Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

  Just have somebody who’s not a dinosaur show you. You’ll soon be known as ‘CrazyDoc’ by everyone on Twitter…unless you immediately stop this smear campaign against my company.

  Fuck you! You’re a crook!

  Good-bye…#CrazyDoc

  Sonofabitch! I hate all this new technology! Jack tossed his phone onto the mattress. “I’ve got to find a way to get a face-to-face with this little shit,” he growled. “We’ll see how brave he is then.”

  Chapter 31

  Next Day

  Jack stood next to Amanda in her bedroom as she sat at her desk, his leg thumping as he watched her type on his cellphone. He hugged her after she handed his phone back to him then read the tweet she’d just entered.

  “Amanda, I can’t thank you enough for helping me with this Tweeter thing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Twitter, Dad.”

  “Yeah…that.”

  “No problem—I know what a technophobe you are.”

  He tousled her hair. “I’m not a technophobe. I just hate all this social media crap. If that makes me old-school when it comes to communicating, then I guess I’m old-school.”

  “Whatever, Dad. You really shouldn’t resist progress, though.”

  Jack guffawed. “If I thought this was ‘progress’, I wouldn’t resist it.”

  That got him another eye roll from Amanda. Now that she was firmly entrenched in adolescence, Jack had become accustomed to that as a response from her.

  “Anyway…we’ll see how this Schanlon clown responds to me posting those secret drug study results on a website and distributing the URL on this Twitter.” He patted her shoulder softly. “That was a great idea, by the way.” He laughed. “I wish I could be there to see Schanlon’s face when he looks at the twit.”

  “Tweet!”

  Jack smiled wryly at her. “I’ll get it one of these days.”

  Amanda’s brow furrowed as she looked up at him. “Dad…are you sure about this? I mean, you don’t have to get involved in this. You’ve been through enough in your life already. You’re still recovering, after all.”

  Jack looked intently into his daughter’s emerald eyes—her mother’s eyes.

  “I appreciate your concern, Amanda. I really do.” He shook his head and looked around her pink-painted room, his gaze roaming across the many stuffed animals perched everywhere. “I guess it must be a character flaw, but…I just can’t look the other way when people are getting hurt or dying. Especially when they’re veterans.” He sighed loudly. “And when it happens to someone close to me, like Hank, I take it very personally.”

  She stood and leaned against him. “I know all that, Dad. It’s just that…I worry about you.”

  He smiled broadly then wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest. “You’re too young to be spending your time worrying. You should be thinking about fun stuff.”

  Amanda suddenly pressed her face into his chest and began bawling. “Well, it’s no fun thinking about becoming an orphan!”

  Jack held her tighter, stroking her hair softly as his eyes teared up. “Nothing is going to happen to me, sweetie. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you alone.”

  She snorted. “Did you forget about all the things I’ve already seen happen to you? I know you’re playing against the odds. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I will,” he mumbled.

  * * *

  Schanlon’s Office, an Hour Later

  Schanlon scanned Jack’s tweet, feeling as if his head would explode when he saw the Pharmadosh name plastered prominently. He clicked on the embedded URL, becoming infuriated as he recognized details that were supposed to be hidden in a dark website. He threw his cellphone against the wall so hard, the “shatter-proof” case flew into splinters that rained onto the marble floor.

  “Bass, you’re becoming a far greater problem than I’d expected,” he growled. “I think it’s time that Carvin Schanlon gave you a lesson in playing hardball.”

  He glared at the pieces of his phone for several seconds then snatched up his desk phone.

  “Yes, Mr. Schanlon?” his security assistant, Chip, answered after a single ring.

  “Get up here—we need to talk. I have a problem you need to take care of.”

  Chapter 32

  Morning, Three Days Later

  Jack was skeptical from the moment he’d received the invitation from Schanlon to come to Pharmadosh headquarters. Now, he gazed around warily as he entered the expansive, opulent lobby. Jack stepped up to the security desk.

  “Dr. Jack Bass to see Mr. Schanlon.”

  Jack watched the guard peck at some computer keys then run his finger down the screen of his computer, his eyebrows shooting up after a few seconds. He tentatively raised his gaze to Jack then slowly turned in his chair to look at a man who was standing near the elevator doors. The guard nodded toward Jack, and the man standing by the elevator nodded curtly once then disappeared around a corner.

  Jack watched the exchange with wary amusement.

  “Warning the troops?” he said to the guard, smirking at him.

  “No! No! Uh, nothing like that—just letting Mr. Schanlon’s bodygu—I mean, assistant, know you’re here.”

  Jack laughed and shook his head. “Oh, man! You guys slay me.” He leaned an elbow on the counter, looking intensely at the guard. “Is he ready to see me or not?”

  “Uh, yes. You’re to use elevator one and take it to the top floor—that’s where his office is. His assistant will meet you when you get off.”

  He looked briefly over toward the elevator bank. “Any surprises waiting for me?”

  The guard looked confused and didn’t respond for several seconds then chuckled uncomfortably. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.” He pointed over at the elevator doors. “I see the doors are open. Mr. Schanlon is waiting.” He turned away and busied himself with looking at a clipboard with papers on it.

  Jack walked to the open elevator doors, inspecting the bright, fluorescent-lit interior before entering. When the car arrived at the top floor, he slowly leaned his head out of the door opening, quickly peering up and down the hallway. His gaze landed on the man standing against the far wall opposite the elevator, who Jack recognized as the man who’d gotten the signal from the lobby security guard. Why’s the guy wearing sunglasses indoors? Jack wondered. Even in his well-tailored suit, the man’s athletic and muscular physique was obvious, and his hair was cropped short.

  “You Schanlon’s assistant?” Jack asked.

  The man nodded once then turned and began walking toward large, cast-bronze doors. “This way,” he said curtly.

  Jack followed him through the doors into a large office, one wall comprised of floor-to-ceiling windows, the floor a highly polished marble. The other walls were covered with large pieces of art, which Jack assumed were pricey originals. The man stopped in front of a large, overstuffed leather chair in the office and waved his hand at it. He didn’t move as Jack approached, forcing Jack to awkwardly edge by him in order to sit in the chair.

  “Mr. Schanlon will be here shortly.”

  Jack snorted. “You guys are just full of your little power moves, aren’t you? I thought that was old-school.”

  The assistant said nothing, spinning on his feet and departing, the heavy doors closing with a loud clank behind him when he left. Jack heard the buzz and click of the electric locks engaging on the doors.

  “Hmmm. Guess I’m not supposed to leave.” Jack sniffed, the aroma of the live lilac bushes in the corners reaching his nose.

  “Dr. Bass!” Schanlon bellowed from behind Jack. “We finally meet.”

  Schanlon had entered the office through a door disguised as a raised wall panel. Jack jumped from his chair and spun toward him, surprised at his diminutive stature and cherub-like features.

  “Mr. Schanlon.” Jack offered his hand.

  Schanlon looked fleetingly at Jack’s hand and snorted. Schanlon carried a dri
nk, the ice tinkling in the glass as he proceeded to his desk on the far side of the room. Jack could smell the alcohol as Schanlon stepped past him. Jack smiled wanly and shook his head then pointed at the chair he stood near.

  “Should I pull this chair over there?”

  “No. I don’t like people that close to me.”

  Jack cackled, rolled his eyes, and plopped into the chair. “Whatever.”

  He sat waiting for several minutes while Schanlon stared at his large computer screen.

  “Can we quit with the mind games crap already?” Jack groused after a couple of minutes. “You invited me—tell me what’s on your mind, or I’m outta here.”

  “Our stockholders expect results from me, not empty promises, Dr. Bass,” he said in an exasperated tone.

  “Wow! Cut right to the chase, eh? Fine—I will, too. You’re a public company, and I’ve read your reports. Pharmadosh has been paying regular dividends to stockholders.” He jabbed a finger at Schanlon. “But the most significant beneficiary of the business results would appear to be …you.”

  Schanlon just stared at Jack, his dark, emotionless eyes like those of a Cobra about to strike.

  “Between salary, bonuses, and options, you pulled down over a hundred million last year.” Jack slid to the edge of his seat and pulled the chair closer to Schanlon’s desk. “I don’t understand what one person needs with that much money, but…it’s your right in this country to earn it.”

  Schanlon just nodded slightly. “Yes. It is,” he said smugly.

  “You speak of empty promises—what about the empty promises your company is making to the people who are using your drugs? The empty promises to veterans who enroll in your studies—and die?”

  Schanlon continued to stare at Jack with unblinking eyes, steepling his fingers in front of his face as he studied Jack. Jack stood and wandered closer to Schanlon’s desk.

  “Can we cut the crap? Your little power games won’t work on me—trust me, I’ve seen them all before.”

  Schanlon gave Jack a “Joker” smile. “Strong words, Dr. Bass…some might consider them intimidating,” he said flatly. “But not me. I only invited you here to see if we could come to some…understanding.” He waggled a hand, shooing Jack back from his desk. “I get the sense that would be a futile effort, though.”

  Jack moved a couple of steps closer to the desk. Beads of sweat were popping up on Schanlon’s forehead.

  “Unless you tell me you’re going to shut down your supracentyl studies and open the records for public investigation, you’re right; it will be.”

  Schanlon smirked. “I’m afraid that will never happen on my shift.”

  “Then I would say this meeting is over.” Jack spun toward the doors.

  “You know, Dr. Bass…I could ruin you professionally,” he said haughtily. “Or worse.”

  Jack spun and bolted to Schanlon’s desk, shooting his hand out and grabbing Schanlon’s tie. Schanlon shrieked as Jack pulled him over the desk and pressed his nose against Schanlon’s.

  “I’ve been in combat. Got two Purple Hearts to show for it. I’ve dealt with combat injuries you couldn’t even begin to imagine. The only two women I’ve ever loved were murdered…and I have PTSD as a result of all of that,” Jack snarled. “If you think a threat by some little, overpaid twit is going to intimidate me, you’re mistaken!”

  “Let go of me!”

  Jack threw Schanlon back into his chair.

  “I’m outta here!” Jack spun toward the doors just as they were thrown open. Schanlon’s security assistant appeared, hurriedly surveying the situation as he held one hand inside the breast of his jacket.

  Jack stopped next to him and glared. “You pull a gun on me, you better be ready to use it.”

  The assistant’s gaze shot to Schanlon then back to Jack. He slowly extracted his hand from under his jacket and stood straight, feet shoulder-width apart as he stationed himself in the middle of the doorway. As Jack stepped past him, the man pushed a shoulder into Jack, knocking him slightly off-balance.

  “You clowns sure do love to play your head games,” Jack snorted then rushed down the hall toward the staircase sign.

  Chapter 33

  Three Days Later

  Jack could hear the muted sounds of the TV from the living room as he sat at his desk in his home office, impatiently sorting through his mail. Most pieces he picked up, glanced at the return address then quickly tossed them into the wastebasket. He stopped when he got to a plain white envelope with no return address. He flipped it over a few times, looking for some hint of its origin. He was about to chuck it into the garbage, too, but the hand-written address piqued his interest.

  “Hmm. Doesn’t look like some mass-mailing piece.” He began to tear it open. “Maybe it’s from an ex-patient.” He sometimes got thank-you cards from family members of patients he’d cared for at the hospice.

  He popped the envelope open then quickly extracted a small piece of yellow notepad paper with a hand-written note. He unfolded the sheet and read.

  “This is already bigger than you can imagine. If you want to learn more about supracentyl, you should go visit the Pharmadosh plant near Austrial, Tennessee,” Jack read aloud then flipped the page over, looking for any other details.

  “Shit! What the hell is it with people sending me these damned anonymous notes!” He shook his head. “Huh-uh…not this time. They always lead to something bad.”

  He leaned over and flipped on his paper shredder. He’d be better off pretending he’d never seen the damn thing. He fed the note and its envelope into the shredder’s maw, tearing the chopped pieces into even smaller bits as they exited the machine then dropping the pieces into his waste can.

  He’d be damned if he’d allow himself to get sucked into some shitstorm again!

  Chapter 34

  Jack set the hospice patient chart aside as he gawked at the caller ID on his phone. He poised a finger over the “end call” button, but after a few more rings, he sighed and hit the “accept” button.

  “Sara,” he said blandly. “How are you?”

  “Hi, Dr. Bass,” she responded in a bubbly voice.

  “Jack…and I hope this is just a social call,” he said warily.

  “Nice to hear from you, too…Jack,” she quipped sarcastically.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re not going to try to tell me something about that VA study…right?”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds.

  “Well…” she started, her voice underlined with a note of guilt.

  He quickly stood and pulled his office door closed. “Sara! Dammit! I asked you to stay away from this!”

  “But I think you need to hear about this,” she implored.

  Jack huffed. “No! Now, please…just do as I ask. Keep away from this…away from me! I don’t want to put you at any risk by being around me. Good-bye.”

  “I got a sample of the study drug and had it analyzed!” she interjected hurriedly.

  Jack paused, his finger again poised over the button that would disconnect the call. “Shit! I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled then raised the phone to his ear. “Could you repeat that, please?”

  “I said, I got a sample of the drug…and I had some analyses done on it.”

  “I’m afraid to ask but…how?”

  “How isn’t important—”

  “But it is important, Sara! I know what you let Kasim do so you could get the keys to my cell back in Turkey—I don’t want you doing things like that again. Not for me. Not ever.”

  “All right, but this was nothing like that.”

  Jack snorted. “Uh huh.”

  “Anyway, I took the drug sample to a friend of mine who works in a research lab. I told her what class of drug it was and asked her to run whatever tests she would normally do for a drug like that.”

  “Okay, you have my attention. Has she given you any findings yet?”

  “Oh, yeah! I called you right away to share th
em with you. This might help explain what happened to Mr. Green.”

  “I wish you’d stayed away, but since you went through the trouble, what was your friend’s assessment?”

  “She said she’d never seen anything quite like the results of the receptor affinity testing—the bond was almost impossible to break. That means an incredibly long in-vivo half-life.”

  “Ew! That’s not really ideal for a narcotic. Could cause all sorts of problems…especially addiction.”

  “That’s exactly what she said! She feels that the strength of receptor bonding makes it a very high risk for people to quickly become addicted—maybe even after just a single dose!”

  Jack groaned. “Well, that could certainly explain what happened to Hank.”

  “My friend also said that such strong receptor bonds would make administration of any currently available narcotic antidote highly likely to fail. She doubted they could fully reverse the drug—if there was any effect at all.”

  “Hank got a naloxone dose at the ER. It didn’t reverse the effects, and in fact, it seemed to make him psychotic.” He sat up, leaning an elbow on his desk. “I think there’s a bigger problem here than I’d realized,” he grumbled.

  “That’s why I thought you’d want to know right away,” she muttered reticently.

  Jack was silent as he mulled what Sara had just told him.

  “Didn’t you want to know?” she asked hesitantly.

  Jack huffed. “Yes. It’s making me reconsider a social media campaign I planned to use in order to expose this. Now, I don’t know if that’ll work quickly enough. Too many patients will have problems in the meantime. Some may die.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” He gripped his phone tighter. “I’m serious, Sara! This whole thing is being done by a bunch of schmucks who are no better than your father’s terrorist thugs—they just dress differently is all. They care nothing about killing people to achieve their goals. Promise me you’ll just forget about this crap.”

  There was a brief silence. “Maybe…”