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The Gateway City, Saint Louis, Missouri, was hardly hit at all. Even though people used to flow in and out of town through airports and highways, the midwest had fared very well. Were they already immune? People wondered. That same city had survived well during the world war one swine flu pandemic as well. One of the reasons might have been that the mayor issued an order early on that no one was to go to work, to school, or anywhere else, because of the pandemic. He had ordered all but the most essential services to shut down so people could stay indoors and not be anywhere a germ could get near them. The year of the epidemic of 1918 passed, and in Saint Louis the vast majority of its people survived.
The mayor was given the credit. He deserved it. During the quarantine, he was soundly criticized by the area's corporatist cronies for destroying the city’s economy. Mortgages went unpaid, and businesses failed. Nonetheless, when the dark clouds lifted, the majority of debts somehow got readjusted voluntarily by the banks and other parasites on society who claimed they were owed everyone else’s money.
Chicago, Milwaukee, Indianapolis, and hundreds of other cities survived easily as well. Washington, New York, and Philadelphia followed suit. Their mortality rates were up a great deal, but these cities were not completely destroyed the way Los Angeles was in the present crisis. Evidently, the strains of unleashed diseases hitting Los Angeles were more difficult to survive.
The FBI goons whose offices of oppression were billeted on Market Street in Saint Louis were busy tying up lose ends. Todd Reynolds, an agent who grew up in Richmond, Virginia was in charge of the Obama Care suspects in town. Todd was married to Marlena Ashby. He had been blessed with three children, Ed, Ashton, and Mary. He thought the Obama Care cases were a bit of a bore, but as the toll of dead across the nation mounted from random killings including serial murders like those in the Lambrecht Theater in New York, he realized that solving Obama Care murders might be a realistic career maker for him. If he was instrumental in catching just one of these criminals, he’d have a good chance to move up into the FBI’s big time agent ranks. Todd would love that. He craved success and trust, and he knew he could go higher.
“Hey, Todd,” Rachel Masters said, “We have a situation.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. We have to get going. I’ll drive.”
“No. I’ll drive.”
They raced down the stairs to the parking lot. Rachel got to the driver’s side first. She got in.
“That wasn’t fair,” Todd said.
“Why not?”
“You picked the car. That’s why not.”
“Yea, so I did. And I have the keys. Doesn’t that just suck for you?”
“I’ll flip you for it.”
“No deal. I have the wheel.”
“Not fair.”
“Work with it, Todd,” Rachel said. “I mean, you have nothing to bargain with, my friend. I’m holding all the cards.”
“Not fair.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Not.”
“Deal with it, bitch.”
The car peeled out onto Market Street as they argued over their control issues. Arguing was a constant thing with them. Rachel gave him a run down of what she knew about the case. “A physician reported that a man’s wife died of a heart attack after her insurance company refused to give her a bypass. She was seventy-four years old, and ‘the death squad,’ as her spouse called her Obama Care review group, had decided thumbs down that she could only be treated with pharmaceuticals,” Rachel told Todd, “and according to the doctor, the man is severely pissed off and has threatened him and his staff several times. Interesting coincidence. The man bought guns at a local store recently.”
“Just fancy that,” Todd said. “See a connection there?”
“It rankled my innards like a longhorn bull goring plates in a china shop,” Rachel said. “My Obama Care murder sniffer is wide awake, loaded for bear, and ready to hunt.”
Greg Hauser was the suspect. They stopped at his home. A black wreath was hanging from the door in honor of his wife's passing. Her name had been Joan Hauser by marriage, and she was clean. No priors at all. Same with Mr. Hauser.
"Looks a bit morbid, I'd say," Todd remarked.
"Yea, but I sort of like it's vintage aspect," Rachel said. "I think there's a nice tinge of Jack the Ripper about it."
The door opened, and a short man dressed in old blue jeans stood stared at them blankly.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
Todd flipped his badge. We are FBI agents, Mr. Hauser, and we'd like to ask you are few questions."
"Why?"
"Your wife, Joan, died."
"She didn't have to die," Greg told them. "It was that Obama Care scam that did her in."
"We can't comment on that," Rachel said, "but we are sorry for your loss."
"That doesn't make me any pancakes, Greg Hauser told them. "She's gone, because Obama Care left her hanging high and dry like all the other I read about in the newspaper."
"Is it true that you just bought guns and a lot of ammunition?" Todd asked.
"Yes."
"Planning to shoot up the town to revenge your wife, Mr. Hauser?" Rachel asked. "You see, we have some concerns about that sort of behavior."
"I think our discussion is over," Mr. Hauser said. "You have a nice day."
He closed the door.
"I think that went well," Todd said.
"Yes. It was very nice," Rachel agreed. "It makes for a nice, short report. That should be easy enough."
"Do you think Mr. Hauser's about ready to blow his lid, Rachel?"
"I think so," she replied. "If a government program killed my one true love, I'd want to chop off a few heads, I think."
"I know how hostile you get," Todd said, smiling across the seat at her.
"Want to drive, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Poor baby, because that's not going to happen," Rachel said.
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