Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

  A new slide flipped up on the screen. It was a large, blinking, neon-green dollar sign.

  “That equals a huge profit margin!” He turned back to his audience, spreading his arms widely. “You’ll all get even richer than you already are…and nobody will be the worse for wear!”

  Heads began to nod around the table, slowly at first then vigorously.

  “You still need to answer my question!” Beverly glared at Schanlon. “What product? What drug?”

  Schanlon ignored her. The man sitting next to her pulled her down into her chair then leaned over and whispered something in her ear. A look of shock crossed her face as her gaze shot back and forth between the man and Schanlon. She snatched up her purse, vaulted from her seat, and stormed from the room.

  Schanlon nodded, raising his arms like a Christ-figure, smiling broadly as the applause began sparingly then turned into a standing ovation.

  Chapter 9

  Three Days After Hank Received the Study Drug

  Hank stumbled into his bedroom after returning home from the VA hospital ER. He didn’t like the way he’d been feeling since he’d taken the experimental injection and wanted to see if they had anything to offer that might help. He was constantly on edge and craving something—he just wasn’t sure what. It was an itch he couldn’t scratch…and it was driving him nuts. When he’d awakened that morning in a cold sweat, he was reminded of the withdrawal symptoms he’d experienced when he’d gone through rehab. He assumed this was all a side-effect of the study drug and decided he’d had enough, so he’d called the Greater American Pain & Spine toll-free support number for the drug study. The recorded message had merely said to “go to a local ER in the case of any perceived problems.”

  Hank had been to the local VA hospital ER several times for various ailments, so that’s where he’d gone this time. The staff in the ER did not have any real antidote to offer, but, based on what he told them about the study drug, thought a trial of naloxone, a narcotic reversal drug, might be helpful. He’d agreed to try it, but with every passing moment since then, he increasingly regretted the decision.

  He flopped onto his bed, the ceiling spinning crazily as he stared at it, and he quickly became nauseated. His gaze darted around his room, an overwhelming paranoia holding his mind captive, piling on top of the rage that was already burning into his brain.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” he muttered, closing his eyes.

  He had no idea why he was so angry. Angry at nothing….at everything. He felt as if he just wanted to start wailing on someone…especially those who were out to get him. Whoever they were. He bolted upright.

  “I know you bastards are doing something to me!”

  Hank shook his head hard, his eyes quivering as he tried to focus his vision.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” he moaned.

  Rage again smashed against his willpower, battering at it. His mind felt as if someone had dumped hot coals into his head and was now stirring them with a jagged stick. His gaze snapped to the door when he heard a noise in the hallway outside his room. He jumped from his bed, scooting across the room to the desk drawer where he stored his pistol. He reached in, wrapping his fingers around the butt.

  “Hey, Hank! How’s it going?” Jack called from the doorway.

  Hank spun and fired. Splinters from the doorframe bombarded Jack’s face.

  “Goddammit, Hank! What the fuck are you doing?” Jack yelled, diving to the floor.

  Hank plummeted to his knees, his shoulders and head hanging as he began to sob. He sat back on his heels and rested the gun on his lap then slowly raised it, pressing the tip of the barrel against the side of his head.

  “Jack! I’m so sorry—I don’t know why I did that! I don’t know what the hell is happening to me,” he howled.

  Jack took a deep breath, crawled to the edge of the door, and glanced around the frame.

  “Has something happened? Why the hell did you take a potshot at me?”

  “No—nothing has happened…except that I went to the ER today…”

  “The ER? I know how much you hate going to the hospital. Why’d you go?”

  “The study drug…I-I didn’t like what it was doing to me.”

  “Study drug? What study drug?”

  “The fucking study drug George made me take!” Hank roared, panting as his face flushed.

  “Hank…I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but…I can’t believe George would force you to do anything. Especially if it was bad for you.” There was silence for several seconds. “I’m coming in. I’ll have my hands up—please don’t shoot me.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Hank mumbled.

  “Not up for a vote, buddy. Promise you won’t shoot?”

  “Okay…but quit henpecking me!”

  Jack edged his head around the doorframe, blood from his cheek smearing on the wood. He suddenly felt stinging on his cheek where small scratches dribbled crimson droplets. Hank let his hand holding the gun fall onto his lap and writhed his head in circles. Jack held his hands high and inched into the room.

  “I’m not armed—my hands are up. I’m no threat. Let’s just talk…okay, Hank?”

  Hank’s gaze darted all about the room before he held it on Jack then curtly nodded once, his fingers wriggling on the pistol butt.

  “Good.” Jack held out his hands. “This isn’t like you—I can tell something is eating at you. Tell me about this study…and what happened at the ER.”

  Jack took a cautious step forward, freezing when Hank grimaced and tightened his hand on the pistol grip.

  “A pain med! It was a study for a pain med. My leg where I took that bullet has been killing me lately. George heard about this study. Thought it might help me.”

  Jack advanced one slow step at a time, like a cat stalking a mouse.

  “That’s close enough! P-please…stay back.”

  Jack stopped.

  Hank waved the gun at Jack. “I-I don’t know what’s happening to me!” His face was contorted, eyes reddened and bulging. “I don’t want to kill anybody…especially not you! But,” Hank’s head sagged, “I-I can’t seem to control myself.”

  Jack held his hands out to Hank in a calming gesture and crept another step forward.

  Hank whipped the gun up, aiming it at Jack’s eyes. “Stop! I mean it! I-I can barely control myself!”

  Jack froze, heart thudding as he gawked at Hank. “Got it. I’m stopped. Can you at least tell me what happened—why you went to the ER?”

  “I hated the way I was feeling after I got that study drug!” he yelled. “It reminded me of when I was sleeping in boxes and under bridges.” He turned his eyes to the gun he held on his lap, licking at his lips. “I-I can’t go back there, Jack…to th-that place.” His gaze shot to Jack. “You should know that as well as anybody!”

  “I do, I do! So, you went to the ER…for some kind of treatment?”

  “Yes! I wanted it to stop! I wanted to get these bugs out of my head!”

  “Hi, guys!” Amanda chimed from the hall. “What’s up?”

  Both men jumped, their heads snapping around in unison toward Amanda. Jack dove at Hank, grabbing the barrel of the pistol and twisting it toward the ceiling. A bullet smacked into the ceiling, spraying chips and dust onto the men. Jack groaned as he fought for control of the pistol. The gun fired again, the round slapping into the wall next to where Amanda stood. She screeched, her hands snapping up over her ears. She stared with fear-filled eyes at the two men.

  Hank’s gaze shot toward Amanda. Tears filled his eyes, and his lips trembled, his face twisting as he stared at her. He suddenly released his grip on the gun, and Jack snatched it away, throwing it across the room.

  “Amanda! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Hank croaked, staring wide-eyed at her.

  She slowly lowered her hands and nodded hesitantly, her gaze darting between Hank and Jack.

  Jack waved her back. “Just go to your room,” he said then t
urned back to Hank.

  Hank’s gaze flashed to Jack’s face. “Ahhh!” He shoved Jack aside and bolted through the door.

  Amanda jumped away, barely avoiding being knocked down by Hank as he flew past.

  Jack vaulted over to Amanda and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Y-yes.” She looked up at him. “Wh-what’s wrong with Hank?”

  “I don’t know.” Jack patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Stay here—I’m going after him.”

  Jack heard the front door open then slam closed as he scrambled down the hallway. He reached the front door, yanking it open and stepping onto the porch. He stopped suddenly, squinting as he peered into the darkness.

  “Hank! Where are you?” he yelled.

  He craned his head to listen as he ran across his lawn to the street, scanning the surrounding gloom intently.

  “Hank! Come back!”

  Amanda appeared at his side. She put an arm around his waist and stared up at him. “Dad—what the hell was that all about?”

  Jack shook his head slowly, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer.

  “I don’t know, sweetie…but I’m damn well going to find out.” He took one last look into the murk then turned toward the house. “I just know Hank needs our help.”

  Chapter10

  “So, it’s a study for some long-acting pain med?” Jack asked as he sat at the kitchen with Smithson at dawn the next day.

  Smithson nodded. “Yeah…that’s what the Greater American Pain & Spine study description said anyway. And I looked at the protocol again—very closely this time. There’s nothing in there about a risk for this kind of side effect listed anywhere. I don’t know if his reaction is a problem with the drug or the results of Hank’s history of addiction.” He fingered the handle of his coffee mug. “Jesus! I feel like a shit for getting Hank into this predicament.”

  “You didn’t know what you didn’t know, George. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “But…I shoulda checked into it more before I talked Hank into it…maybe made a few calls.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not your fault. I looked at the online description you referred me to, and I didn’t read anything there that concerned me, either. Certainly nothing that would lead me to believe that a reaction like Hank had was even a possibility.”

  Smithson turned his eyes to Jack’s. “So…now what?”

  “We find him.”

  “How? Police?”

  “No! Old-fashioned legwork—I don’t want to involve the authorities. Last thing we need is for some trigger-happy cop to blow away Hank.” He shot a concerned look at Smithson. “Especially since Hank may not be in full control of himself.”

  “I’m with you on that!”

  “It was weird, George…when he shot at me, I could tell Hank didn’t mean to do it. I think he was as surprised as I was.” Jack huffed and stared at the ceiling. “It seemed like he couldn’t control his actions…like he was just a passenger on a runaway crazy train.”

  “If that’s true, it must be one powerful drug!” Smithson groaned. “He’s been incredibly disciplined since he went through rehab.”

  “Yeah…scary powerful,” Jack muttered.

  Chapter 11

  Later That Same Morning

  “Goddammit, I said release the drug to the marketing and sales people! I don’t give a shit about any study results concerning addiction—I’m tired of your stalling!” Schanlon yelled at Martin Lankin.

  “B-but, sir…there are deaths, too—”

  “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you understand the opportunity here? Are you stupid?”

  “No, sir, I’m not stupid,” Martin Lankin snarled through gritted teeth.

  “This is a miracle drug—a miracle for our profits! It’ll be a fucking dream come true for Pharmadosh. Our stockholders are gonna love it! Gonna love me!”

  Lankin’s mouth hung open as he stared at Schanlon. “Yes…well…about the addiction, sir. It’s a strong narcotic. My team feels it’s already addictive enough without the molecular alterations—”

  “No, it isn’t!” Schanlon shouted, poking Lankin in the chest with a finger. “So, I don’t want your team messing around with those changes. Leave them exactly like I instructed.” Schanlon smirked. “I want anybody who’s had even a single dose of the drug to be begging for more. I want them to crave it like a drowning man craves oxygen!”

  Lankin swallowed. “If that’s the case, do we really have to raise the prices so drastically?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean…like you say, it’s going to sell no matter what. We might bankrupt people with the prices you’re suggesting.”

  “I couldn’t give a crap less if anybody’s unhappy about our price hikes. That’s another part of the genius—people will need it so badly we could ask them to cut off an arm to pay for it.” Schanlon cackled. “And they would!” He jabbed Lankin in the shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. “I’ve got stockholders to keep happy. If they’re happy, I get big bonuses. Big bonuses make me—and my trophy wife—happy.” He huffed and waved an arm dramatically then slammed his fist on the huge, live-edge table. “I want this opportunity milked for every penny we can squeeze out of it!”

  “B-but the FDA is already threatening an investigation about our proposed price increases.” Lankin tugged at his collar. “Aren’t you worried they’ll get involved…figure out what’s going on?”

  “No!”

  “The AARP is also mounting a public campaign against price gouging for what they call ‘critical’ drugs—” the lead legal counsel for Pharmadosh piped in.

  “Fuck ‘em!” Schanlon shouted, cutting off the rest of the lawyer’s statement. “Fuck all of them! Let people go without the drug they’re addicted to if they don’t want to pay our prices.” He snorted. “We’ll see how well that works for them. Besides, if we have a few less old codgers around to bleed Medicare, it’d be a good thing as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I didn’t hear you say that,” the lawyer said as he briefly held fingertips in his ears.

  Schanlon rolled his eyes as he gaped at his top lawyer. “Whatever.” He turned toward Lankin. “How about the new reversal agent—is it ready yet?”

  “Well…no. It’s, uh, proving more difficult to develop than we’d expected. There are some…unexpected side-effects…” Lankin mumbled.

  “Then, as my favorite reality TV show star always said—‘you’re fired’! I’ll get somebody competent who can follow simple orders to replace you.”

  “B-but…” Lankin protested.

  Schanlon thrust a finger toward the door. “Get the hell out of my sight. Now!”

  Chapter12

  Smithson and Jack swiveled their heads constantly, peering into every alleyway as Jack guided the car slowly down another dismal side-street on the fringe of downtown. It was early afternoon the day after Hank had run off and they had been searching for him for hours.

  “Holler if you see a bunch of cardboard boxes in any of the alleys, George. We’ll pull in and check them out.”

  “Will do.”

  “Maybe we’ll have some luck behind one of these warehouses up ahead. If we don’t find him here, we’ll head over to some of the more-populated freeway overpasses.”

  Smithson groaned. “Jesus, Hank. I’m so sorry about all this…”

  There were no other cars on the street, so Jack let the vehicle creep forward, giving them opportunity to better scrutinize the surroundings.

  “Jack! Stop!” Smithson blurted. “Back up. I spotted something.”

  Jack threw the car into reverse and twisted to look out the back window. He slammed on the brakes as he saw someone in ragged clothing bolt from the alley on Smithson’s side of the car. Smithson squirmed, twisting to look out the rear, as well, watching as the man disappeared into another alleyway on the other side of the street.

  “Shit! Was that him?” Smithson asked.

  “I don’t know—but I’
m going to have a look down that alley, just the same.”

  Jack backed the car next to the curb and shut off the engine then turned to Smithson.

  “You stay here—I’ll be right back,” Jack said.

  Smithson snorted. “Bullshit! I’m coming, too!” He jabbed a finger at Jack. “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m the general here, you’re not.” He stared at Jack a few seconds then flashed a sheepish grin at him. “Sorry. I guess I’m used to giving orders, not taking them.” He rested a hand on Jack’s forearm. “Besides, it’s my fault all of this happened. There’s no way I’m just sitting by idly.”

  Jack shrugged. “Okay…general.” He popped his door open and slipped out, gazing across the roof of his car into the alley the man had just run from. He walked around the car, stopping at the trunk to wait for Smithson. They exchanged a quick glance then looked at the alley entrance where the vagrant had just run into.

  “Let’s go,” Smithson said.

  They crept into the alley, glancing inside any large cardboard box they came across, especially those with a pair of feet protruding. They surprised one man as he was crawling on his hands and knees out of a battered cardboard container. He froze as Jack and Smithson stood over him, his gaze slowly rising to their faces.

  “You cops?”

  They shook their heads.

  “No…but we are looking for someone—maybe you can help,” Jack replied.

  The man shrugged and looked expectantly at them. “Kinda hungry.”

  Jack smirked and dug out his wallet, dropping a ten-dollar bill in front of the man. The man snatched it from the ground.

  “Make sure it gets spent on food, not booze,” Jack said flatly.

  The beggar stared up at him for several seconds. “What, you doctors or something?” the man replied belligerently.

  Jack and Smithson both nodded. “Yes. We are,” Jack said categorically.

  “This guy we’re looking for is called Hank,” Smithson interjected impatiently. “Stout-looking guy…chiseled build. Seen anybody like that or heard that name? Somebody new who looks a little out of place here?”