True Blue Detective

by Vito Zuppardo

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Armando said shaking his hand.

  “Sorry to bring you in so early in the morning or late at night, whichever way you want to look at it,” the commander said.

  Armando tried to look like it was not an issue and smiled. “No problem, sir.”

  “We need you in interview room one. Please follow me,” the commander said, escorting Armando.

  Commander Waters motioned for Armando to open the door. He opened it slowly like something would jump out at him. In the room were two female police officers and, as he closed the door, he saw someone who made his heart skip a beat.

  “Ms. Lucy,” Armando shouted as he grabbed her and gave her a hug, then turned to the commander speechless.

  They all sat down at a table and the commander went over the details of what happened. “Ms. Lucy overheard a plan that the Cornerview Gang laid out to kill you and her. She couldn’t wait for the SWAT team, and that plan would only put her in witness protection, and we all knew that would be hard at her age. Once Lucy discovered the gang’s plan, she dialed nine, one, one and asked for an ambulance, telling the operator she was too weak to open the door, and the paramedics would have to bust it open. They did and found her on the floor; whispering to one of the emergency people to clear the room except for him and one police office. She stood up and went over her plan to get her out of the house so the gang would think she was dead.

  “And here we are,” Armando said giving her another hug.

  “We have her statement and will fill you in, but right now Ms. Lucy is heading for an undisclosed vacation with her sister and these two plainclothes officers. We don’t anticipate a problem, because the only people who know she is alive are in this room.”

  They escorted Ms. Lucy out, and for the first time in many years, she looked happy. As she left the room, she turned back to Armando. “Thank you for all you have done for me over the years. You know I have not been out of that house for over fifteen years. I don’t know why I was so terrified. But for some reason, I couldn’t leave the house. I was a prisoner for years.”

  “Ms. Lucy, you have a social anxiety disorder. Half the people in the world have some disease,” Armando said taking her hand. “Maybe now we can get you some help.”

  Lucy had tears running down her face. “Those gang members would have killed me. I guess I feared dying more than any anxiety disorder. If that is what got me out of the house and the start of a new life, then it was well worth it.” She smiled at her policewoman escort. “Let’s go; I’m overdue for a car ride and a vacation.”

  “Thank you for your years of service to the police department and me. You have helped in so many ways,” Armando said as the door closed behind her.

  Commander Waters advised Armando, SWAT Commander Rogers, and the others to meet at eight in the morning to be briefed on Operation Lucy. Once the SWAT team was involved, the operation was named, much like the United States military does for its Special Forces. The first SWAT team was put together in the mid-1960s in Los Angeles, California. Since then, every major city in the country has formed SWAT teams to help law enforcement departments with extreme, challenging events.

  Armando had about enough time to get home, take a shower, and get over to Riverside Inn to check on Zack and his friends. There was a black and white police car out front as he pulled up. Armando waved to the officer in the car, which had been ordered by the commander to watch the house. It was not the protection he wanted to see for Zack and his friends because they too might be on the hit list.

  He bypassed the nurses station with a quick flash of his police badge and walked down the hallway. He tapped lightly on Zack’s door, but no one responded. He put his hand on the doorknob, gave a slight turn, and the door opened. Not wanting to startle them, he whispered, “Zack, I need to talk to you. Dave, wake up.” The sky had barely broken daylight so opening the drapes would not have helped his vision in the dark room. Finding the lamp, he turned it on. “Crap, where the hell are they?” Neither Dave nor Zack were in the room.

  There was no one at the nurses station. Armando rushed to the dining room and found a nurse sipping her morning cup of coffee. “Have you seen Zack or Dave?”

  “No, sir; did you check their room? It is a little early for them to be up and around,” she said taking another sip of coffee.

  Armando, in disgust, replied, “Yes, I checked their room.”

  Jerry and Troy came out of the kitchen with trays of hot water and placed them on the burner racks on the breakfast buffet. It was nearly time to open the dining room, and the smell of Southern-made biscuits was filling the room. “Detective Armando, will you be joining us for breakfast?” Jerry asked with a smile. “You know you love my fluffy eggs and biscuits.”

  Armando was distracted but answered. “No, Jerry, but thank you. I have a lot going on this morning. You haven’t seen Zack or Dave, have you?”

  Troy put the lid on his pan of water. “I sure did—about an hour ago.”

  “Where?”

  “They showed up in the kitchen early. Hell, the kitchen was still cold, and Dave was looking for breakfast,” Troy said walking back into the kitchen and all but hitting Armando with the swinging doors.

  “Did they say anything else?” Armando asked.

  “Mr. Zack said they had to finish something, and he and Dave got in Andrew’s old Toyota truck. You know Andrew, he works around here, takes care of the flowers. Kind of a do-it-all handyman,” Troy said.

  Armando, a little annoyed, poured himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, I know the guy. Is that all they said?”

  “Just that they had to finish something,” Troy said.

  Jerry quickly interjected. “Not sure if it helps you, but they forgot a duffel bag on the side of the table, and Dave came running back in to get it. He put it in the back of the truck, and they took off.”

  “Oh, shit, a duffel bag?” Armando asked as he slammed the coffee cup down and took off, almost in a full sprint through the house and out the front door.

  He wanted no assistance, so he just waved to the officer still parked in his cruiser at the front of the house.

  He pulled away from the curb slowly so as not to draw any attention. As he rolled around the corner, he put his lights and sirens on. “What the hell is he thinking?” Armando mumbled to himself. Over the radio came a voice directed at him. The operator was looking for him at police headquarters; it was close to meeting time with the commander. The best he could do was not respond.

  He made a quick turn on Rampart Street with full flashing lights and siren blowing. He was weaving in and out of traffic and got to the corner of Esplanade Avenue. He turned the flashing lights and siren off and slowly rolled to the corner of Frenchmen Street. He made the turn and stopped at the corner about five houses away from the Cornerview Gang’s flophouse. Andrew’s truck was parked in the front, indicating to Armando he was right. Zack and Dave had headed out to even the score with the gang.

  Armando drew his gun and ran through several backyards, arriving at the back of Lucy’s house, jumping the fence and getting closer to the back door of the flophouse. He peeked in a window and could see just about to the front door of the shotgun house, a traditional type of home in that area of New Orleans. All the doorways were on the left, so all he could see from the rear of the house was Raul coming in and out of sight as he moved around the third room of the house.

  Armando walked down the alleyway, keeping his head down and counting the windows. Room one. He slowly walked with his gun in front of him. Room two. He reached the third room and caught a view of the people from the bottom corner of the window. It was not what he expected. He stepped back from the window and bent down to the ground, almost getting under the house. He got his radio and softly called the dispatcher, “Code purple eleven. I repeat, Code purple eleven.” He hoped he had the codes right. It had been a long time since he used purple, which meant gang related, and eleven, which meant send SWAT. He got a confirmation wit
h a simple, “Copy, en route.”

  Chills ran down his back as he felt the nose of a gun against his head. “Now, what do we have here?” a Spanish-speaking person said, demanding Armando get on his feet.

  They marched into the house and found Zack strapped to a chair, gagged. Armando observed the room: two gang members and Raul.

  “Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. It’s like a trifecta at the race track. Man, the gang is all here,” Raul said as he walked around the room with a syringe in his hand.

  “Where is Dave?” Armando asked.

  “Don’t worry about the little guy, we are saving him for last,” Raul said and smiled showing his gold teeth. “So, this is what we are going to do. We’re going to give my friend Zack a little of this juice and watch him have a heart attack. Then we will do the same for Dave.” Raul walked around the room, grandstanding and high-fived one guy. It appeared to be an enjoyable experience for him.

  The door opened, and Jack came through with Dave by the neck. “Let the fun began. Welcome to the party, Detective.”

  The guy behind Armando pushed the gun into his head and told him to get on his knees.

  Raul got excited and was all but jumping. “I forgot to tell you the ending. We are going to take these two and lay them on the walking track at City Park where they will get diagnosed as having had a heart attack. And you, my friend,” he said, pointing at Armando, “we will take you to the zoo tonight and drop you into the alligator pit. No one will ever find you.”

  “Really? That is your plan; you think you’re going to walk out of here?” Armando said with confidence.

  Jack walked over to Armando and punched him in the face. Blood sprayed on the wall as his head slammed into the knee of the guy holding the gun to his skull. “That’s right, asshole. That’s how it’s going down, and you’ll be alligator bait.”

  Raul walked up to Zack and without hesitation he pushed the syringe into Zack’s arm and released the deadly drug.

  Dave screamed and slid out of Jack’s hands and hit the floor.

  “The little bitch fainted,” Jack said with a chuckle in his voice.

  Outside the house, it was quiet. Armando knew the routine, and he was sure the SWAT team would bust down the doors any second now. Zack was fading quickly—it only takes about ten to twelve minutes for the medication to work. He tried to stretch his neck around to look out the window for any movement from the outside alleyway.

  Raul filled the syringe again and asked Jack who was next. Jack replied, “Keep the detective for last.”

  Armando saw Dave slightly open his eyes and wink at him, almost like he was trying to tell him something. All Armando could do was try to stall the situation and hope the SWAT team would take over, but they were running out of time. Dave winked again at Armando, who watched from the corner of his eye. Armando could see that Dave was moving his hand slowly down the inside of his pants. Dave squeezed his hand behind his belt, and Armando knew he had to stall the thugs.

  “Wait! Take me, feed me to the alligators. Let Dave go,” Armando pleaded.

  Raul and Jack looked at each other and laughed. That split second of their eye contact allowed Dave the time to pull a stun gun from inside his underwear. In one smooth motion, he hit Jack in the leg and Raul in the stomach with the stun gun, pushing one hundred thousand volts through their bodies. Armando elbowed the guy in the chest and flipped him to the ground, taking the gun out of his hand and putting it into the gang member’s mouth.

  Jack was weak but pulled Dave by the leg and put his gun to Dave’s back. Still shaken from the stun gun, he put his huge arm around Dave’s body and used him as a shield.

  “Let him go! Put your weapon down,” Jack said, choking Dave with his arm around his neck, slowly lifting him off the floor. Armando put his gun down, and the gang member picked it up and pointed the gun back at Armando.

  Instantly with accuracy, a red dot light appeared on Jack’s forehead. Before any of them could blink, flinch, or even realize what was about to happen, a single bullet hit Jack in the head. The red light focused on each gang member, and a single bullet landed in each of their heads. One by one, they dropped dead to the floor.

  The SWAT team had been waiting for their shot, and the commander gave the order for them to shoot when the opportunity came. The SWAT team stormed the room and took control. A medical team took Zack out of the chair and placed him on the floor and worked on him. Armando filled the SWAT commander in on what Raul injected Zack with and the names of the three dead people on the floor.

  One paramedic took Zack’s blood pressure. It was dropping to a dangerous level. “We have to get him to the hospital. Get the stretcher, hurry!”

  Armando took Zack, put him over his shoulder, and ran out to the emergency van and rested him on the stretcher. “Strap him down and get to the hospital.”

  Within seconds, the emergency van pulled out, speeding down the street with full lights, sirens, and a police escort. The doctors worked on Zack and lost him twice but brought him back to life.

  Arriving at the hospital, they were met by several doctors. It only took seconds to get Zack in a room. “No pulse!” a nurse shouted.

  Three SWAT officers walked up the sidewalk and met the SWAT commander on the front porch of the flophouse. “Sorry, sir, we just never had a clear shot.”

  The commander looked at them confused. “What? I have three dead bodies.”

  “Sir, our weapons are clean. We never got off a shot. We were across the street on a rooftop. We could see through the front window into the next room, but we never could get all three in our scopes. We were out of position to get a kill shot.”

  “Then who the hell shot them?” the SWAT commander shouted.

  Armando looked at Dave. He was still shaken but very much aware of what was going on. He motioned with his eyes and a nod of his head for Armando to look across the street. At the curb was Howard’s black limousine with him leaning against the fender; he gave a thumbs up to Dave and with no one noticing, he pulled a rifle from his pants leg and put it in the front seat. He got into the limousine and drove off, unsuspected by anyone.

  “What the hell is going on?” Armando said to Dave.

  Dave looked at him and walked to the Toyota truck parked in the front of the house.

  Armando walked up to Dave. “What happened here?”

  Dave looked down and pushed some trash with his foot. He raised his head and looked at Armando with absolute pleasure, “All I know is the bad guys are dead. If it is okay with you, I’m going to see if my friend is alive.”

  Chapter 22

  Dr. Walter Ross stood in the operating room as the hospital staff rolled the bodies in so he could harvest their organs.

  “Would you sign this form?” the nurse on duty asked handing the donor’s paperwork to him. It was a requirement before Dr. Ross could start the organ removal.

  “Raul,” the nurse said stumbling with his last name. “I can’t even pronounce his last name.”

  Dr. Ross looked at her. “Doesn’t matter; he is dead, right?”

  The nurse, puzzled by his remark, said, “Raul just signed the donor agreement last week.”

  “Funny how things work out. One person died, and we might save another with these organs,” Dr. Ross said, handing the signed paperwork back to her.

  The nurse took the paper and put it in an envelope. As she sealed the envelope, she noticed black ink on her thumb. She looked at the envelope and saw Raul’s signature smudged, and the ink was on her thumb. An alarmed look came over her face. She realized Raul’s name was not signed by him a week ago. Someone had recently forged the document.

  “Ready?” Dr. Ross said to the nurse.

  She could not speak and just nodded her head and arranged the tools on the steel tray he would need for the procedure.

  Dr. Ross made the first incision, much like is done for an autopsy. He cracked the rib cage and looked around the body cavity for the body parts he wanted. Knowing he c
an’t hurt the person allows the doctor to move organs around at will by pulling, feeling for tumors, and checking the color. It did not take long, and the body parts were secured and properly arranged for shipping.

  “Get him out and get me the next one,” Dr. Ross demanded of the nurses.

  Out went Raul and in rolled Jack. The process didn’t take long, and Dr. Ross was smiling when he completed the harvest. It was truly dollar signs that kept him going. He was taking his gloves off when he was interrupted by another doctor who asked if he was up to another harvesting. “I have an older man who was just brought down from the emergency room. Looks like a heart attack and he has a donor card,” the doctor said.

  Dr. Ross perked up. “No problem. I’ll check the other organs for damage.”

  They rolled the man into the operating room, and the nurse handed Dr. Ross the paperwork. “Mr. Henry Wilkerson,” she said.

  He signed the paperwork and turned the overhead light on as the nurse prepared the tools needed for harvesting.

  “Let’s get started,” Dr. Ross said with a beam of joy coming over him.

  The process took no more than an hour, and when finished he was pumped up, excited as a kid at Christmas. He had harvested over fifteen organs and the only person who ever knew anything about his work was now dead. No chance Jack could ever flip to the police or blackmail him in any way; a perfect ending for a friendship gone wrong.

  The organs were packed, ready for shipping, and stored in the morgue refrigerator. Dr. Ross took the inventory sheet and headed to his office. Even his administrative assistant looked at him funny when he came in and wished everyone in the room a good morning. Most times he slipped in through his private entrance so he could avoid everyone, but today he had a little skip in his step.

  Dr. Ross made a phone call from his private line to Amir. It was time to profit from other people’s misfortune. “Amir, how are you, my friend?”

  “Based on our last encounter, the word ‘friend’ is a little stretch,” Amir said in a somber voice.