An ambulance waited less than fifty feet from the dock.
“Here, let me help you get there,” Ray Kintner said.
We arrived at Santa Cruz’s Dominican Hospital, a huge white building with blue lettering. I was given my own room, where they started conducting a series of tests.
My main doctor was a polite, red-headed woman in her forties. Her name tag read Doctor Rhonda Grimes. The way she looked at me made me think she knew who I was. It seemed too early for my rescue to already be on the news. Of course, having been accompanied to the hospital by a police officer might have alerted her. Or my name itself, which had been on the news way too much in recent weeks.
Doctor Grimes told me the knife wounds on my right thigh were mainly superficial. “Probably just some stitches.”
Stitches seemed to be the bookends for the wild ride of the last three months.
She said I had no hypothermia and that overall I’d been pretty damn lucky.
“How long does it take to get hypothermia?”
“With that temperature it could take up to an hour. You would have drowned before hypothermia set in.” She smiled. The doctors I’d encountered all seemed to have an odd sense of humor.
“How long do I have to stay?”
“We’ll probably keep you two days for observation. You went through a crazy ordeal, Quint. Detective Kintner informed me what happened. We’ve also got several psychologists on staff if you feel you need to talk to someone.”
“For now, I’m good. But if that changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Alright. I’m going to let you go back to sleep now,” she said. “It’s a wonder you’re in such good health after all you’ve been through.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.
Rhonda Grimes walked out of the room.
Looking at the clock, guessed I’d been at the hospital for about ninety minutes. But I couldn’t be sure. Time had blended together once the sun went down and I’d entered the Pacific.
I heard some voices talking outside of my room, but they were whispering and I couldn’t make them out.
A minute later, Cara and my mother walked in. Ray Kintner trailed behind them.
“Was this you?” I asked him.
“I may have secretly texted the two numbers you called.”
“You guys just set a record time in getting to Santa Cruz,” I said.
“I may have broken a law or two,” my mother said, making us all laugh.
She leaned in and gave me the longest hug of my life.
“Three hospital visits in three months,” she said. “Can this be the last one?”
“This is it. I promise.”
Cara leaned in and whispered, “You are going to need a lot of TLC.”
“Doing nothing has never sounded so good,” I said. “I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for this gentleman,” I told the two women, nodding to Ray Kintner.
My mother hugged him.
“Does this make up for incorrectly arresting him in the first place?” Ray laughed.
“Everyone is a comedian today,” I said.
At some point, I’d need to address all I’d been through. Being stabbed, being tied up, being handcuffed, being forced to shoot off the handcuffs, and then being alone in the mighty Pacific Ocean. It wasn’t something that would just go away. But I wasn’t ready to deal with everything yet.
Laughter and bad jokes were just fine at the moment.
“Your doctor said we should give you some time to sleep,” Ray said.
The phone call which led me to the Berkeley Marina seemed like a week ago. But it had been a matter of hours, not days.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I said. “Will I see you all in the morning?”
Cara and my mother nodded.
“I imagine work will come calling for me,” Ray said.
They started to walk out, but he stayed a second longer.
“A lot of arrests are going to happen tonight. All because of you. You’ve done a great service to the Bay Area. We’ll talk tomorrow, Quint. Sleep well.”
“Thanks, Ray.”
And I was left alone. The longest day of my life was about to come to a close.
Two days later, I was released from Dominican Hospital.
Different types of law enforcement had descended on me the morning after I was admitted. And after answering questions for a few hours, I went back to sleep. And continued sleeping for the majority of my duration at the hospital.
My test results had all come back normal. I’d even spent an hour with a psychologist, who’d said he was amazed how well I was dealing with all the adversity I’d gone through.
He made me promise to go see another psychologist if it all became too much to handle. I promised.
Doctor Grimes was there to say goodbye, which meant five of us were in my small hospital room. Ray had been working diligently on the case, including asking questions of me that next morning, but he came back to Santa Cruz the day I was released. Cara and my mother had only left to sleep at a local hotel each night.
I said goodbye to the doctor and I left my room. They’d offered me a wheelchair, but I told them I felt fine. It was the truth.
We approached the front entrance to Dominican Hospital. The handful of media had left the previous day, not willing to wait me out. My recovery could have required a week for all they knew. So there would be no reason to use the back door. We’d exit out the front.
Ray and I went to open the doors for the women. But the doors opened automatically.
We stood there, looking like idiots, as the women walked through the opened doors.
“If there was ever a debate about who is smarter between the two sexes, it’s now been decided,” Cara said.
We all shared another laugh.
And I walked out of the hospital.
39.
“Mr. Adler, this is Agent Devin Moore of the FBI.”
The call came the day after I was released.
My old phone was now a piece of evidence somewhere and I’d only purchased a new one that morning. I began to wonder how the FBI already had my number. I’d texted Ray Kintner a heartfelt thank you. Maybe that was how. Or maybe not.
It’s not like the FBI didn’t have their ways.
“The guy who wouldn’t return my calls last time I got out of the hospital?”
“One and the same,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I sure was getting a lot of apologies from law enforcement lately.
“All’s well that ends well, I guess,” I said.
“I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’m recovering. Can it wait?”
I looked over at Cara, who had spent the night and was sticking to her promise of looking after me.
“I think it would be mutually beneficial if we met today,” he said. “I’ll come to you.”
At least I didn’t have to move.
“I’m in Walnut Creek. 4182 Treat Avenue. It’s a little apartment with its own address.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
A knock came at the door less than an hour later. Cara answered it and led Agent Moore to my bedroom.
My legs were elevated, as per the doctor’s request. I felt fine and thought it unnecessary, but if it meant more doting by Cara, I could live with it.
“Nice little setup you got here,” Moore said.
He had a jacket with FBI printed across the front. This was obviously official business.
“It was all her,” I said, pointing to Cara.
“Listen, I hate to be a jerk, but this conversation has to be private.”
Before I could say anything, Cara spoke: “I wanted to get some fresh air anyway. I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Thanks for making it easy,” I said.
She came over and kissed me.
“This shouldn’t take too long,” Agent Moore said. “Can you give us a half hour?”
“Sure,” Cara said, and walked
out of the apartment.
Agent Moore took a chair and pulled it up next to me. I hadn’t taken down the collage I’d made and his eyes scanned it over. He gave me a nod.
“Impressive,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Detective Kintner called me from Santa Cruz after all that happened. We’ve been apprised of your interviews with law enforcement, but the Bureau would like to hear it from your mouth. I was too busy serving warrants and arresting people to make it to Santa Cruz myself.”
He took out a little recording device. “Do you mind?” he said. “Save you a trip to one of our field offices.”
“Then I’m all for it,” I said.
I spent the next fifteen minutes explaining everything that happened leading up to me getting on the boat. Followed by the experience on the boat itself. Moore expressed admiration at a few points. And exasperation at others. He couldn’t understand how I could take everything in my own hands at the exclusion of the police.
I didn’t bother telling him that I’d been fucked over by the police a few times, which had weighed on my decision. Of course, they were back in my good graces after Ray Kintner had effectively saved my life.
I finished by telling him of being admitted to Dominican Hospital.
“Truly remarkable, Quint.”
“Thanks. Now you said this was going to be mutually beneficial. I’d love to hear what you’ve got,” I said.
“I’m a man of my word,” he said.
He cleared his throat and continued. “Charles Zane’s criminal enterprise is no more. And this time I mean it. Once I got the call from Detective Kintner explaining what had happened on the boat, we raided all associates of Zane. We arrested Doug Anderson and he broke down within minutes. I was there for that. We told him Zane was dead and what you’d seen outside of his house. Once he cracked, he started admitting everything. The young girl was a prostitute. She was seventeen. Apparently, Anderson likes to do S&M, but not the consensual kind, and that’s probably why more than one girl had fled his house. This one temporarily escaped, but Anderson ran her down and brought her back to his house. While doing this, he saw Annie Ivers peering out her window. The prostitute told Anderson she was going to tell the police she was held against her will, and he panicked and killed her. Then he went over to Ivers’s house, where a fight ensued in which he threw her against a wall, killing her. He claims it was an accident. It doesn’t really matter. Going over to Ivers’s house is what ensured her death.”
I started wondering if it wasn’t Doug Anderson who was the real villain. He was the one who’d killed my father and had a propensity for young girls. He’d also killed Annie Ivers, a woman I’d come to view as more than just an acquaintance.
And yet, Charles Zane was the one who allowed this to keep happening. All because Anderson was good for business. I decided there was more than enough blame to go around.
“Anderson also gave up Max Crowder,” Agent Moore continued. “We arrested him by the Berkeley Marina where you saw him. He lives in a boat down there. We haven’t had time to go through everything, but we hit the jackpot when we arrested him. He had several laptops with information pertaining to Zane’s business. I have a sneaking suspicion that when they initially feared they were going to get raided, Zane and Anderson gave Max Crowder anything self-incriminating.”
I tried to absorb all of the information coming in rapid-fire style.
“He didn’t break as fast as Doug Anderson, but he eventually did. Once he found out that you had killed Charles Zane on the boat, I think he realized life as he knew it was over. Then it was just a matter of time. Finally, a little after midnight last night, he broke and told us everything. I won’t bore you with all of it, but it’s pretty much as we suspected. Zane made the majority of his money from drugs, but they sold weapons, employed prostitutes, took bets, and many other things. This was a full-on criminal organization. I can tell you all about it at a later time. But there was one thing Max Crowder told me that I knew would interest you.”
“I’m not sure I can process any more,” I said.
Moore smiled. “I understand it’s a lot to take in. But you’ll like this.”
“What is it?”
“We arrested the man who tried to kill you at your apartment complex. His name is Kenneth Fields. We took him into custody at 2:00 a.m. in San Leandro.”
If this was Moore’s big reveal, it didn’t impress me all that much. I felt happy they had caught the guy. Obviously. But I was more interested in getting the people at the top. Like Anderson and Crowder. That gave me a lot more satisfaction.
Still, they had arrested the man who tried to kill me. That should mean something to me.
“Well done,” I said. “I’m assuming he was low on the totem pole.”
“It looks that way. But he still had $100,000 of drugs at his house. Even the grunts of this operation dealt in high volume.”
I’m sure there were a million other questions I’d think of over the coming days. But I couldn’t think of any in the moment.
“Thanks for all you’ve done,” I said.
“We’re only getting started. There will be more arrests in the days to come. There’s no telling just how deep this goes.”
“Did Anderson admit to killing my father?” I finally asked, not sure why I hadn’t broached it earlier.
“Yes. Anderson said he told Zane that he didn’t want to kill your father. Anderson said Zane told him to follow your father and kill him. And if he didn’t, Zane would kill him instead.”
“Do you believe him?” I asked.
“He admitted to several murders. He’s going away for life. Why would he lie about this one thing?”
Oddly, this comforted me. Doug Anderson was a murderous, reprehensible human, but the true evil was Charles Zane. After all that had happened on the boat, I preferred it that way.
“What’s next for me?” I asked.
“A few more interviews. But you’re not going to be charged with Charles Zane’s murder, if that’s what you mean.”
It was nice to hear. But not unexpected.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“A big thank you. Because of you, we are bringing down a crime syndicate that’s brought a lot of disorder to the Bay Area.”
“Disorder?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s not a strong enough word. Murder. Mayhem.”
“That’s better.”
“And I’m truly sorry about your father. Detective Kintner told me how much justice for him meant to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Even if it was a bit of vigilante justice.”
I laughed.
“If it’s any comfort, his going after Anderson led you to do the same,” Moore said. “And that helped bring down this murderous organization. The Bay Area owes a debt of gratitude to your father as well.”
For what felt like the twenty-third time in the last several months, my eyes started to water.
“You’ll never say anything more meaningful to me. Thanks, Agent Moore.”
“You’re welcome. I’m going to show myself out. But I’m sure we will be talking again soon.”
“Take care of yourself,” I said.
“You as well.”
And with that, Agent Moore left. A few minutes later Cara was back and joined me in bed. This was recuperation at its best.
Two days later, I was back at John Muir Medical Center, having the stitches from my leg removed. I was given a clean bill of health and the doctor ordered me to start avoiding hospitals for the foreseeable future. I promised to try.
It was time to start a new phase of my life. I was forty years old and three months. I no longer worked for the Walnut Creek Times, but after all that had happened, I was going to be a desirable free agent. If Tom Butler had been right, there was definitely interest in a tell-all book from yours truly.
Quint and The Shark sprang to mind as a possible title.
That could wait, obviously. I
was just happy for all I had.
This included a girlfriend who loved me and a mother who was grateful I was alive. I had a father I saw as heroic. I even had a lifelong friend in Ray Kintner.
There’d be some interesting times ahead, to be sure. Arrests. Trials. Questions about my father. Questions about me.
But I’d get through it all. After everything I'd already experienced, what was to come would feel like a vacation.
For the first time in a while, I looked forward to what the future held.
I walked out of the hospital and the sun shined directly in my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I reached for my sunglasses.
Which brought to mind the title of a cheesy song from the ‘80s that my father used to play. It seemed apropos:
“The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades.”
THE END
A note to my readers:
Thanks so much for reading my novel! You’re a rockstar!
I hope you enjoyed going on this adventure with Quint.
The follow up to Revenge at Sea has just been released. It’s called The Bay Area Butcher. Hope you’ll follow the link and pick up a copy. It’s an even crazier case and one in which Cara figures more prominently. I think you’ll enjoy.
My other novels include the two-part series, The Puppeteer and The Patsy, featuring the charming, relentless duo of Frankie and Evie. Both books are political thrillers sure to get your pulse jumping.
And not be forgotten, a personal favorite of mine, the standalone novel The Bartender is a multi-narrative thriller in the vein of Gone Girl. Only much better :)
Finally, I’d be honored if you followed me on Amazon.
Thanks for everything. It’s readers like you who make this all worthwhile.
Sincerely,
Brian O’Sullivan
Revenge at Sea: (Quint Adler Book 1) Page 26