by Pete David
The Waldron Drug Treatment Center resembled a small cruise ship thanks to the porthole windows lining multiple floors of the white building. The design must have allowed some light into the building, but the windows were small enough to reduce exposure to the sun and dissuade patients from thinking they could jump out the window.
Sarah had returned to her fetal position and hardly responded when I returned to the car. The strong smell of urine blindsided me after unraveling her from the blanket. I placed her over my shoulder and shuffled up the ramp through the doors. The receptionist seemed unconcerned about the human bundle slumped down my back.
“I’m looking for Sal.”
The middle-aged woman dressed in a formal gray suit finally glanced up from her paperwork. “Well sir, I’m not sure where he is right now. We’re about to close.” She started to swivel her chair in the opposite direction.
“Just page him and tell him Arch Caldwell is here.”
With the mention of my name she nodded and turned to her phone. “Sorry, yes we were expecting you.” Please have a seat while I page him.”
Despite Sarah’s frail figure, her weight tugged on my sore ribs. I plopped her down in one of several guest chairs along the reception area wall. She fell sideways and moaned. “Where are we?”
“We’re at a friend’s place. Someone who will take good care of you.”
Fatigue overcame me and I nearly dozed off in one of the adjacent seats until I heard, “Arch, is that you?”
I gingerly stood up and received a solid handshake from the short and stocky Sal. He had gained a few pounds and his thick coal-black hair had receded in the area above his temples. He studied me and grimaced. “Man, are you Okay? You look like hell.”
“Yeah, I got into a little altercation in L.A.”
“I thought you got out of there?”
“I did. But I had to retrieve the girl and got some resistance from her friendly caregivers. You got my message?”
“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” He walked over to where Sarah slouched in the chair.
“I’ve got the paperwork started. Any idea which drugs she’s been taking?” He said it casually, like an everyday experience.
“Possibly heroin or cocaine, or maybe both. She’s a real mess. Can you help?”
“Of course. How old is she?” He pulled out a small flashlight from his white lab coat that covered his dark cotton business suit. He gently moved Sarah upright to peer into her eyes.
“She’s seventeen, going on thirty. Her name is Sarah Minor. Her dad’s got enough money to pay for the treatment costs.”
He nodded and stroked his short well-trimmed goatee. “I know. I spoke with him this afternoon. He seemed convinced of our qualifications and gave us permission to keep her here.” He turned to the receptionist. “Margaret, please ask Jorge and Michael to come to the reception area.”
He turned back to me. “By the way, he was trying to call you on your cell phone.”
I had forgotten about my phone left in the car. “I was so intent on getting here, I didn’t check my messages.”
“He’s on his way from Albuquerque. He should be in Phoenix tonight and here first thing tomorrow morning. He wanted me to tell you to go home rather than wait here for him to arrive.”
The two orderlies arrived and lifted Sarah. She tried to struggle, but she gave up and her body went limp. They placed her in a wheelchair.
I walked back over to Sarah. “Sarah, I’m leaving you here. You’ll be in good hands with Dr. Sal.” As Sal conversed with the assistants, I returned to my car to retrieve my cell phone. Three voicemail messages awaited me from Sarah’s family. Barb and Frank called to thank me. Frank reiterated his preference for me to go home. Jesse also voiced her appreciation and added a request for me to call her when I got back because she wanted to see me. The evocative tone of her voice made me temporarily forget my fatigue.
Sal greeted me just inside the clinic door. “Arch, let me get a nurse to clean you up and dress those bruises.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I want to make it to Albuquerque tonight.”
“Are you sure you can drive?”
“I need to get home. I really appreciate this, Sal. I owe you one.”
Sal reached over and gripped my arm. “You need rest, but I know better than to try and talk you out of anything.”
I focused on Sal’s face. “She’ll be okay?”
He gave me an encouraging nod, shook my hand, and followed his two white-coated staff toward a glass door to the right of the reception desk.
Sal turned just before entering the doorway. “Call me in a couple of days.”
I thanked Sal again, walked over to the reception desk, and grabbed a couple of business cards. The receptionist had left for the evening. I considered spending the night at my parent’s house, but my appearance would only invite questions and criticism from my mother, and continued ambivalence from my father. My phone rang as I exited the clinic doors. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“Arch, this is Gordy.”
“Hey Gordy. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“I’m sure. Just wanted to let you know I heard some cops at happy hour. Your name came up at Outlaws and not in a friendly way, if you know what I mean. Seems your return is no longer secret.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Well, you better watch your back or get out of town.”
“I’m on my way home, but I appreciate the warning, Gordy. You stay safe there.”
“Don’t worry about me. Drive carefully.” He hung up.
My exhaustion disappeared with the news. My return to L.A. had stirred up some anxiety. I edged down the ramp to my car, slid behind the wheel, and took one long deep breath, dreading the six-hour drive to Albuquerque.
Chapter 21
My body had already raised the white flag of surrender by the time I reached Albuquerque just after 1:30 a.m. A short nap in a New Mexico rest area had provided just enough of a break to keep me going. I headed straight to the office, which was closer to the highway than my apartment.
I pulled up outside my building and left the windows open, hoping the cool air would dissipate the odor inside. Anyone desperate enough to steal a car with such a foul smell would be doing me a favor.
My ribs were on fire. I hobbled up the steps to my second story office, holding on to the railing, hoisting myself up like someone yanking on a pulley. Before opening my office door, I visited the restroom at the end of the hall and checked myself in the mirror above the sink. The bruises beside and below my right eye had turned a deep shade of purple. My face had swelled even more. Dried blood speckled my lips and the front of my shirt.
I washed my face, returned to the office, and pulled out a bottle of Advil from my top desk drawer. My stomach growled with hunger, but I was too tired to eat, even if there had been any food in the office.
Thanks to the dearth of cases, the half-empty bottom file drawer contained plenty of room in the back for a large bottle of Jack Daniels. I washed down several pills with a good swig of whiskey. Sorry Josie, this is a medical emergency.
The effects of fatigue and booze flooded over me. I fell asleep with my legs on the desk only to jerk awake several times, reimagining the punches landing to my body by Junky’s henchmen. I finally fell asleep until I heard a female voice, “Oh my God. What happened to you?”
Through puffy eyes, I saw Jesse standing in an angelic pose at the doorway to my office. Her beauty almost relieved the pain. Almost.
She came over and touched my bruised face. “Thank you for what you did.”
I nodded but not forcefully enough to knock her hand off my cheek. “I’m glad I found her.”
“You look like you got into a fight on the playground.”
“No, more like in a house of ill repute.” My sleeping legs buzzed as they landed on the floor.
“Did you refuse to pay? Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not moving.” She grabbed a Money magazine off my desk and disappeared. A few minutes later, she returned with a black case she placed on top of the desk.
“You were just dying to read that issue?”
“I used it to prop the door open. I figured the security guy locked it.”
“Good thinking. Wait, what are you doing here?” I tried to de-emphasize any complaint in my voice.
“I drove down after my father called to tell me you had found Sarah. We had an early dinner and I dropped him off at the airport. I got your message that you were driving back tonight. I went to a sushi bar around the corner and had a few glasses of wine. So, rather than drive back to Santa Fe, I checked your apartment. You weren’t there so I came by your office. I drove past and saw your car parked in front and your light on.” The thought of her insistence at finding me warmed my neglected heart, one of my muscles not currently in agony.
“How did you get in the building?” My brain had started to recover just from the sight of her.
“I had to sweet-talk a security guard who was making his rounds outside. I told him I was your wife. You were working late and I wanted to surprise you. He confirmed your light was on in your office and let me in.”
“You must have made his night. Imagine falling for the ‘I’m his wife’ routine. Remind me to have him fired first thing in the morning.”
“Is there a bathroom up here?”
I waved my hand. “Down the hall to your right. Here, you’ll need the key.” She grabbed it and headed out the office door with her case.
She returned with some damp cloths. “Can you lie down over here on the couch?”
I had forgotten about the couch. It didn’t quite hold my six-foot frame, although even with my legs looped over the arm, it was more comfortable than my contorted position behind the desk.
Her hands touched my side. I flinched. She lifted my shirt and saw bruises painted over my rib cage. She sighed. “They could be broken.”
“No, just bruised.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I played wide-receiver at UCLA. Believe me, I know what bruised ribs feel like.”
“I should take you to the emergency room. You could have internal bleeding.” She let my shirt drop and turned to her black case.
“No, really I’ll be fine. And besides I feel like I’m in good hands, right here.”
“Typical stubborn man.” She opened her case filled to the brim with an assortment of bottles, bandages, and ointments.
“You carry that case with you all the time?”
“Yes, I keep it in my car. You just never know. Let’s clean you up.” She sat down on the edge of the couch and leaned over me. Her subtle musky perfume and hint of alcohol on her breath washed over me like an aphrodisiac. She used the cloths to wash my face and then reached into her case and extracted a white tube. “This will help the healing.” She gently applied the greasy lubricant—her hands felt soft on my skin.
“Did you take anything for the pain?”
“I took a couple of Advil.” I peeked at my watch. “About an hour ago.”
Jesse wiped her hands on the cloth, pulled out a bottle, and handed me a pill. “Take this. It will really knock out the pain.”
“Don’t say those words.”
“Which ones?”
“Knock out. I feel like I just went one round with Ali.”
“You made it through the first round?”
“Barely.”
I took the pill and looked at the bottle of Jack still sitting on the desk. She frowned. “I’ll get you some water. These are prescription painkillers. It’s better not to take them with any booze.” She grabbed a coffee cup from my desktop, and filled it in the bathroom down the hall. I washed down the pill and started to hand her back the cup. “No, you better drink the whole thing.”
Jesse discovered the motel-sized refrigerator and freezer in the office corner and returned with several pieces of white cloth filled with ice cubes. She touched the cold cloths, like bookends, to the bruised spots on the each side of my head. A tear had formed at the corner of her right eye and her voice quivered. “Where was she?”
“Your father didn’t tell you?”
“No, remember, need-to-know only.”
I nodded. “Junky had her at one of his establishments.”
“A whorehouse?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” I pulled out the business card from my dress shirt pocket and handed it to her. “But she’s in good hands now. This guy Sal is a friend of mine. Sarah’s really messed up. She’s going to need some serious professional care.”
Jesse glanced at the card and then at me. I couldn’t quite interpret the expression. Appreciation? Fondness? Exasperation?
“And this happened while you were retrieving my sister? This Junky, he did this?” She held the ice to the bulls-eye on my bruised cheek just below my right eye.
“Not him personally. He has others dish out punishment on his behalf. But, hey, you should see the other guys.”
“I’ll go see her tomorrow.” She kissed me on the forehead and continued to caress the side of my head with the ice. Shivers erupted through my body, but not from the ice.
I grabbed her hand. “Jesse, I don’t think you want to see her just yet. Give her a few days to recover. She’ll have to go through a lot.”
She frowned. “I can’t even imagine what she’s been through. What are you going to do now?”
“I need to go home, take a shower, and get some sleep.” I worried about how badly I smelled.
I started to get up from the couch, but rose too quickly. Pain streaked through my diaphragm and drove me back down.
Jesse grabbed for me. “Can you drive anymore?”
“I could probably make it to my house, but I’d appreciate a lift home. My car is in rough shape.” Jesse put an arm around me and helped me slowly to my feet. She reached out and grabbed her case with her free hand.
“I’m glad you’re tall.” I put my hand on her shoulder as we edged down the stairs.
“I’ve had a few boyfriends who were intimidated by my height.”
“The short boyfriends?”
“No, even a few of the tall ones.”
“Sounds like you’ve dated a lot of guys.”
She smiled. “Not many, really. I’m pretty picky.”
“Me too.” I tried to sound convincing, despite being dismayed that she apparently had considerably more dating experience.
“Your height must have come in handy playing volleyball. You were good?” I meant it as a compliment, but the pills and booze made it sound more like a question.
“I was competitive. I mostly played beach volleyball while attending San Diego State. It was fun.”
“I would have paid to see that.” A vision of Jesse playing volleyball in a bikini on a sunny California beach almost made me lose my footing.
It took us about 10 minutes to get down the stairs. Luckily, her car sat right behind mine near the door.
She drove me home and got me into my apartment. My brain danced in quicksand. I tried to concentrate while she talked about her sister. I wanted to hear every word even if the memory faded by morning.
She helped me to my bedroom and slipped off my shoes as I spiraled into a zombie state on the bed. So much for the shower. It would have to wait until after a few hours rest.
I heard her talking to me through a fog as she reached over and put a small bottle on my nightstand. “Take one of these capsules, three times a day.”
“What are those?” I mumbled.
“A natural concoction of about eleven herbs and spices to help you recover.”
I managed a retort about turning into a piece of Kentucky fried chicken before fading into a half-dream world. I heard her voice but couldn’t make out the words. She might have inquired as to whether or not I might be finger lickin’ good, but it could have been a hopeful hallucination.
I opened m
y eyes briefly and saw her standing over me. She said something about going back to her father’s house to spend the night. I murmured something about her being a beautiful angel before I fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 22
Three days later, I crawled out of bed after nearly 10 hours of sleep grateful some of my discomfort had finally subsided. I popped the last painkiller and another herbal concoction capsule from the white unmarked bottle Jesse had left on my bedside table. Having my own attractive health provider came with a number of intangible benefits. She had called every day since my return from L.A. to inquire about my health. Her concern quickened my recovery.
My scruffy image stared back at me in the bathroom mirror. I shaved for the first time since returning from L.A. My face had been too sore to bother removing the itchy coarse stubble covering my jaws and neck. The swelling had receded, the cuts and bruises no longer visible. Although my ribs still hurt, with a clean face I began to resemble my old charming self.
My appetite had returned. I made a breakfast of eggs, toast, and a large cup of coffee took the edge off the pain medication. I added a bowl of yogurt and fresh strawberries to my Breakfast of Champions.
Andy’s funeral was scheduled for 10:00. I dressed in an old dark suit from the closet and headed out the door. My car had been returned the day before, following a thorough detailing and fumigation. Frank Minor sounded understanding regarding the cost, but he hadn’t yet received the bill. An overpowering bouquet of cinnamon and spice deodorizer hit me when I opened the car door. Despite the chilled air, I rolled the window down.
I called Detective Burns for news on Andy’s murder investigation. His family would expect me to provide an update. Burns didn’t have much to add to what I already knew.
The funeral occurred on a perfect fall day without a cloud in the crystal blue New Mexico sky, the kind of day Andy always boasted about when we were in California. He claimed the California sky became dulled by too much particulate matter, and the mountains slumped as if they wanted to be somewhere else. He bragged about what he referred to as the manly rugged slopes of the Sandia Mountains hovering menacingly over the Rio Grande valley.