Vigilante Angels Trilogy

by Billy DeCarlo

  He pulled his sea bag from the closet and stuck his arm in up to his shoulder, moving items around, searching for the pill bottle. Starting to panic, he yearned to hear its rattle. He began pulling items from the bag and then moving faster, dumping the contents onto the floor. He dropped to his knees, scrambling across the floor to check every item that had fallen.

  He ran back to the kitchen, opening drawers, flinging the contents to the floor. It didn’t take him long to toss the small house thoroughly, and finally, he threw himself on the bed, accepting the realization that had crept into his mind not long before. I insisted that Molletier take them, even though he continually refused. I said I didn’t really want to live all that long, just buy some time in paradise and die somewhere nice.

  Everything that had been giving him joy a moment ago fell away in an instant. He noticed the two small black vials among the mess strewn across the floor.

  TARA PLOPPED DOWN IN front of her laptop computer and stared at the screen-saver. It was a picture of her and Tim in ski gear, smiling with rosy cheeks and ice-frosted eyelashes. Cheater. Liar. I guess it’s time I finally change my settings. She logged in and went through her gallery of pictures, trying to find another to replace it. I need a picture of Tommy and me.

  Only in viewing the gallery of thumbnails did she realize how unlucky in love she had really been. She had given her heart to each of them and been promised the same in return, only to be let down in the end. Thus, I find myself here, in paradise. Alone.

  She thought back to the morning on the beach. Just Tommy. He seems kind of nice. Fun. Not too full of himself. Not overly aggressive. He was cute and shy, not wanting to look at me. So different from the others. He sure passed that test.

  She thought about what Tommy had said about his illness and the miracle cure. Doesn’t make sense. What was the trial he mentioned? Forbaxatel? Let’s see...

  She opened a browser and visited a few of the sites she remembered from her nursing days. None of them yielded information on the drug. She did an internet search, which resulted in some hits. She read through the uses, dosage, side effects, interactions, and comments on the trial results.

  “Called the anti-chemo for its temporary rejuvenating effects.” Temporary.

  “Should only be used under the supervision of a physician.” Something’s not right.

  “When the cancer has developed a resistance to this drug, it comes back aggressively, and life expectancy is significantly reduced, perhaps less than it would have been under standard treatment.” Oh, Tommy. This isn’t good.

  “Because of these problems, the trial has been suspended.”

  Tara stopped to try to make sense of it all. She wondered how he could be taking a discontinued experimental drug in the middle of nowhere, without a doctor’s supervision. Is he a doctor, perhaps? Was he on the trial and didn’t return his supply of the drug? Maybe he bought it on the black market.

  She liked him and wanted to believe the best, as she always did. She thought about the pictures in her gallery. As I always have.

  She went back to the search results, scrolling down to look for more information. One toward the bottom of the list caught her eye. “New York Man Still Wanted in Cop Murder and Trial Drug Heist.”

  She hesitated, then clicked the link. The picture stared back at her. It wasn’t the kind man with the white Hemingway beard, but it was clearly the one she had seen in the picture in his living room—the clean-cut version of the very same person. When she recovered from her initial shock and found the courage, she continued reading the article.

  13 Wanted Man

  Tommy sat on his couch with the television on, staring past it and out of the window to the brightly lit day. On the coffee table in front of him lay a notebook, a pen, a black vial, and a loaded 9mm handgun with the safety off. Whitey lay next to him, sleeping.

  He looked over at the dog. I never did ask Tara about taking care of you, because everything got better. You’re better off without me, Whitey. You and Tara both. Now I don’t have long. I want to go out like this, healthy and happy, not decrepit, miserable, and a burden on her. Business first.

  He picked up the notebook and began writing his last letters. He struggled to write the first one through the tears that fell. The second was easier. Then he started the third letter.

  Dearest Tara,

  Whitey suddenly jumped up and ran to the door, startling Tommy. He rose quickly to look down the path out front and saw her coming, moving fast on her bicycle. He ran back to the living room, scurrying to put everything away. He had just finished and flopped back down on the couch when she rushed through the door.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  “Yes, we do,” Tommy answered. “Please sit down.”

  She did, and they locked eyes. “You’ve been crying,” she said.

  “Not a tough guy like me.” He motioned to the kitchen. “Damn onions.”

  “Tommy, I told you I was a nurse. I wanted to help you. I was trying to do some research on the drug you’re taking. I was worried that you didn’t seem to have a physician in the loop.”

  “Yeah, about that...” he started to say.

  “Wait. I don’t think you know what you’re doing. Forbaxatel was discontinued. As you know, it had miraculous, rejuvenating results early in the trial.” She took his hand.

  “I know, that’s why I...”

  “But then, Tommy...” She had started to cry, and the words were not coming easily. “But then, when the trial stops or the cancer figures it out, it comes back hard. With a vengeance.”

  Tommy hung his head. “Just my luck. Vigilante cancer, how ironic.”

  Her tone changed, anger creeping in. “Which leads me to the other thing. When I was searching for the drug, I saw a story. A news article about a fugitive wanted for his involvement in two murders. Actually, two fugitives, who stole a lot of Forbaxatel from a hospital pharmacy. One of them is still on the run. Allegedly, somewhere in Florida. Tommy Borata.”

  He looked at her, trying to decide what to say.

  “I didn’t lie to you, Tara. I did retire. I just didn’t tell you everything. How could I? And I never dreamed we would get involved. Well, maybe I did dream, but I never thought it was possible. I wanted to keep a low profile. Then I fell in love with you. After that, I wanted to protect you. It’s called plausible deniability. I figured we’d ride it out together down here. Everything changed when I started getting better.”

  “You were involved in two deaths, Tommy. How could you...”

  “And you indicated you may have been as well. We’re not all that different, Tara.”

  She reacted swiftly, slapping him hard. “Don’t you dare compare anything I’ve done to those gruesome murders...”

  He became angry. “Dead is dead. If people died, what difference does that make? I know all about you sixties radicals and the bombings. That’s no delicate way to die. We talked about this. Bad people need to die sometimes, so that good people don’t die.”

  He hesitated and then softened his tone. “That priest molested a lot of kids, including my boy. That cop made my son’s life miserable, taunting and bullying him relentlessly until I was sure he was going to kill himself. Then he killed my Bobby. He killed my beautiful boy, Tara.”

  Tommy paused as emotion overcame him, then took a deep breath and continued. “The cop was as crooked as they come, and he was hell bent on locking me up. I was just trying to clean the world up on the way out, to make up for who I used to be and mistakes I made. Me, Moses, and Sensei Molletier—that’s what we were all dedicated to.”

  She looked at him, weeping. “I don’t know what to do. Everything was so different just a day ago. I have feelings for you, Tommy. But what you did...”

  “Listen,” he interrupted her. “You have options. You can turn me in, or you can pretend you never saw that article. Hopefully, they don’t figure out that you searched on that trial drug and put two and two together and come looking for us her
e. That’s the new kind of investigation my kid did with the police force.”

  He realized he was scaring her, and calmed down a bit. “I’m almost out of the drug, and I’m out of time, Tara. I don’t want to ruin your life as well. Take a day to think about it. It’s a big decision. We both need time to think, and we both have decisions to make.”

  Their discussion had relegated the television to background noise, but in the silence that followed his last comment, the morning newscast came to the foreground, and they watched.

  “With the shocking results last night from five state primaries, Candidate Brand has won the Republican nomination for President of the United States.”

  They looked at each other in disbelief. “He’s going to win this thing,” Tommy said in quiet acceptance. “This son of a bitch is going to win and take this whole goddamn country down.”

  “I don’t think so, Tommy. It’s a protest vote against the Republicans. The people won’t allow him to win the presidency.”

  “Have you seen the crowds? It’s a movement. The ‘protest’ is massive. I think he’s going to do it. It won’t matter for me, but it will for people I love. Like you, and your kid.”

  The news brought a further decline in their mood.

  “Wait,” Tommy said suddenly. “You said one of them is still on the run. Did the article talk about the sensei? He’s locked up? Is he in South Korea, or did they extradite him?”

  She retook his hand. “He never made it, Tommy. They were waiting for him by the time he went to the airport to fly out. He backed off and holed up in New Jersey. He was doing okay, concealing his identity and laying low, until he ran out of the pills and started to go downhill. By the time they found him and closed in, he was in pretty bad shape.”

  “Oh no,” Tommy said.

  She continued. “The cancer didn’t get him. He got a tip that they were coming. He’d been following it on the news. They found him in his bed. He had taken some kind of poison. It said he had left a note for you.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Tommy said. “I’ll see him soon. Moses too.”

  “How many of the pills do you have left, Tommy?”

  “Four.”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “We can stretch them out. I know how.”

  “And what?” he replied. “I get a few extra days out of it before I start going downhill fast?”

  “Every day is a gift, Just Tommy. If I can get even a few extra days with you, I’ll take them. Why don’t we forget everything and spend them together? I know of a place right on the water not far from here that we can use. It’s remote, all by itself on a small key. Friends of mine own it but rarely use it. I’ll get Micco’s brother to run the stall for me for a while. He likes the extra money. We’ll have a little vacation, just you and me. You’ll start to get sick after that, but I’ll take care of you. I know how to do that, too. I love you, Just Tommy.”

  “I love you, Tara. I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t deserve you. The cops might find me before the cancer takes me out. It might bring attention to you, and that would be bad. I would be a tortured soul in the hereafter, knowing I came into yet another beautiful life and ruined it. You could go to jail.”

  “I’ll take that risk. Besides, I know nothing. Some crazy Hemingway-looking retired guy came here and stole my heart. That’s all I know.”

  “I need to know something. Will you take care of Whitey for me?”

  “Of course, any time you need it. I love Whitey too.”

  “I mean...forever. After I’m gone.”

  “Of course, Tommy.” She kissed him, and the stress and pain went away from him for as long as their lips touched.

  She disengaged and looked him in the eyes. “Anyway, sound like a plan, mister?”

  “It sounds good to me. Go take care of business, Tara. Let’s take the day to think things over, and get together tonight to talk more. We’ve been hit with a lot today. I want to make sure you aren’t just acting out of the emotion and shock of the moment.”

  They embraced outside the bungalow, and she left on her bicycle, singing as she went down the path to the road.

  Tommy returned to the cabin. He was saddened and overwhelmed by the news of the Sensei’s passing and Brand’s nomination. He turned the television back on and sat down on the couch. I have decisions to make. Big ones.

  He thought about the letters he’d been writing and the gun and black vial that were hastily stashed in his bedroom dresser. He weighed his earlier inclination to end it all against spending his remaining time with Tara. Killing myself isn’t fair to her. It’s not heroic. It’s not how I want to go out.

  The news was showing exclusive coverage. Brand was preening before a large audience. Tommy paused to listen.

  “I’ll return the country to a place of God; I’ll turn back the perversion that is overtaking us because we allow those gay heathens free rein and equality with normal people. I’ll unshackle our police to use their full force on the scum that fills our cities. I’ll return our country to a military powerhouse and destroy our enemies.”

  Brand paused at the mic for dramatic effect, and the crowd grew quiet in anticipation. “In closing, I want to announce that we’ll kick off our presidential campaign with an extraordinary event. To honor our brave, heroic military veterans, I will hold a special rally and event in Miami very soon.”

  At that moment, Tommy felt a renewed purpose.

  14 Temporary Utopia

  Each of the following days was the same: discrete, singular, and perfect. Each was a thing unto itself—packaged and treasured like the remaining pills that kept him whole.

  As they rose every morning to enjoy the sunrise, they renewed their vow to live in the moment; to not anticipate the hours ahead and to not dread having used each one up.

  Tara always woke first and watched him sleep until he began to stir. She gazed at him, wondering what dreams a man might have, knowing his time on earth was so short. At times he seemed blissful, and she hoped he was dreaming of her. Other times he wore a mask of consternation and thrashed in his sleep as if trying to break free from unseen bonds.

  She allowed herself to wonder what life would’ve been like had she met him earlier; before everything had come to this. He seemed to be the one she’d always hoped would come into her life.

  When he finally began to wake each day, she would put her hands on him, massaging muscles that had been ravaged and wasted by the disease. Some days, the massage made way to making love, but other times they just held each other until finally giving in to the rays of sun that rose over the ocean to invade the room.

  They began each morning with tai chi, meditation, and a light breakfast on the beach, and she could see that it was bringing him peace. They spent the bulk of every day there, under a large umbrella on the ratty green wool military-issue blanket. They each chose a book from the well-stocked bookshelf in the cabin and read passages aloud dramatically, laughing at each other’s lack of theatrical skill.

  When they became too warm, they rose and went to the water, shedding their clothing to the sand along the way. They swam far out, rising and falling together in the rolling waves, and playfully chased each other and held each other, laughing, each time the prize had been captured.

  At times he would rise up and walk off on his own, often stopping to gaze out over the endless ocean, and she watched from the blanket. He would return and sit quietly, and she knew not to disturb him until he came around to her.

  Their meals were light, simple, and organic. Tara had chosen the best items from her stall and the market’s other vendors and stocked the kitchen well.

  As each late afternoon began to give way to evening, they returned to the cabin to clean up, then went back to the beach for the sunset. They refused the television and took their dinner each evening by candlelight. Some nights they played board games, laughing at each other’s clumsy and blatant attempts to cheat.

  They retired each night to the sparse paneled bedroom, d
isrobing to sleep naked as they had agreed, and made love slowly and passionately as the evening breeze billowed the curtains into the room, carrying the scent of the ocean and the sound of the waves from outside, which seemed to crash in time. And then they would lie in the dark, holding each other until they fell asleep.

  They smoked pot, but not to excess, finding their times of clarity more enjoyable.

  One evening, after they had eaten dinner and were waiting on the beach for the sunset, she produced a Thermos.

  “Would you like to try something?” she asked.

  “Coffee? Sure.”

  “No, something very different. This is peyote tea. Micco makes it. Natives in the Southwest have used it for hundreds of years for ceremonies, medicine, and visions. Especially for healing ceremonies, so hey, you never know!”

  “What the hell,” Tommy said. “I got nothing to lose. Let’s give it a try and have a little ceremony right here on the beach.”

  “Fair warning, Tommy. It’s a psychedelic; it contains mescaline. You’ll be tripping. One of the rules the natives had was that no negativity could be introduced. Everything had to be positive. I’ll be your spiritual guide.”

  “How could anything be negative, here on this beach with someone like you?” he asked.

  She removed the plastic cup from the top of the Thermos and poured some for him. He took a sip and gagged.

  “Good lord, this is horrible,” he said.

  “Yeah, it’s best to just toss it down the hatch,” she laughed.

  He did so, and then she poured a cup for herself and consumed it.

  “Can you imagine, Tara,” he asked, “if every day of life was like this? Maybe in some advanced version of society, when robots are doing everything for us?”

  “It already is, Tommy, for people like me and the others who live here. They have to sacrifice material things, but they do it, so they don’t donate their lives to running on a hamster wheel to make others wealthy.”