, we try to get creative on the grill,” Troy said with a big smile.

  Raul went back to his makeshift clubhouse and his do-nothing friends. Their primary concern on any day was trying to stay one step ahead of the police. They were known as the Cornerview Gang for mostly small crimes: purse snatching, credit card fraud, and carjacking. They were earning bigger paydays and with that came more crimes—crimes that if caught could put the person in jail for twenty years to life. But to date, they were very cautious, and no one had taken the fall.

  The word on the street was that to be in the gang there was an initiation period. Some say it was a three-step process to join. From petty crimes to murder, but nothing held up in court. The story, told by a woman who lived on the top floor of their clubhouse, was these people were more dangerous than most thought.

  Based on a police report, the old lady was shut in. She had lived at 2900 Frenchmen Street at the foot of the French Quarter for most of her life. The house had long seen better days. The Cornerview Gang had a small room on the bottom floor and anywhere from ten to fifteen people would flop there on any night. The old lady had food sent to her daily by friends and charitable groups who would put the food in a basket on the ground floor. She would hoist the basket up to her second-floor apartment. It was her only way of getting food, and she was thankful.

  Some say she had not been out of the apartment in ten years, others say longer. She kept an eye on the neighborhood from about twenty feet above the ground. She could see blocks away from her upstairs kitchen window and sometimes heard plans being laid out by the gang when their loud music was not playing. There was not much that went on in the neighborhood she didn’t know. Her name was Lucia Jones, and everyone in the neighborhood knew her as Ms. Lucy.

  One night the music was so loud and many people were dancing in the street like they were celebrating something. A neighbor must have called the police, and when the police arrived, as usual, no one would come forward. The police discovered Ms. Lucy hanging out the window and communicated with her from the street. While they wrote a report a
nd put a copy in her basket, she clarified that she did not call the police. When she pulled the basket up, there was a police officer’s card in it with a handwritten note. Call me if you ever need help. Be careful, these guys are dangerous. The name on the card was Officer Armando Deluca. That was fifteen years ago.

  Over the years, she kept notes on the gang in a little black book, and every few weeks a plainclothes female officer pulled up in a ten-year-old Honda and put food in Ms. Lucy’s basket. In return, Ms. Lucy would send a note with the most recent gang activities and plans she had overheard.

  She was the oldest informant Armando ever had, and he passed her name down to other officers as Armando moved up the ranks over the years. To date, she was still gathering information and passing it on to the police.

  Raul sat in his apartment and surrounded himself with his closest, trusted friends. They were all eager to advance to the next level of the gang and willing to follow any order that Raul would offer them. “Get Arron in here,” he said.

  Arron Baker was a Spanish male in his mid-twenties and coming up through the ranks of the Cornerview Gang. He was what was called a good earner. Once everyone gathered around Arron, Raul selected him and escorted Arron to a private area. He outlined what he needed, the house location, and instructions where to plant the getaway car. He handed him a cloth and a small bottle of chloroform and showed him how to use it.

  “All you need is to put the chloroform cloth over her nose and hold her for ten to fifteen seconds. At that point, she will drop to the floor. Keep it on for a few more seconds, and she is dead,” Raul said.

  “Raul, you can count on me,” Arron said, standing tall as if being chosen was a privilege.

  Raul outlined that it was a small house and it was close to the next house, with only an alleyway separating them. He had to be aware of the windows and the neighbors. The husband would leave at seven a.m. for work. He was to wait for her husband to pull out of the drive and be sure he was gone before he attempted to enter the home.

  Raul put his hand on Arron’s shoulder. “When she drops to the floor, finish her off and get the hell out of there.”