High Desert High

by Steven Schindler

  “Hi, who is this?”

  “Tracy, who’s this?”

  “Tracy, are you related to or friends with Paul?”

  “He’s my dad. What’s going on here?”

  “Tracy, there’s been an accident, and Paul is hurt. I’ll call 911, but it will take them forever to get here. We’re about two miles from your dad’s house.”

  “We can be there in five minutes. We just stopped for coffee down the road. My friend’s an EMT.”

  Tracy got the directions, and she and Heidi sped to the location. Heidi was ready for anything. Her Ford F150 was a 4x4 and she had a medical-grade first aid kit on board. They went a little airborne when they turned off the washboard dirt road and went over a berm. A left turn at an old shed, and there they were. Mabel had turned on the four-way flashers on Paul’s Escape just ahead.

  “I called 911, but they won’t be here for 20 minutes at the least,” Mabel said, waving them over as Heidi grabbed her heavy-duty tricked-out Sears Craftsman multileveled and drawered tool kit. “I got here a little while ago. He’s still out, but breathing.”

  “Hurry,” Tracy said quietly but firmly to Heidi. She was not going to lose her cool. She was not going to lose her father. Not now. Not after all she’s just been through. Not even after the big blowout they just had. Not after just getting him back into her life. Could God be that cruel?

  Heidi was as calm as she was swift. She went through every protocol to ensure survival. She thought he was definitely going to make it. No broken bones. Neck, face, air passages all good. She doubted there was internal bleeding. The vehicle was not badly damaged. She surmised it came to an abrupt stop against the soft sand berm, rather than in a high-speed crash. He missed a large boulder by about three feet. She inspected his eyes.

  “This is weird,” Heidi said calmly.

  “What? Is he okay?” Tracy said trying to contain herself.

  “He seems all right. He’s unconscious, but I think he might be….”

  “What?” Tracy said, staring to lose her cool.

  “He may have drugs in his system. The eyes. The respiration. The pulse. The skin. I don’t know.”

  They all heard a siren at the same time and saw the flashing red light in the distance.

  Heidi ran to her truck, turned it around with a move worthy of Danica Patrick, and positioned it on a high boulder facing the road, with her roof-top searchlights illuminating half the desert. She flashed them on and off.

  The ambulance arrived and swiftly went into action. Everyone helped get Paul onto a stretcher, then a gurney, and into the ambulance. Heidi identified herself as a Marine Sergeant/EMT/medic. Tracy went in the ambulance with Paul and they sped away.

  “How did you ever find him?” Heidi asked Mabel, both gazing at the accident aftermath. “Are you like the Lone Ranger or something?”

  “I don’t know why I was even out this way. I haven’t done a moonlight ride solo in while.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Oh boy, did I!” Mabel said, tending to her horse. “Wait! What’s that? Oh no. Poor thing!”

  Off to the side of the trail hunkered against a boulder was a large injured dog, licking its back paw with a gash on its head.

  “Maybe that’s what Paul saw and he had to swerve to avoid hitting it,” Heidi said, shining her flashlight on it. “What can we do?”

  “If you can wait here a few minutes, I’ll go back to the ranch, get my truck and a doggie crate, and I’ll take care of him. I’ve already got about thirty animals on the mend. And he’ll be the smallest of the lot. I run the horse-rescue ranch.”

  “I’ll be here,” Heidi said, comforting the dog, who seemed to be quite appreciative of her concern. She petted his head, and the large pit bull mix, which must have weighed over 100 pounds, made whimpering noises like a puppy who wanted a treat. She remembered she had some beef jerky in her truck. The dog watched her as she went to the truck and returned with something in hand. He was thrilled to have something to eat. He didn’t have a collar. Typical for the desert, she thought to herself. It was a veritable dumping ground for unwanted animals, from rabbits bought at Easter, to sick, old, or just plain unwanted dogs and cats, to even lizards and tortoises. Usually just the larger dogs survive in this hostile environment. There are many predators looking for easy prey in the harsh dog-eat-dog desert.

  Mabel arrived quickly with her truck and parked a few yards away. The dog only growled one time as Heidi and Mabel coaxed him into the dog crate with some dog food. It took both of them to load it into the back of her pickup and secure it. He was quiet and nuzzled up against a plush dog toy.

  “He’s on the mend already. I’ll get him to the vet in the morning,” Mabel said hopping into her truck.

  “Who pays for that?”

  “I do. Like the dozens of other critters that find me somehow. I’m a 501c non-profit, so I do fundraisers, but I haven’t been in the black since day one. I’m not complaining or soliciting. The good Lord provides.”

  Heidi reached into her pocket. “Here’s forty bucks. It’s all I’ve got.”

  “Twenty would be fine,” Mabel said, stuffing a bill in her pants pocket. “Call me at the ranch if you want to help out in person.”

  “We will. I’ll give you an update on Paul. I’m going to the hospital now.”

  Heidi knew the High Desert Medical Center well. There was a hospital on the Marine base, but she made many runs to and from the medical center, with patients and sometimes with a body bag.

  Paul was in a private room, which she thought was unusual until she poked her head in further, and saw a sheriff sitting on the other side of the bed from Tracy. She recognized him as a former Marine from the base.

  Paul was groggy. Incoherent. And babbling.

  “I’ve got to … chase. What in the? Where?” Paul said, barely understandable.

  “What did the doctor say?” Heidi asked Tracy quietly.

  “They said he could be under the influence of something. But his injuries, thank goodness, seem to be minor.”

  “That’s why the sheriff is here?”

  “Yes. He could be under arrest.”

  Heidi crossed over to the sheriff. “Hello sir, I’m Sergeant Heidi Orloff, active duty. Aren’t you McQuade?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Are you related to Mr. Santo?

  “My friend’s father. He’s retired NYPD. Is he under arrest?”

  “Not exactly. Just waiting for the alcohol results. If that’s okay, then we wait for toxicology, which takes a few days.”

  A nurse popped her head in. “Officer, may I see you?”

  “Excuse me.”

  He stepped outside for about ten seconds and was back inside the room. “He had a trace of alcohol, but below the limit. I’m done here. Good luck!”

  Heidi and Tracy stood next to Paul as Tracy stroked his forehead. Suddenly he turned towards her.

  His eyes opened but he struggled to get words out. “Where am I? I saw something. In the sky. Lights. Followed. Latin. Ashes….”

  “You’re okay. You were in an accident. You’re fine. They’re trying to figure out what happened,” Tracy said, calming him. “There aren’t any ashes. There’s no fire.”

  “Ashes…. Beast.”

  “There’s no beast,” Tracy said calmly.

  “It was a dog, Paul. A dog. He’s okay.” Heidi added.

  “There was a dog?” Tracy asked, puzzled.

  “We found an injured dog there. Mabel the horse-rescue lady is taking care of him. Paul must have swerved or something to avoid hitting him.”

  “Ashes….” Paul continued weakly.

  “What about the ashes?” Tracy asked slowly.

  “UFO….”

  “UFO? Tracy asked. “Too weird. Let’s wait and see exactly what’s in that toxicology report. Maybe he was hallucinating. He called me recently after he thought he was slipped some pot brownies.”

  Paul was released later that evening, which would have been about 24 hours aft
er he perhaps unknowingly ingested something. They did an MRI to see if there was any head trauma, and that was negative. And after examining Paul thoroughly, the doctor didn’t think he had any kind of a psychotic episode. Everything was pointing in the direction of being slipped a mickey, and Paul thought the person doing the sneaky deed was Ash. And the mere thought of that had Paul escalating in way that was beginning to scare him. What if Paul had driven home Kate or Heidi and Tracy when the drugs took effect? He could have killed them. And maybe wiped out a vanload of innocent people in the process. What kind of sick mind would do such a thing? It was like a fire burning in his belly that he hoped would not trigger an inferno that he wouldn’t be able to control. He always used that rage to survive throughout his life as a cop. Rage must translate into action in order to do things that most humans would run away from in horror. But a cop has to run towards the danger, despite the imminent confrontation with injury, death, or worse.

  Only one time in his cop years did he have to channel his most primal instinct to use deadly force. If he didn’t, it would have been certain death for a woman, her child, and himself. But the squeeze of a trigger stopped evil with a single bullet. It was hard to see the entry point of the 9mm missile, but it went into the perp’s open mouth. There was no mistaking the exit wound. The wall behind him had a giant Rorschach splotch in deep red. Three people were alive, a mother and child and himself, because he controlled and focused and turned chaos into order with one shot. But he still had regrets. Could he have avoided killing him if he tried something else? If he had waited for backup, or tried talking to him, or who knows? Yes, he had to live with the fact that he killed another human being. It was his job. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to get to that point ever again. But now he needed to find Ash. And whatever happens, happens.

  High Desert High

  Chapter Eight

  Three weeks had passed, and Paul was still embarrassed about the entire episode. Tracy called two, three, four times a day to check on him. Since nothing was definitive in the toxicology report, he could tell that she was asking things to see if he possibly had a stroke or something else brewing in his head, like early onset dementia or Alzheimer’s. It was a well-known fact that Alzheimer’s could begin in one’s forties and Paul was closer to sixty than forty.

  But now that the bumps and bruises of his crash were wearing off, he was having flashes of what happened that night. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone about it. Then they’d think he really popped his gourd.

  The nights were getting cooler in the high desert and the night skies were spectacularly clear. He hadn’t returned any of Kate’s calls or voice mails. He figured he’d just let that be for now. He was actually enjoying the pestering phone calls from Tracy. It really was the first time in his life he had a family member concerned about his well-being. All those years he spent flirting with death on a daily basis, he knew that if he bought the farm one night in a junkie shooting-gallery basement, there’d be an article in the New York Post, and a funeral with hundreds of cops saluting at attention, phony platitudes from politicians, and some teary-eyed toasts at The Buckeye for maybe a night or two. But he also knew back then that there wouldn’t be a first pew in the church filled with a grieving widow, sobbing kids, and family members. The last time he felt like he had a real family was that first week when Marcy came home with Tracy from the hospital. So it was a strange, new feeling that someone actually cared enough for him to call several times a day. And he liked it.

  Paul enjoyed lying in his yard at night on the chaise lounge, gazing at the dazzling dome of stellar spectacles while sipping vodka on ice. But it was during these solitary nighttime sessions that images began to emerge from that night.

  Shooting stars were commonplace. It was a disappointment if you didn’t see one after an hour or so of sky-gazing. But when there was a double dose of cosmic debris shooting in opposite directions, Paul remembered. There had been something in the sky that night. It wasn’t just a shooting star. It had to be a UFO. And he did follow it.

  Was he losing his mind? Did he see a UFO? They told him he was wearing his pajama bottoms and didn’t have his wallet. He knew he wasn’t drunk. Could it be dementia?

  He remembered when his mother was in the nursing home at the very end, she was convinced that her roommate, a practically comatose 101-year-old, was a vampire. She was so convinced and made such a stink, that she had to be moved to another room with a new roommate.

  No. He wasn’t losing his mind. But did he lose his mind that night? The toxicology report showed no signs of opioids, uppers, downers, heroin, pot, or pharmaceuticals. But did they test for everything? Did they test for that old hippie favorite, LSD? He remembered Tracy asking him when he got back home about “ashes.” That he kept mumbling “ashes.” And how they thought he was referring possibly to the accident and if there was a fire.

  “Ash is!” he said out loud, scaring a few birds that apparently were sleeping in a nearby tree and flitted away. “Ash is responsible,” he whispered to himself.

  The hospital confirmed it. They do not check for LSD as part of the routine toxicology report. And it’s too late to do another test now. So it could have been LSD that caused his hallucinations. Of course! Ash easily could have slipped it into his drink.

  Paul was driving too fast and he knew it. He had his wallet on the top of the dash so he would be at the ready to present it to a cop in case he got pulled over, just like he did back in New York when he was on the job. He reached down to pat his Beretta semi-automatic .22 that was tucked in his ankle holster, which was another nervous habit he had whenever he drove in the squad car. His .38 was under the seat. He needed to talk to Kate. She would have the skinny on Ash. And if she didn’t, Jasmine certainly would. He was going to take care of this himself. No need to get the local authorities involved. Plus, what proof did he have? Zilch. Just the thought of presenting his case to a detective made him laugh. Who would believe such a preposterous story?

  As he drove down the dark dirt road in his fully repaired Escape, he began to imagine the look on the detective’s face as he laid out the details of that strange night. And as he began to go over the scenario, little bits and pieces from that evening of insanity and drama began to come back to him. The strange sounds out his window. The beams of white light shining through the blinds. His panic when he ran through the door and saw it. There it was in front of him. A freaking UFO hovering just in front of his house. Beckoning him to follow. Which he did. In a panic.

  “Am I nuts? Did this happen? Was it a hallucination? Am I having a PTSD flashback?” He asked himself, watching for the turnoff to the highway.

  Kate was surprised when Paul walked into the office. She was still behind the counter because her replacement was late. She could still see the bruising on Paul’s face from the accident and he didn’t seem himself.

  “Well look what the cat dragged in,” she said, trying to lighten the moment. “How’s your recuperation going?”

  It was easy for Paul to hide his innermost feelings. Or so he thought. He played these games for decades while trying to get what he needed from a witness or rookie assistant D.A.

  “Great. Everything’s great. I’ve been laying low. You know, just taking it easy for a few weeks. Enjoying life. Living the dream.”

  Living with an alcoholic druggie for all those years, Kate was no newbie when it came to obfuscation and lies. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. Me too. Living the dream.”

  Fake smiles and laughter were exchanged.

  “So to what do I owe this surprise visit? I tried calling you. Several times. Many times.”

  “Yeah, like I said, just getting myself back on track. Do you, by any chance, have an address or phone number for Ash?”

  “Ash? What do you want with that ass? Oh no. Don’t tell me. You’re going to be some kind of hero now? Rescue us damsels in distress from the bad man who sells nickel bags of a legalized substance. You know it’s totally leg
al now?”

  “I don’t care about that. I need to talk to him. There’s something very important I must know and he’s the only one who can tell me.”

  “And if he doesn’t? Then the Lone Ranger pulls out his silver revolver and saves the day? Well don’t expect me to be Tonto in this episode.”

  “You’re not being very cooperative.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Your honor, I’d like to deem Kate now as a hostile witness. Come on, Paul what are you playing at?” Kate even surprised herself that she was shouting so loud.

  “Kate. Calm down. Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m on nobody’s side. I don’t want to be the one who causes some narc to go busting people for nothing and stirring up a hornet’s nest of animosity and vitriol where there was none.”

  “He could have killed me that night.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Kate said, exasperated.

  “He slipped me LSD. I’m sure of it. They don’t test for it with the toxicology report. I had no drugs in me that they found. It must have been LSD. You know he doesn’t like me. He thought it would be some kind of a joke. Slip the narc some acid. Well, I ain’t laughing. I could have killed somebody. My daughter. You.”

  Kate walked around the counter, grabbed Paul by the hand, and pulled him to the office sofa for a sit down. “It’s a dead end. I can’t believe he would do something like that to you. To anybody. He’s not that way.”

  “I need to talk to him. I won’t go Rambo on him.”

  Kate knew that this could be the end of whatever chance they had for a relationship at this point. If she refused to give the information, it was over. And if she did, and Paul got Ash busted, it was over.

  “I’ll get it from Jasmine and I’ll call you with it.”

  “Thanks. It can be a lonely journey for somebody who’s looking for answers. Believe me, I know,” Paul said, forlornly as he exited the office.

  The cool evening’s temperatures were stretching longer into the morning and the afternoons had a hint of the desert fall. Kate had been good about calling and checking on him, but he dared not let her know what his true intentions were regarding Ash. He didn’t even want to admit it to himself. Yeah, he had anger issues, but they were under control, weren’t they? The truth was, he hadn’t been really tested in a while. Those “anger issues” were part of a cop’s survival instincts. Act fast. React with force. Deadly force if needed. Survival of the quickest.