by Wes Lowe
The boy’s father stood at the back of the tent, watching the proceedings like a hawk with his cellphone glued to his ear.
“Stop!” shouted Steve.
But no one paid attention to the doctor. In fact, the frenzied cacophony stepped up until the father took out his revolver and shot it in the air, silencing all except Kervin who pleaded, “Michel, we have not finished. The ceremony has not finished.”
“You have not finished for a week and my son has not improved,” snapped Michel who turned to Steve. “What do you want?”
“I need to ask questions about the boy.”
“Why?” asked Michel suspiciously.
That Michel had to even ask told Steve something—he either didn’t trust Western medicine, or maybe had never been to a doctor himself. Be careful about what you say and how you say it!
His voice steady, Steve explained, “Your son is a brand new patient to me. If we were in the city, I would be ordering the hospital and labs for a number of tests. As we don’t have those facilities here, and I have to make my own examination, I need to ask many questions before I know how to treat him.”
Steve knew whatever he tried would be a very long shot at best. Without even a makeshift clinic like he had during Hurricane Matthew, treatment for what he suspected the boy had would be impossible. But maybe if he was wrong, there might be a solution available.
“What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with his name.”
“Melky.”
Melky. Michel? “That’s a good name. Did you name him after yourself?”
”Yes. Why are you asking? You should be treating him now,” snapped the gang leader harshly.
The father cared enough to name the boy after himself. These people are superstitious. Play on it. ”I ask because there is power in a name. Melky. Michel. Michael. That name means ‘Who is like God?’ The answer is kings, emperors, angels. Leaders of armies. His name is trying to protect him but we must do our part. First, we need to boil water, lots of it. Wash Michel’s body and give him lots to drink.”
Praise of his son’s name gave Michel confidence. For the next thirty minutes, Steve extracted a detailed history of Melky’s life, while conducting a physical exam. Steve noted Melky’s labored breathing and felt his forehead and arms—they were both very hot. “How long has he had this fever?”
“At least the last two months, maybe longer.”
“What’s his energy level been like?”
“Always tired, exhausted, even when he’s done almost nothing.”
“Was he alert? What was his memory like?”
“Sometimes, no many times, he forgot things or didn’t seem to know where he was.”
Steve noticed the soiled bedsheet with the yellowish brown diarrhea stains. “How long has this been going on.”
“A long time off and on.”
Steve realized, with Michel’s imprecise answers, that the father really didn’t know. “Where’s Melky’s mother? I can ask her too.”
“Inside Melky.”
What the hell does that mean? Then, Steve realized—she had been sacrificed. Her blood had been given to Melky to drink and her flesh for Melky to consume. Steve changed the direction of interrogation.
Melky, like many Haitians, had been sexually active for years. He wore no protection when he had sex with girls, men or animals. He dropped twenty pounds within the past month and sweated constantly, more profusely at night.
Steve checked the boy’s body, discovering swollen lymph glands in his groin and neck. Despite his dark skin, Steve could tell that his skin was blotchy—some areas were purplish, others were pink. Using a tongue depressor to open Melky’s mouth, he saw blemishes on his tongue and white spots in his mouth and down his throat.
All this helped confirmed Steve’s initial suspicions. Melky’s immune systems were compromised and the teenager was prone to “opportunistic infections,” infections that don’t attack healthy people but take the “opportunity” to use a person’s weakened system to attack. Melky exhibited all the symptoms associated with opportunistic infections caused by AIDS.
Checking Melky’s genitals, Steve saw ugly, festering blisters and cold sores, typical signs of Herpes Simplex and AIDS
The priest’s fiery eyes flashed resentment at this Western doctor. “We never had illnesses like this until the white man brought it to Haiti.”
Steve held back from lashing back. AIDS was not brought by the white man to Haiti from Africa, but by returning Haitian professionals working in the Congo in the 1960’s.
Steve had to take a conciliatory approach. He was also much aware of the stigma that being pigeonholed with the deadly plague presented in the Haitian community. The challenge for Steve was to tell Michel that his son had AIDS without condemnation of lifestyle, or maybe not even to use the word.
“That may be true, but history is of no help to us now. We must focus on what we see in front of us. He has a serious illness due to many factors.”
Michel, who had been reasonable during Steve’s questions about Melky’s condition, exploded. “There is nothing wrong with Melky! Nothing! The problem is not with him but those who have been treating him.”
“Please, Michel. I have done everything I could,” faltered Kervin. “I could not undo the harm that was done by my brother. He had two weeks and I only had one!”
“Then you will join your brother Ronil in hell,” snapped Michel, pulling out a Sig Sauer handgun from his pants and pointing it at the priest.
Steve’s ears perked. Melky’s condition had been ongoing for at least three weeks. Michel had already executed Kervin’s brother, and Kervin would be next if Steve couldn’t figure out something to say.
“Wait, Michel,” said Steve. “Do not harm the priest. I will need him to call on Bondye.”
Nothing that Steve could have said would have surprised Kervin or Michel more. What Steve realized was that Melky was too far gone and nothing was going to save him. He just wanted to delay a few moments in the off chance that somehow Rayna might have been able to pull a nonexistent rabbit out of a nonexistent hat.
“The priest had his chance. The gods did not listen to him.” Michel fired five shots into Kervin; two in the head, three in the torso. He then pointed the gun at Steve. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Steve feigned confidence with a weak smile. “Of course.”
Without an ELISA, saliva, or viral load tests, there was no way to determine which illness Melky had, but it didn’t really matter. Melky was on his last hours, if not minutes of life. With the lifestyle he had led and in the environment that he led it in, there was no other possible outcome.
What frustrated Steve was that it didn’t have to be. TB had for many years been treatable and curable. HIV, while not curable, could be controlled in most instances with antiretroviral therapy (ART), medicines that prevent HIV from multiplying, which would reduce the amount of HIV in the body, giving the body’s immune system a chance to recover. If HIV were controlled, its development into full-blown AIDS was minimized.
If, if, if…
Steve had no way to postpone the inevitable for Melky… or himself.
23
Rush Rush Rush
Three Days before Carter’s Announcement Party
* * *
Things were coming together quickly and it was rush, rush, rush.
Becky, Mateo, and Diego had their responsibilities under control but the bombs were still not ready, despite the pressure Davy put on Willie and Sonny to work faster.
It wasn’t entirely their fault, as the added demands were not factored into Davy’s original calculations.
Willie worked constantly, and he had a sense of pride in knowing that he would be ‘teaching America a lesson.’ If all he had to do was make the bombs, he would have been right on schedule. The workroom was well-equipped and Davy’s designs were clear, even with the continual adjustments in size and materials that were being made.
The i
ssue for Willie was the extra work that he had to do, especially the running around of trying to get more radioactive material and specialized components. Those tasks weren’t difficult but they took time, especially because such activities needed to be kept hidden.
He hadn’t had a day off in six weeks, and rare was the day that he didn’t put in at least ten hours. It usually pushed twelve, and at least three times there had been all-nighters. He wasn’t complaining, just happy for the opportunity to push himself to the limits.
Sonny wasn’t lazy either, but as a person completely unfamiliar with the equipment he was dealing with, he was supremely slow in extracting the radioactive material from the devices. Many of these were old and without manuals or schematics so he had to fly blind, unfamiliarity compounding his lack of speed. He was also paranoid about getting radiation poisoning. He insisted on wearing disposable gloves, a full-length shielded lab coat with sleeves rolled down, closed toe shoes, and safety glasses. While Davy assured him that this was unnecessary overkill and Willie mocked him for being a wuss, Sonny wouldn’t budge from his slow methodical process.
As a result, to try to make the schedule, Willie was recruited for the balls-to-the-wall effort of removing radioactive material.
Three days before Carter’s announcement party at the Conquistador, Davy was freaking out because they had just about finished taking apart all the devices they had and there was still not enough radioactive material to complete the bombs.
It was time to take a bold move.
In the dead of night, he, Willie, and Sonny went to a supplier warehouse for construction materials testing equipment. There was only one security guard working. Exercising his old petty criminal skills, Willie snuck up on the watchman and clobbered him with a wrench, rendering the man unconscious. The three loaded up their van with moisture density and nuclear density gauges, and were in and out in fifteen minutes.
Mission accomplished.
Davy breathed a sigh of relief. Between the radioactive material they already had and the amount that they could take out from the new gauges, there was now enough fissile material to finish off the bombs to Davy’s satisfaction.
When they arrived back at the schoolhouse and unloaded all the new equipment, Sonny said, “I need a break. I can’t function right without some shut eye. We’ve been at this for twenty hours straight and I’m exhausted.”
When Willie chimed in, “Ditto for me,” Davy reluctantly agreed. “Okay but only five hours. After that, we have to work non-stop until we leave.”
Sonny was glad for the rest and was lights out within five minutes.
But in the privacy of his room, Willie had a relapse.
Not really tired, he was still on a high from the heist. He polished off a mickey of scotch to unwind and passed out.
24
The Road Trip Begins
The Operation Governor group, now up to twenty volunteers, staff and family, had taken over one of the smaller ballrooms at the Conquistador so that they might better supervise the preparations at the hotel for the upcoming announcement. Carter was going over the latest draft of his announcement speech when he felt a vibration from his right pants pocket, signaling a text had arrived on his burner phone.
“Excuse me, Mandy. Need to check on something.” Carter got up from the table and went to a men’s room. Inside a bathroom stall, he took the mobile from his pocket and checked the screen. It was a message from Diego.
Manuel has moved up the timetable. He is setting up the new stash house in Riverside now. He will be there until early Friday morning.
Carter hit the reply button.
OK. We’ll be ready.
Riverside was situated 50 miles east of Los Angeles. Its population of three hundred thousand was about 50% Latino, many who lived in the ghetto-like poorer areas. Diego’s boss, Manuel, figured that the small city would be a good place for Los Temidos cartel to set up shop.
Carter made a call to Davy. “Change of plans. You’ve got to be in Riverside on Thursday night.”
Davy’s voice was frazzled and harried. Like everyone else, he was under the gun and this was the last thing he needed to hear. “We weren’t planning to go to California until Friday. We need more time to prep.”
“You want to tell that to Diego? I certainly don’t.”
Davy sighed. “We’ll be there.” Davy disconnected and then went to Sonny’s room. “Sorry, but break’s over. We just lost a day in the schedule. I need you to get back to work now.”
Sonny grumbled but began dressing.
Davy went down the hall to Willie’s room to deliver the message. When he opened the door it smelled like a brewery. He saw the empty bottle beside the snoring Willie. He stormed the few steps to the bed and shook the bomb builder. “Wake up. We got to get back to work.”
“Go away,” growled Willie.
Davy saw a bottle of water on the night table. He picked it up, twisted off the cap, and poured it over Willie’s head. “Move your stinking’ ass,” he roared before leaving the room.
Willie snorted loudly, then rolled over and slept for another hour. A phone call from Davy woke him up. Growling, Willie took his unhurried time to get out of bed, then made his way to the gym and headed straight to his workbench. Davy and Sonny weren’t there, but he was in no mood to be social anyway.
Three hours later, Willie’s head was still in a fog but he had no choice but to soldier on if the new deadline had any hope of being met. He was laboriously dismantling an old medical teletherapy device. He had to be extremely cautious because the cobalt-60 inside the machine was shielded securely. Any slip-up or usage of excessive force might mean unwanted radiation exposure. Davy had found this particular machine from a technician in a hospital in Atlanta. When the hospital purchased a more advanced linear accelerator radiotherapy machine, the tech, whose fingers were in danger of amputation for his missing a payment to a loan shark, gladly parted with the machine, forging documents to make it seem as if it never existed.
Gotcha! Willie blew out a gasp of relief. Finally. It had been a bitch getting to the last little bits of radioactive material in this unit, and he had approached the end of his patience. Another few seconds and his head would have exploded. For all challenging pieces like this, Willie liked to save a tiny piece as a memento. This one was bigger than most and because of the grief it caused him, it was extra special.
He put the chip into a tiny envelope and was about to put it in his special box when his cell rang.
“Yeah, Davy?”
“Come out to the parking lot now!”
“Sure thing, boss.” There was such urgency in Davy’s voice that instead of storing the little envelope away, he just shoved it into his jeans and dashed out.
Willie got to the parking lot and found Sonny and Davy sitting in a shiny new Agate Black Ford Explorer.
“Nothing to get rid of a hangover like a new truck. Too bad I had to pick it out myself,” said Davy, still unable to hide his irritation that Willie had been so irresponsible.
“Hot damn! Where’d you get that?” asked Willie, ignoring Davy’s barb as he ran his hand over the hood and down to the grill.
“It’s a rental. It’s a long drive to California and I want to go in comfort, speed, and style,” grinned Davy. “Start packing. I want to leave as soon we’re done.”
Willie cracked a smirk. “So I’m forgiven?”
“How can I stay mad at you? You’re my best bud,” replied Davy with a plastic smile.
Within an hour, the SUV was loaded with a miscellany of weapons, ammunition and several small bombs. Willie placed a large green tarp over the cache to hide it from view, then pushed the button to close the power liftgate in the rear.
Davy took the driver’s seat and Willie climbed into the passenger’s.
“See you in a few days,” said Davy to Sonny.
“It’s not fair. You guys get to take a joyride to the West Coast while I stay and pull out radioactive shit,” whined Sonny.
>
“Sorry, Sonny. Life’s a bitch, ain’t it? We would have taken you but you haven’t finished yet. We’re going to take off again when we get back and I promise to get you a front row seat for those fireworks,” said Davy. “You gotta finish everything by the time we get back, even if means you don’t sleep.”
Sonny grumbled under his breath. There was no point in complaining; he couldn’t count on Willie anymore and with the amount of work ahead of him, he knew that Davy’s comment about not getting any sleep had the chance of becoming a reality.
With those final goodbyes, the Explorer began the twenty-four hour drive to California.
25
Return to Hell
It took eight scrawny young men fifteen minutes to lift and twist the jeep out of the rut by the large tree that Steve had accidentally gotten it stuck in.
“Let’s go. Put the bitch into the car,” shouted Jean. Back on firmer ground, two men shoved Rayna into the passenger’s seat.
The vehicle began inching its way through the mud and out of the shanty town. Rayna observed that Jean was inexperienced at driving through the mud, and that he had probably never driven a vehicle that was younger than he was. He didn’t engage the Jeep’s traction control, and didn’t know that to engage the four wheel drive he had to press the button with “4WD” engraved on it.
Or maybe it was because he didn’t know the alphabet or what numbers were.
Regardless, Jean was still smart enough though to keep one hand on the wheel and the other pointing his ancient pistol at Rayna’s head.
When they turned from the village clearing to the narrow, rough path beside the mountain, they were out of sight of all the shanty residents.