Panacea

by Brad Murray

  “Jimmy,” said Emma. “Stop. Come talk to him.”

  Jimmy shook his head and continued working, not bothering to look at his mother this time. He wouldn’t have any part in letting go of the man so easily. La’Roi leaned back on his haunches and sighed heavily.

  “Jimmy,” said La’Roi, defeat in his voice. “You’re gonna want to say what you got to say to the man.”

  La’Roi locked eyes with Jimmy, silently communicating that there was no hope. Jimmy’s heart sank. He knew. He knew that if La’Roi – a man who’d seen it all in his years as a paramedic – if La’Roi was giving up, there truly was nothing that could be done. Jimmy wiped away the collected pool of blood one final time, handing the crimson-covered towels to La’Roi. Rising up solemnly, Jimmy saw Jenny. She stood behind the sofa, hand covering mouth, desperately trying to hold back tears. Jimmy leaned in, taking his father’s hand in his.

  “Dad,” Jimmy whispered.

  “Bud.”

  Epilogue

  July 4, 2016

  The old white 1972 Chevy pickup roared as it tore down the busy I-44 interstate at 75 miles per hour. While the steady July 4th weekend traffic scurried across south-central Missouri, his mind was focused on the road ahead, a singular focus on his destination. He had told them he would meet them by noon, and he absolutely hated to be late – especially for something of this magnitude.

  Jimmy loved getting the refurbished old truck out for a drive; testing the limits of its rebuilt engine. The aftermarket air conditioner was a great addition, particularly on a day like today, when it was 90 degrees though it was not yet noon. He shot off at his exit, bounding around the slow-poke farmers and vacationers who dared impede his path.

  The old truck sang proudly as it thundered down the country road’s worn pavement, and it spun a cloud of dust into the summer wind as its wheels veered onto the dirt road. Jimmy rose over the slow rolling hill and the house came into view. He checked his watch – 11:59 – and stomped on the accelerator. Whipping the truck around the drive, he came to a lurching stop in front of the old farmhouse, sending a cloud of dust and dirt over the freshly painted exterior.

  “Damn,” thought Jimmy, eyeing the pair of vehicles parked at the end of the drive. They’d beaten him here.

  Jumping out of the cab, he grabbed the plastic bag and started towards the front porch. Before he could even get the door shut, she came leaping down the stairs, a streak of blonde hair scampering towards him.

  “Daddy!” screamed the little girl in utter delight. Her arms were extended in front of her grubby face and dirt-strewn t-shirt. She carried something dark in her hands, extending it like an offering.

  “I made this for you Daddy!” she exclaimed proudly.

  Jimmy took the glob of packed mud from her little hands and pretended to take a bite.

  “You made a mud pie for me, Sophie?” he smiled, pretending to chew. “How’d you know it was my favorite?”

  She giggled in delight, her blue eyes shining as brightly as the summer sun.

  “Grandma told me.”

  “Your daddy is late,” Emma called from the porch swing. She was knitting, rocking comfortably in the shade, a knowing smirk on her lips.

  “I’m right on time, Mom,” Jimmy protested. “I said I’d get the meat and be back by noon.”

  “You go ahead and tell yourself that,” laughed Emma. “But they’ve been here for ten minutes already. So you’re late.”

  Jimmy rolled his eyes and picked up his daughter in one arm.

  “Not my fault they’re early. Where are they?”

  The screen door creaked open. His wife poked her head out, a glass of iced tea in one hand, the faint sound of a Journey tune reverberating from somewhere inside.

  “They’re out back…waiting for you of course,” Jenny winked. “Why don’t you and Sophie go on back and get the burgers on the grill? Everyone is starving, hon. I’m working on the salad - be out in a bit.”

  Jenny’s gaze lingered, her shining eyes and gorgeous tan skin taking hold of Jimmy’s heart the same way it had done that first time he’d seen her – the day he’d practically fallen on his face coming off Brumeux’s jet. She was happy – you could see it in those eyes. It was the kind of happy that made his life worthwhile and made him wonder how he’d ever lived a day without her. He mockingly blew her a kiss and headed around the side of the house toward the backyard with his daughter propped up on his shoulder.

  “Daddy, I don’t like firecrackers,” Sophie declared, sticking her curious face into the plastic sack of meat.

  “You don’t, Princess? Why not?”

  “Too loud. And scary.”

  “Don’t worry, Daddy will keep you safe.”

  “When you start the firecrackers I’m going inside with Grandma.”

  Jimmy chuckled. Sophie may have only turned four a few months earlier, but she had already developed her own little personality. She was fiercly independent and sharp as a tack – like her mother. Hopefully, Jimmy thought, Sophie would inherit only the Jenny part of the Wicker blood, and not the cruel and merciless part. It had been over three years since Jenny’s grandmother had died – and almost four since her Uncle Lars had passed. They didn’t even think about attending their funerals, despite the fact Lars and Letta had kept their word and retired in silence from the Alicante - Brumeux’s warnings about injecting their families and friends had done the trick. According to Dr. Minkowski and the Order’s intelligence, the Wickers never uttered a word about Jimmy being a human panacea. Of course, it helped that Malvado as well as one of the Sisters was dead, and the surviving Sister would spend the remainder of her days locked up in the very prison cell in which Andy had resided for so long.

  Jimmy rounded the back corner of the house, a spring in his step. He had his daughter on one arm, a bag of red meat in the other, and a full day in front of him; full of the people he loved the most.

  “There he is,” a pair of voices shouted in unison from a picnic table under the shade provided by an enormous oak tree.

  “Hey J.P., you remembered my ribeye, right?” La’Roi yelled. “You know I gotta have my ribeye!”

  “Course I remembered,” laughed Jimmy. “You wouldn’t let me forget.”

  Jimmy lowered Sophie to the ground and pulled a ribeye from the sack. He held it triumphantly in the air, reminiscent of the “circle of life” scene from the Lion King. As La’Roi quickly approached, Jimmy extended his hand, ready to shake. La’Roi brushed it aside, offended by the offering. Instead, La’Roi wrapped his arms around Jimmy’s mid-section and lifted him off the ground, squeezing half the air from his lungs.

  “How you doin, my friend?” grinned La’Roi, finally letting Jimmy back down to earth.

  “I was good til you broke three of my ribs.”

  “Rub some dirt on it, mama’s boy. You’ll be fine.”

  “Speaking of fine,” Jimmy said, nodding to the picnic table under the oak, “who’s that?”

  La’Roi grinned from ear to ear. “That… is her.”

  “Her who? Am I s’posed to guess?”

  “Her. Monique.”

  Jimmy stared blankly back at La’Roi.

  “Monique you dumbass! The one that got away, remember? The one you and your Dad were giving me shit about that night in the airplane.”

  “Oh! That Monique?” said Jimmy, a little too loudly for La’Roi’s comfort.

  “Shhhh. Quiet goddammit. I don’t wanna make a big deal about this, so play it cool for me, would ya?”

  “I thought you were going to give up on her. What happened?”

  “Well, when I looked her up five years ago, she was in a relationship. But you know La’Roi Dawkins ain’t gonna give up, so I kept tabs on her. Found out she was back on the market a few weeks ago, so I made sure to bump into her.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “Wanted it to be a surprise,” beamed La’Roi. “Besides, Jenny and your mom woulda made a big deal out of it. Prob
ably doted all over her and embarrassed the hell out of me.”

  “True,” said Jimmy. “But you gotta know you need all the help you can get. How’s it goin’ so far?”

  “Well, I guess she likes me enough to come to this godforsaken place and meet your dumb ass. So that’s somethin’, huh?”

  “That’s great, man,” said Jimmy, putting his hand on La’Roi’s shoulder. “I’m proud of ya.”

  “I’m proud of me too. Now come on over and meet her. But remember, play it cool.”

  “I’m always cool.”

  La’Roi muttered a snide remark under his breath and walked Jimmy over to the picnic table where Monique and two others sat sipping on iced tea while snacking on potato chips.

  “Monique, this is my friend, Jimmy Porter.”

  Monique stood up, smiled, and offered her hand. She wore cropped halter top with a patriotic stars-and-stripes pattern. A couple of inches of her midriff showed; and what it showed was that Monique was in seriously good shape.

  “Good to meet you, Monique. I’ve heard so much about you,” Jimmy smiled as he took a purposeful glance at La’Roi.

  “Oh really?” grinned Monique, her perfect teeth shining paper-white. “What have you heard?”

  La’Roi’s jaw was clenched and he gave Jimmy the “shut the hell up” look.

  “Just that Romeo here once wrote you a corny love poem,” laughed Jimmy.

  “Yes he did,” said Monique, grinning from ear to ear. “But I didn’t think it was corny at all. It was actually really good.”

  “La’Roi Dawkins, a poet?” boomed a deep, thickly accented voice. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Hey Dr. Minkowski,” said Jimmy, shaking the Russian’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, James? Call me Dmitri.”

  “Nope. Won’t do it. Doesn’t feel right, Dr. Minkowski.” Jimmy rounded the other side of the table and greeted the blonde-haired woman sitting across from Minkowski.

  “How are you Tatiana?” Jimmy said as he hugged her. “Thanks for coming.”

  “We would not dare to meeees it,” said Tatiana, her accent even thicker than Minkowski’s.

  “Dr. Minkowski, how are things at…work?” Jimmy asked cautiously.

  Since Brumeux’s death, things at the Order had changed drastically. First, Minkowski, being second in command, was the natural successor to the throne. His first order of business was to dip into the Order’s coffers, shelling out a small fortune to the Porter family – recompense for years of indentured servitude, pain, and suffering. After all, the dozen or so enormously successful private companies that were hatched from Brumeux’s entrepreneurial brain had been conceived from the wonder that was Jimmy’s blood. It was only fair, Minkowski concluded.

  The Porters gave huge sums away; foundations and charities were created, devoted to causes close to their hearts. The building of the Parsons Regional Medical Center, which included the purchase of a small fleet of new ambulances, was one of the first. They anonymously and generously donated to causes that supported single mothers, and to children from broken homes. They gave liberally to America’s wounded veterans, established an endowment for the National Holocaust Museum, and set aside small amounts for projects of their own. Jimmy restored the old Chevy pickup, complete with new engine and air conditioning, and he did his mother proud by investing in the refurbishment of the old farmhouse. The house maintained its charm and character after the restoration, but a bit of paint and a boatload of new wood to replace the rotted stuff made it seem like new again.

  Minkowski kept in place the part of the Order that protected humanity against the Alicante, as well monitored the other potential menaces that popped up from time to time. For it was that part of the Order that Minkowski believed in - the part that looked out for the little guy – the billions of them - and made sure families like the Porter’s could live in peace. He’d serve the Order until his dying breath, alongside Tatiana, the love of his life. Together they’d keep the peace by doing what they did best – caring for others over self. It had become the couple’s purpose in life, and in it Minkowski found the peace-of-mind he’d always longed for. He had calmed over the years – his volcanic temper and obsession with order had tempered. Perhaps it was his progressing years, he would joke to friends. But deep down he knew it was the calming influence of Tatiana, and the purpose he’d found in leading the Order.

  “Things are fantastic, James,” smiled Minkowski. “Always plenty of work to be concerned with, but nothing to be concerned about today.”

  “No talk of work today, James,” said Tatiana. “Today is a day of family. Tell us, how is your family?”

  “Family is good,” said Jimmy. “Great actually. Jenny will be out soon and Sophie….where did Sophie run off to?”

  Jimmy searched the backyard in every direction, not finding his daughter anywhere. A tiny streak of panic was about to set in, when La’Roi patted Jimmy’s arm and nodded towards something behind him.

  “There she is,” said La’Roi.

  Jimmy turned to find Sophie standing in the doorway of the garage, hand-in-hand with a messy-haired, grease-covered, stocky young man. He wore a grubby pair of coveralls and carried a crescent wrench. He appeared mildly annoyed.

  “Give me a minute, Sophie,” he said in a soft voice. “I’ve only got a little bit more work to do.”

  Sophie stubbornly tugged him forward, pulling him out of the garage.

  “C’mon Uncle Coop,” she pleaded. “I want to play.”

  Cooper looked at Jimmy exasperatedly for help, but when no respite from his brother came, he gave in. He dropped the wrench on the concrete floor and made a scary monster face. He raised his monster claws menacingly into the air and let out a deep, petrifying roar. Sophie squealed in delight, and shot off like a miniature rocket across the lawn with her uncle enthusiastically giving chase.

  It was a sight Jimmy still had not gotten used to; Cooper running. It had been five years since Minkowski helped the Porters remove him from the V.A. hospital, and into a plush, Order-controlled patient room. Jimmy’s panacea was just that – a cure-all. It healed Cooper’s broken spine, mended his broken spirit, and gave him a new lease on life. Cooper’s sheer desire and bullheaded determination put a charge into his recovery. He worked day and night at teaching himself to walk again. And on the day he showed her he could do so without assistance, Emma bawled tears of joy for a solid hour. It was damn near the best day of Jimmy’s life.

  Damn near.

  Emma and Jenny popped out from the backdoor of the house, carrying an assortment of dishes; Jenny’s special strawberry salad, a dozen deviled-eggs, a dish of potato casserole, and Emma’s pumpkin pie – an “ancient family secret” – as she called it. After a near disaster and some skillful dodging of Sophie and Cooper’s monster chase, the girls had delivered their wares to the picnic table.

  “You haven’t even started the meat yet?” asked Jenny incredulously. “What have you been doing all this time?”

  “La’Roi won’t leave me alone,” said Jimmy. “He’s distracting me.”

  “La’Roi, leave him alone,” chided Emma. “The boy’s got work to do.”

  “Always my fault,” said La’Roi, shaking his head, feigning frustration. “I’ve been coverin’ for Jimmy’s trouble-findin’ ass since the day I met him.”

  “Coverin’ my ass?” laughed Jimmy. “Don’t forget who saved you that day.”

  “How about who saved us?” said La’Roi. “Jenny did land that plane in the middle of a damn hurricane.”

  “I did save all of our asses, Jimmy,” Jenny said nonchalantly. “Landed us in the middle of a damn hurricane.”

  “What about me?” Minkowski beamed. “I saved La’Roi’s ass from the Irish girl…”

  “Oh here he goes,” said La’Roi, “can’t go five minutes without Dmitri talkin’ ‘bout me owing him my life. I woulda handled her, St. Louis style,”

  “Seems like I hav
e a vague memory of you getting your ass kicked by her twin sister,” smiled Jenny.

  “Who asked you, Jenny?” said La’Roi. “All I know is…”

  “All I know is it sure sounds like there’s a lot of saved asses out here,” a voice called from the garage. “Like a prayer vigil at a donkey convention.”

  The group at the picnic table turned their heads in unison. The man in the garage smiled from ear to ear as he strode casually toward them. He was covered in grease, like Cooper. He wiped his hands with an only slightly less filthy rag as he approached. Minkowski stood, waiting to greet him.

  “Andy,” said Minkowski warmly, “how’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been great, Dmitri,” he said. “Coop and I have been working on restoring an ole’ Mustang out in the shed.”

  “They’re out there day and night,” complained Emma.

  “Good father and son project,” grinned Andy.

  Andy made his way around the table, greeting his guests. Once he recovered from La’Roi’s bear hug, he made his way to greet Monique, and wrapped one arm around Emma and the other around Jenny.

  The ten of them spent the day laughing and eating, and retelling stories that had only grown in exageration over time, as stories amongst family and friends do. There was no specific mention of Benoit Brumeux, though he was there with them in the back of their minds. Though his actions were unforgiveable, they had come to believe his intentions were, in fact, noble.

  And it was in his final action on earth that defined Benoit Brumeux - he chose to save Andy instead of himself. He had always harbored responsibility for the horrible accident that claimed the lives of Andy’s father and his two friends. Andy’s father had bled out, despite the fact he carried a cure-all within his veins. His wound had been too severe; the miracle inside of him had been pumped out faster than its ability to heal. But he had fatefully brought along that extra vial of golden serum, the blend of Porter blood and catalyst that exponentially sped up the healing process. Brumeux saw his chance to make amends. He could have chosen to heal the gaping knife wound in his abdomen, but instead he chose the Porters.