Startled, Johnson abruptly let go of Joy’s hand and stood. “She’s going to be okay,” he said. “Stitches and a mild concussion, but her vitals are normal.”
Brock sat in Johnson’s place and took Joy’s hand. “Did we get the bastards?”
“We got ’em. A juggler beaned them with a couple of juggling clubs.”
“You’re kidding.”
“For real. The guy should be pitching for the Dodgers.”
“Sorry I missed it. So, um, was she with anyone?”
“Not that I could tell. Why?”
“I went back to her apartment. I used my badge to get the superintendent to open the door. I found a suitcase. It had a nametag on it. Murphy Drummer.”
“Cousin, maybe? Old friend?”
“Maybe, but I don’t recall her ever mentioning such a guy.”
“Well, don’t start jumping to conclusions.”
“Speaking of,” Parker said, “what did that crazy gypsy have to tell you?”
“You were right. She’s completely whacked.”
“Totally,” Parker said. “So, what did she say?”
“Nothin’,” Johnson evaded. “Just a bunch of garbage.”
“Right. Same kind of garbage she told me?”
Johnson looked down at Joy. “Kinda, yeah. What the hell were we thinking, huh? Like you said, quite a racket she’s running, and probably no permits or nothin’. Anyway, screw it. Got to go, buddy. I have some paperwork to catch up on.”
“Thanks for looking after Joy,” Parker said. “I’m glad she fell into good hands.”
“No sweat. See ya later.”
As Johnson left, a handsome, young-looking doctor entered. Johnson hiked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to Brock, and left without a word.
···
Murphy wandered the streets, haggard and lost. A Häagen-Dazs ice cream truck drove by and splashed him with rainwater that had pooled alongside the road. He watched in bewilderment as the delivery truck shrank out of sight.
He had been walking aimlessly for hours, lost in thought and concerned about Joy. He felt that he should have at least learned where the ambulance was taking her so that he could visit, see if she was okay, and apologize. But he knew that the last place he should enter was a hospital where so many people were already suffering; a place filled with delicate equipment and life and death decisions. He thought his presence there would be akin to a plague breaking out.
Murphy continued walking, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts in a tangled web of confusion. The sun set behind the city’s towering skyscrapers, and along with it, his hope of ever seeing Joy again.
He noticed that his murphometer had ceased functioning, and although no mishaps that he was aware of trailed behind him, he found himself victim of an unending series of accidents.
Struck by the realization, at that very moment he stepped in a fresh pile of dog poop. Murphy lifted his left foot and marveled at what he’d just done. Neither angry nor disgusted, he instead thought of his beloved dog, Lot, and missed the pooch terribly.
Looking for something to wipe away the poop, Murphy walked over to a large trash bin. He lifted the lid and a black cat screeched and leaped out. Startled, Murphy jumped back, slipped, and fell into a pile of tied garbage bags.
“What is happening to me?” he muttered aloud. “My song, where’s my song?”
Bewildered, Murphy gazed heavenward. A big, bright, full moon broke through the clouds. He gaped at it in wonder. “Full moon. Phaedra. Hello, Phaedra! I miss you. I hope you’re doing better than I am…”
···
A full moon hung framed in the window of Joy’s hospital room. Joy stared at its brilliance from her bed. Brock was sleeping beside her in a chair.
Joy whispered, “I’m thinking of you…”
Brock awoke with a jolt. “Joy, I’m right here.”
Joy turned her head towards him and winced in pain.
“Brock?”
“I’m right here, baby,” he said. He took her hand and kissed it. “How are you feeling?”
“My head hurts.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Guys on skates…”
“Good. And don’t worry, we got the bastards, and your purse.” He chuckled. “A juggler beaned them with juggling clubs, if you can believe that.”
“A jug—” She tried to sit up. “Murphy!” She fell back onto her pillow and groaned in pain.
“Take it easy, Joy. Take it easy.” He reached for some pills and water from the nightstand. “Here, the doctor said you can take these if you’re in pain.”
He helped her take the pills, tipping a plastic cup of water to her lips.
Softly, Brock said, “Who’s Murphy, Joy?”
Joy turned away and looked out the window. The moon had vanished behind a bank of clouds.
“I’m not sure,” she answered.
“You’re not sure?”
As if in explanation she said, “He’s from Kansas…”
Joy closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Brock kissed her on the forehead and left the room.
···
Murphy, bedraggled and unshaven, woke up on a bus bench, and squinted at the sun. Wary pedestrians gave him a wide berth.
“Excuse me, sir…?” Murphy said to a passerby.
The stranger noted Murphy’s slovenly appearance, and sneered at him. “I’m sick of giving you guys money, okay?”
“I don’t want any money, sir. I-I want to know which way to Kansas.”
“Kansas?” the man said. He pointed. “That-a-way, Dorothy.” The man shook his head in disdain, and strolled off.
“Thank you!” Murphy called after him.
He stood, unaware that his pants back pocket had snagged and tore on a splinter of wood. His wallet fell through the rip to the ground. Murphy began to stroll in the direction of Kansas. He had only walked a few yards when he was startled by the blast of a horn and almost run over by a neighborhood ice cream truck playing It’s a Small World.
“Watch where you’re going, you idiot!” yelled the driver.
Murphy hustled across the street and picked up his pace.
Dunkin’ Donuts with Gomez
Officer Pete Sarich grabbed up two bags from the counter of the Dunkin’ Donuts and walked outside to a patio table that his partner, Officer Gomez, had cleared and snagged in front of their patrol car. He set down the bags and pulled out two large coffees, and then handed Gomez a blueberry muffin, a glazed donut, and a bagel breakfast sandwich with bacon, egg, and cheese. For himself he withdrew a bran muffin, a turkey sausage breakfast sandwich, and a hot cup of oatmeal with dried fruit.
Sarich was tall, sinewy, and had exceptionally broad shoulders, like an upside down clothes hanger. Strong-jawed with short, curly, dark hair and shrewd blue eyes, he usually wore a handsome smile that took the edge off his otherwise tough-looking demeanor. An ex-Army Ranger, he had served one tour in Iraq and three in Afghanistan. He rarely spoke of his experiences in those dangerous places, however; partly out of a soldierly modesty, but mostly because few seemed to care. When quiet or thoughtful, he looked imposing, but with just a flash of his white-toothed smile and an illumination of interest in his bright eyes, he transfigured from fearsome to friendly.
“How much do I owe you?” Gomez said, reaching for his wallet.
Hector Gomez was assigned to break in the rookie. He was a thirteen-year veteran on the force, a little on the paunchy side, but baby-faced and still with a head of thick black hair. His smiling brown eyes and easy laughter made him a popular sight around the precinct.
“Forget about it,” Sarich said. “I won a hundred and thirty bucks yesterday at the races. It’s on me.”
“Thanks, man. Horses?”
“Yeah, now and then I go.”
“You met Johnson, right? He likes horses too.”
“Yeah?”
“Does pretty good at ‘em. Or so he says, anyway.”
&nbs
p; “Well,” Sarich grinned, “if he’s like me he only boasts when he wins.” He winked conspiratorially and took a bite from his sandwich.
“Figured as much,” Gomez chuckled. “It’s like me and Vegas. The wife and I go twice a year; my Clarita for the shows and shopping, me for the craps table, but the other guys never know unless I come back a winner.”
“Then again,” Sarich said, “maybe he is good. I mean, how else could he afford the car and duds he sports? Not on our salaries.”
Gomez shrugged. “I always figured he had a sugar lady or two.”
“Ya think?”
“I shouldn’t be talkin’ behind his back. Not cool. But the chicks do dig the guy. He’s a good-looking fellow, like you. Smooth, too.”
“Ever see him out with one?” Sarich asked.
“Nah, most of us guys are married and don’t socialize much outside of work. You young bucks don’t invite us anywhere. Can’t blame you. We’d just bore you with stories about our rotten kids and nagging wives.”
“Yo, Gomez, you only got me by ten years, and I met your wife. Not only is she a looker, she seemed real nice.”
“Yeah, she’s all right,” Gomez admitted, his fondness for his wife apparent in his grin.
“How’d a chubby, out-of-shape, knuckle-dragging schlub like you land a sophisticated lady like that anyway?”
“Hey, believe it or not, before ten years of eating this crap I was quite the stallion. And, I’ll have you know that I have two master’s degrees.”
“No joke?”
“That’s right, amigo. Show some respect. Eight years of night school. Criminal law and sociology.”
“Damn, Gomez. Good on you. That took some discipline.”
“Some, yeah, but really it took Clarita. She pushed me. Said it would look good, get me some promotions, and earn me more pay in the long run. She was right, as usual.”
The two cops crunched up their sandwich wrappers, tossed them in one of the empty bags, and reached for the next order of business: Gomez for his donut; Sarich for his oatmeal.
Gomez said, “You been married?”
“Me? Nah.”
“Looking? Clarita has some fine friends. Just give me the word and she’ll be all over it. She loves playing Cupid.”
Sarich reddened slightly and waved off the offer.
“Look,” Gomez said, wiping some donut glaze from his fingers with a napkin, “just so you know, all that stuff you see on TV and in the movies about how lousy it is to be married to a cop, don’t let that fool you. Sure, that crap exists, but I know plenty of us guys who are solid with our women. Our marriages and families are the only things that keep us sane and sober. Just putting it out there, Sarich. Comprende, amigo?”
“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind. I’m cool for now.”
“Okay,” Gomez said. “Part of my job, you know?” he added in the way of levity. “I’m supposed to be some sort of mentor to you.” He chuckled.
“Johnson is still single. Who mentored him?”
“Parker. Met him?”
“A couple of times, yeah.”
“Single,” Gomez said. “Confirmed bachelor. That explains the lack of proper mentoring.” He grinned to show he was only half-kidding. “I’ve been to his home, nothing on the walls but movie and sports posters. It’s like the guy is still in his college dorm. Your place like that, Sarich?”
“Mine? Nah.” Then he smiled, busted. “Military posters,” he admitted. “Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines.”
“Thought so,” Gomez said, and slapped the table. “Anyway, that was me too, until Clarita. She civilized me.”
“Okay, okay, Gomez. I get it. Don’t worry, if I ever meet my civilizer, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Better hurry up then, ‘cuz I’m not gonna be your partner for long.”
“No? Why not?”
Gomez smiled. “Keep it under your hat for now, but I’m looking at a promotion. I’ll hear for sure in a week or two.”
“Well, all right!” Sarich said, offering up a high-five. “Must have been that Master’s in Sociology, eh?” he joked.
“You never know, but I was probably just the next in line, had kept my nose clean, and lucked out.”
“Maybe I oughtta take some night school. What do you think?”
“Well, if you do, skip the sociology. Total waste, man. Computers, tech, forensics, law—that’s the way to go these days. Just my two bits.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
“I’m giving a little seminar on this stuff soon,” Gomez said. “It’s open to everyone. Drop in. I’m inviting some speakers who know what they’re talking about. You’re young, you can still do a lot to pad that résumé of yours.”
“Damn, Gomez. You got this mentoring stuff down pat. A regular guru, you are.”
Gomez beamed one of his cheery smiles. “Smooth, huh?”
“I’m starting to see what Clarita saw in you after all.” Sarich grinned. “You’re not nearly as dumb as you look.”
Gomez bounced his bushy eyebrows. “Gomez the wily guru. That’s me.”
The two men heard the crackle of their car’s dispatch. They caught the code and location, and leaped to their feet. They dumped the remainders of their food and coffee into the trash bin and dashed to the car.
Gomez grabbed the mike and said to Sarich, “That’s just around the corner from here. I’ll betcha anything he’s cutting through the alley right behind us.”
“I’m on it. You report in and then meet me around back.”
“Roger that. Keep alert. He’s a tricky bastard.”
Sarich threw a salute and took off running.
Cuckoo
Across town, Brock entered Joy’s hospital room. She was sitting up in bed nibbling from her breakfast tray.
“That’s a good sign,” Brock said.
“Hi. Yeah, the doctor said after a few more tests I can go home. He said I’m a hardheaded woman.”
“One doesn’t need a medical degree to know that,” Brock joked.
Joy smiled. “I think you missed your calling, doctor.”
“Nah, the only thing I’ve missed is you.”
“Brock—”
“Boy, look at us yack,” Brock said. “This is good. Just chit-chatting away, aren’t we? A regular powwow!”
“Brock?”
“A real tête-à-tête, wouldn’t you say?”
“Brock…?”
“A gabfest! This is very good!”
“Brock, did you hit your head too?”
Brock pulled a chair close to the bed, sat and took her hand. “I love you, Joy. We can make this work. I’m not the same guy I was a few days ago. Life’s a river, Joy.”
“River?”
“That’s right,” Brock said, “and you know, we can’t step into the same river twice.”
“So I’ve heard. Brock, I’m not the same woman either.”
Brock frowned. “Does it have to do with someone named Murphy Drummer?”
“How do you—?”
“I went by your apartment. I saw the tag on his suitcase. I did some checking.”
“You checked him out?” Joy said, more curious than angry.
“You’re not mad?”
“I should be, but what did you learn?”
“I think you should steer clear of this guy, Joy. I don’t mean it out of jealousy either. I mean, there’s something very odd about this character.”
“I know. I want to do a story on him. I think he could be my big break.”
“Why? What’s so special about him?”
“He has this sixth sense. He can do things. I saw him do some amazing things, inexplicable things.”
“Joy…”
“I know you don’t believe me. Not you. But I know what I saw.”
“I believe you, Joy.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, I’m open to the possibility, okay?”
Joy said, “What did you find out about him?�
�
“That’s just it. Nothing. He barely exists. A name and an address in Eureka, Kansas, and that’s it. I had a local cop drive by his house and there was a for sale sign in the front yard. The cop ran over a screw and popped a tire while he was there. Bummer for him.
“Anyway, no school or military record. No police record, not even a parking ticket. No record of his birth either, though he did have a social security number, and as far as I could tell kept out of trouble with the IRS. Other than that, it’s like the guy never left his house.”
“Did you say no record of his birth?”
“Nothing official. Apparently it was lost in a fire at the hospital shortly after he left with the parents. Both parents died when he was very young, but I don’t know any details about that yet. It seems he was raised by his grandfather, and that the old man died about a month ago. That’s all I can get at this time. I’m still checking. But, Joy, I think you should—” He paused and noted Joy’s distant and pensive look. “You’re not finding any of this strange?”
“Not really,” she answered.
“Is there something you’re not telling me about him?”
“You seem to know more about him than I do.”
“How did you two meet?” Brock asked.
“I picked him up hitchhiking. Sort of…”
“Are you crazy? What were you thinking? You’re lucky you’re still alive. The world is full of sickos, Joy. It’s one thing to be trusting, but—”
“I know, I know. It’s a long story.”
Brock’s cell phone rang. He checked who was calling and put it to his ear.
“Parker. … Seal off the area, I’ll be right over.” He pocketed the phone. “Gotta run. There’s been another bank robbery. I’ll be back later, okay? Sleep.”
Brock kissed Joy’s forehead and hustled out of the room.
“Eureka, huh?” Joy said.
···
Murphy came to a large, noisy intersection, and halted. He saw no sign that pointed towards Kansas, or even anywhere thereabouts. Which way to proceed? He stopped a pedestrian and inquired. The pedestrian looked at him like he was insane, and then pointed far off into the distance and said, “That way, as the cuckoo bird flies.” Then he walked away.
Murphy headed in the indicated direction, which to go as the cuckoo bird flew, meant entering into a back alley. And one alley led to another and another, crossing one busy street to pick up the alley on the other side.
Murphy’s Luck Page 12
