Neighbors and Other Strangers

by Gordon Parker

  “You coward,” Miles voice raised a decibel level. “You know exactly what happened. You ordered your man to kill me. And my husband, the only man who ever treated me decently in my life, my husband threw himself in front of the bullet. He did it to save…what was it you called me? Oh, yes…his wifey. You most definitely killed Scott. And I should kill you.”

  “Please don’t kill me,” Guy begged. “I’m sorry about your…your husband.”

  He felt his bladder voiding itself involuntarily.

  Miles saw the darkening stain spreading across the front of the man’s pants.

  “You’re peeing your pants!” Miles exclaimed, as he walked into the kitchen.

  The kneeling man started blubbering as he felt the urine running down his leg.

  “You fool!” Miles shouted. “Back up. Get off the rug!”

  It was awkward backing up on his knees but Guy was too frightened to disobey. He crawled backwards.

  “You peed on my rug! My very expensive rug. Do you know how hard it is to get the smell of urine out of a rug? I should kill you for that alone.”

  Guy hardly felt the blow on the back of his head before the blackness overwhelmed him. He fell forward. Face down in his own urine.

  Trent’s phone rang. It was almost midnight. It didn’t matter. He was suffering from another symptom of his disease. Insomnia. He had been unable to sleep for the past two nights. He was in the living room doing one of his favorite things when he couldn’t sleep. Watching an old black and white western movie.

  Glancing at the ringing phone, he saw it was Christopher.

  “Can you meet me at Miles’ condo?” Christopher asked. “Someone broke in.”

  “Is Miles all right?” Trent asked, anxiously.

  Christopher chuckled.

  “I’d say Miles is as good as he’s ever been.”

  Trent woke Darcey. He knew she would want to go with him.

  Christopher and Nancy were already at the Capra Way condo when Trent and Darcey arrived. Uniformed officers had cuffed Guy and taken him away along with his personal defense weapon, which had been placed in an evidence bag.

  Christopher had told them Miles would come to the precinct the next morning to give them his statement.

  “And don’t let him change his pants!” Miles had shouted after them.

  Now the five friends were alone in Miles’ home.

  “Why didn’t you shoot him, Miles?” Christopher asked. “He broke into your home armed with one of the deadliest weapons on the market. You could have blown him away and probably received a commendation from the mayor.”

  “I was tempted,” Miles answered honestly. He was posed dramatically in a chair, his legs crossed, the feathery tendrils of his slippers waving with each movement of his foot. He was caressing the shotgun that lay across his pink clad lap. “But I don’t want to kill anyone. Not really. I just want to make sure no one can ever harm me or the people I care about again.”

  “So what did you hit him with?” Darcey wanted to know.

  “Remember that cast iron skillet you and Trent gave us? Scott loved steaks cooked in that pan. And it’s very heavy.”

  “You knocked him out with a frying pan?” Trent asked.

  “It’s a fine pan, Trent,” Miles said. “And as Mr. Hickok said, shotgun shells cost money.”

  Miles followed his friends to the door as they left. He watched them walking down the hall to the elevator.

  “I’ll be back to work Monday morning, Darcey,” he said. “I’m ready now. It’s what Scott would want.”

  Sunday, August 21st

  Jimmy Shadow had a plan. A good plan. Timing was everything. He wasn’t worried. Jimmy was up against Steve Burgess. Burgess wasn’t much of a threat.

  Trent had been able to fall asleep when they returned from Miles’ condo shortly after midnight. Darcey let him sleep until eight o’clock before she woke him.

  Preston Johnson had invited them over for Champagne this morning. It was an unusual invitation. In the years he and Darcey had been friends, he had either taken her out for meals or he had come across the hall to her condo.

  But for whatever reason Preston wanted them to enjoy refreshments on his terrace on this Sunday morning. It was important, he told her. He was her friend. If it was important to him, it was important to her. They would be there, she told him.

  Trent awakened feeling rested. As had become his habit, he lay in bed for a few minutes taking inventory of his body.

  Hands steady.

  Eyesight and hearing normal.

  No aches or pains.

  No fever or sweats.

  A symptom free day!

  Burgess awoke hungover. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that. He was usually either drunk or hungover. He reached for the gin bottle and took a big swallow. That made him feel better.

  By 9:30 he was near the building on Nob Hill, the revolver he had taken from the body of the dead biker was in his belt, hidden by the light jacket he wore. He waited patiently for the concierge to leave his desk in the lobby.

  As soon as the lobby was empty, he moved as quickly as he could to the elevator. He went only to the 14th floor. From there he used his key for the secure floors to enter the emergency stairs and climb up to the 15th floor. He arrived there winded but, he thought, unseen. He stopped in the stairwell to catch his breath.

  Looking through the small pane of reinforced glass in the stairwell door, he was surprised to see Trent and Darcey come out of their condo. He watched as they stepped across the hall and rang the doorbell. An old man opened the door, welcoming them in.

  This was a complication, Burgess thought. But not much of one. The man who had opened the door looked ancient. Burgess thought he could be easily handled.

  He didn’t know Jimmy Shadow had already spotted him.

  Preston Johnson was dressed as elegantly as ever. He was wearing a tan blazer, dark brown slacks, and a light blue shirt with a blue and red striped ascot around his neck. The ever present cane was in his hand as he hugged Darcey and shook hands with Trent, welcoming them into his home.

  “I’m expecting another guest,” Preston said. “I think I’ll just leave the door open. It’ll save the effort of walking back and forth.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Darcey said. “I’ll take care of the door.”

  “No, dear, just leave it open,” the old man repeated. “I have a treat for the two of you that mustn’t be disturbed.”

  He motioned them to his kitchen island where sat a bottle of Champagne. Both the bottle and its covering foil were dark.

  “Trent, I would like you to have the honor of pouring this bottle for us.”

  Trent’s eyes grew wide.

  “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

  “If you think it’s a Shipwrecked 1907 Heidseick, then yes, it’s what you think it is,” Preston face showed his pleasure at Trent’s reaction.

  “Preston, this bottle is much too valuable to open,” Trent objected.

  “It’s wine, Trent. It was made to be drunk. And this bottle has waited far too long to be enjoyed.”

  As the younger man began to open the wine, Preston explained Trent’s astonishment to Darcey.

  “During World War I, a cargo of this wine was en route to Tsar Nicholas of Russia when the ship was sunk by a German U-Boat. It lay at the bottom of the sea until 1997. While most of the shipment was destroyed, there were several bottles left. The temperature of the water and the level of pressure were perfect for maintaining the high quality of the wine.”

  “And I believe a bottle of this goes for close to $300,000,” Trent added. Preston merely smiled, his Champagne flute in his hand. Two others sat on the table. Trent poured all three.

  Preston merely smiled. He held his flute up to them. The three friends gently touched glasses.

  “To the two of you,” he toasted. “I owe you much. I wish a long and happy life for you.”

  They sipped, rather than drank, the precio
us wine.

  “It’s amazing,” Darcey said. “This is a surreal experience. Thank you for sharing it with us, Preston.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Trent said. “But I’m puzzled. You said you owe us something. I don’t understand.”

  Preston looked into his flute, swirled the liquid around gently, and sipped again.

  “There are things you don’t know, Trent. Things I regret very much. But I think all will be made clear soon.”

  “Well, isn’t this just a picture?” came the snarling voice from the doorway. Burgess held the small revolver on the group gathered in Preston’s home. He had eased down the hall after Trent and Darcey entered the old man’s condo. He had been standing by the door, listening.

  “Ah, I see my other guest has arrived,” Preston said. “Come in, Mr. Burgess. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Trent was startled for the second time within ten minutes.

  “Burgess?” he said. “What are you doing here? How do you know this low life, Preston?”

  “I’m here to finish what I started in New Orleans, Marshall,” the ex-cop said. “This time I’m going to do it right. I was the one who put that bug in your clothes, Mr. Big Shot. You have me to thank for your illness.”

  Trent said nothing. Preston Johnson stared at the flute in his hand. He sipped the wine again.

  “But you’re still alive and I’m tired of waiting. I decided to come over here today and shoot you and your woman both. Won’t bother me to shoot an old man as well,” Burgess said, stepping closer to where the group was gathered.

  Preston drained the last of the wine in his glass.

  “You have such little class, Burgess,” the old man said. “You are the biggest mistake I ever made.”

  “The biggest mistake you ever made? What are you talking about?” Burgess blustered.

  There was a near silent click as Preston pressed a button on the gold handle of his cane. He slid the twenty-three inch carbon steel blade from the black hardwood shaft, using it to slap the revolver from Burgess’ hand.

  “We’ll just be rid of that silly looking little gun,” Preston said. He pressed the sharp tip of the blade half an inch below Burgess’ sternum.

  Burgess looked at his revolver on the floor. He looked down at the blade pressing into his flesh.

  “What...I don’t understand,” Burgess stammered.

  “Your mistake was in not telling me you wanted the bug to kill Trent Marshall,” Preston said. “Trent Marshall is a friend of mine. Now you shall pay.”

  “Wait…don’t do this…” Burgess pleaded.

  “At least, Burgess, you will go to your grave with the knowledge that you’re the only person who ever saw the face of Jimmy Shadow.”

  “Jimmy Shadow? You’re Jimmy Shadow?”

  Preston didn’t answer the question. He gave a slight lunge forward, pressing the blade. The thin, strong steel slid smoothly, painfully through Burgess’ body. Then Preston stumbled, almost falling.

  Burgess stood stupidly for a few seconds looking down. He could see the gold handle of the cane protruding from his body. He didn’t have enough life left to consider the sharp point that had come out his back.

  The dead body of the ex-cop crumpled to the floor.

  Trent caught Preston before he fell. He helped him into a chair.

  “Now you see what I owe you, Trent. I owe you your life.”

  Trent and Darcey looked at each other.

  “I don’t have much time left. There was a particularly strong poison in my flute. Please let me explain quickly.”

  With his last breaths he told them the story of Jimmy Shadow. Ending with the contact from Rossi on behalf of Burgess.

  Darcey was repelled.

  “Preston, you’re a murderer! How could you do these things?”

  “Yes, you’re quite right. Though no doubt there have been some victims who were innocent, I have always told myself I was doing the world a service by ridding it of evil people,” he gasped. “But yes, I murdered. And at the end of my life I almost killed one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”

  The old man was weakening quickly. He tried to retrieve something from his pocket but his arms were growing heavy.

  “Trent, please,” he said, “the vial in my pocket.”

  Trent reached into the side pocket of the tan coat, finding a vial of powder.

  “Give that to your doctor,” Preston said. “I got it from the source who provided the bug that bit you. Tell your doctor to use this powder to make an antiserum which should arrest the disease now in your blood. Tell her to make a vaccine with it also and give that to you as well. You must have both!”

  Trent nodded.

  “Let us help you now, Preston,” Trent said.

  “No. No. It’s much too late,” Preston said. “Hopefully your doctor will only need a small amount of the powder to save you. Perhaps they can use the remainder to develop a cure for related illnesses. I know it’s not much but it might provide some small good to atone for all the bad I’ve done.”

  Darcey was filled with conflicting emotion. This man she had come to think of as a father figure was not only an assassin but had come close to killing her husband.

  Preston reached a hand out to each of them. They let him touch them.

  “I’m so very sorry,” he said, his breathing becoming ragged. “I hope someday you can find it in your hearts to forgive a wicked old man.”

  Saturday, September 26th

  Trent and Darcey met Christopher, Nancy, and Miles for dinner at Jardiniere, one of San Francisco’s finest restaurants. It was Scott’s favorite.

  Miles was doing well. He still called Darcey in the middle of the night occasionally. But those late night calls were becoming less frequent.

  He had settled into his new role as Chief Operating Officer of DJA Designs. He and Darcey were working on plans to open a second office in New Orleans. Miles had just returned from his first visit to the Crescent City, exhausted but exhilarated by the ambience of the Vieux Carre’. He told his friends he had been embraced by the old city.

  A few days after Preston Johnson, aka Jimmy Shadow, and ex-cop Steve Burgess died, Darcey was contacted by Johnson’s attorney. He informed her that she was the sole beneficiary of Johnson’s estate. It was a large inheritance in cash and investments. The only real estate was the condo across the hall from Trent and Darcey.

  Darcey continued to struggle with conflicting emotions as they pertained to Preston Johnson. It was difficult to reconcile the friend and father figure with the assassin who had murdered scores of people. The man who was very nearly responsible for killing Trent.

  She decided she could not keep the money. She donated the entire sum to the Salvation Army. She put the condo on the market with the intention of donating the proceeds of the sale as well. Unfortunately the value would be lessened due to the disclosure of the two violent deaths that had occurred on the property as required by law.

  Doctor Raymond used some of the powder Preston supplied to make the antiserum and vaccine, which she administered to Trent as Preston Johnson had directed. She was studying the remainder in the hope that the powder’s properties could be duplicated for use in the treatment of similar diseases.

  They didn’t yet know if the antiserum and vaccine was working. Though the symptoms weren’t quite as severe, Trent still had days when he was confused. Disoriented. He had a few severe headaches. The symptoms didn’t last long. Darcey did the best she could to comfort him and ease his pain.

  Christopher turned over all the information Scott had provided about Rossi’s money laundering operation to FinCEN, the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. Those files were leading to arrests and seizure of funds in several countries.

  There was talk about promotions for Christopher and Lieutenant Mitchum. Nancy’s chief had also let it be known that she could expect her career to flourish thanks to her work with Christopher’s team. Her chief liked it when his officers held their own with the SFPD in
breaking up crime rings. He was especially pleased when his people proved equal to the federal cops.

  When they got home after dinner, Trent opened a bottle of Merlot. He took the bottle and two glasses to the terrace where Darcey stood looking out over the city, a secretive, satisfied smile on her face.

  “Can I pour you a glass of wine?” he asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  “You didn’t have wine or a cocktail at dinner either,” Trent noted. “Are you feeling ok?”

  “Never felt better. Alcohol just doesn’t sound appealing right now.”

  Trent came to stand beside her, sipping the Merlot from his glass.

  “Oh…by the way, we’re pregnant,” Darcey said.

  Trent took another sip of the Merlot. He put his arm around Darcey.

  Together they watched the fog rolling in over the city.