Ask Not For Whom The Panther Prowls

by Astor James Monroe

  I ran in while Morrison found a spot for the car. As I was standing in the elevator, tapping my foot with impatience as it stopped at every floor and slowly, far too slowly, chugged along, a matronly woman asked, “New baby?”

  “No, ICU. My wife is in the ICU.”

  “Sorry, hope she lives.”

  “So do I.”

  When I finally reached the floor and entered the waiting area, Reggie Goodwin and Danny were there. Danny cried “Will please!”

  I stopped and talked, there wasn't much I could do if I went further. Danny grabbed me for comfort.

  “How is she?”

  Reggie replied, “She's alive. On a respirator.”

  “What happened?”

  “Laura and Danny were in the front yard kicking the soccer ball around. She collapsed and I called 911 when Danny ran in.”

  Danny looked at me. “Will, you're a detective aren't you?”

  “Yes.”

  He held out a small airgun dart, the kind you can buy by the thousand online, if your local Walmart doesn't stock them.

  “What's this?”

  “It hit mommy, there was a car, a blue car. It came from that, then it drove off.”

  I put the dart into a small plastic bag and handed it to Reggie. “Detective Morrison, Alvin, will be up here in a few minutes. Make sure he gets this. Danny, will you tell him what you told me?”

  “Yes.”

  Reggie asked me, “Will, what are you going to do?”

  “I'm going to take a look at Laura. If they'll let me I'll leave these flowers in her room.”

  He suggested, “Write her a note, too. If she recovers, she can read it.”

  “I will. Danny will you be OK for a few minutes?”

  I sat in the hall, watching her from a distance. It was as close as the staff would let me come to her. The respirator chugged through the evening, complemented by the ping of the heart monitor. Laura lay there, motionless. There was so much I wanted to say, and now there might not be a chance. It depended on whether her body could degrade the toxin quickly enough to clear it before the damage was more permanent.

  12. Language Arts.

  Morrison called me early in the morning. “Want to do it, come with us? I've got the warrant.”

  Careful police work following up the papers and other evidence left in Li Chen's room had uncovered the connection between him and a professor in the ESL department. Alvin thought it would be a good idea if I accompanied his men on the arrest.

  “Let's do it. Meet you in Woodruff park?”

  “Starbucks.”

  “Good.”

  We met in the Starbucks by the acute corner of Woodruff park across the street from Aderhold building. There wasn't a lot to discuss, but a little planning would go a long way to avoiding a complete fuck up. The ESL department was on the 12th floor of 34 Peachtree street. There were two fire escapes, both locked at the bottom and a bank of elevators. Only the three elevators on the left stopped on the 12th floor, and if Dr. Ryan evaded us, there were only two exits to the building. It wasn't going to be a difficult pick up. We stationed officers on the ground floor and went in.

  In the end it was even easier than we thought. Morrison and I went to room 1220 and knocked on the door.

  “Enter.”

  We opened it and there he was. He sat calmly at his desk, and had been reading the morning AJC.

  “I've been expecting you to visit me ever since Li was killed. What took you so long to find me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think I wanted those students killed? If I committed any crimes it was in China and India. Neither place is well known for their worrying too much about academic honesty.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Morrison stopped me. “Dr. Ryan you know that whatever you say can be used in evidence, and that you can have a lawyer? You don't need to tell us anything.”

  “Yes, yes. You've given me my Miranda warning. I don't care. I suppose Uncle Sam could be worried about tax evasion on my hundred thou or so, but I'll just pay what I missed with interest and the IRS won't care.”

  “But?” This was not at all what I expected.

  “Look Will, I know that your son, Laura's son liked Jane. So did I. What did it matter if some chink thought she was hot? I'll dance at their wedding if it comes to it. If I'm still free invite me, or see if I can get some leave from prison.”

  Morrison stepped forward with his cuffs. “Dr. Ryan, I'm afraid I have to arrest you.”

  “If you must. You don't need the cuffs, I'll come. It's a relief that this is over.”

  I stopped them, “Before we go what was it about Li?”

  “How do you think I arranged the virtual tunnel? I can't even reliably turn on my PC. I was over there recruiting for GSU when we talked. He found a channel in the dark net that was used for voice and image data. He and his buddies in Falun Gong or some damn church or another were using it to avoid arrest. We just hooked in and borrowed a tiny bit of the channels extra capacity.”

  “Voice and image?”

  “Dames, broads, what do you want to call it? Order your Russian bride, but take a look first, make sure she's up to spec. Wasn't just Russians, or for that matter just brides. We just used it to tutor a few poor sods in English.”

  “Voluntary brides?”

  “Not completely. Actually I doubt it was ever really voluntary. There were a lot of Filipino or Bengali 'maids' for the mansions in Buckhead and a few other places I don't remember. At least I assume they were maids. Compared to them, the occasional ringer we supplied for a TOEFL we supplied is practically virtuous.”

  “Before we go, what can you tell me about the dark channel.”

  “Not much, There's a hub in Atlanta. Here.” He tossed me a USB data stick. “That's what Li found.”

  I turned to Morrison. “We need to make sure he'd protected. I don't think we want him taken out, do we?”

  “No.”

  2

  I walked to Northside from the MARTA bus stop. The ride gave me time to be alone in my thoughts and given the usual state of Atlanta traffic helped me stay calm. The ICU staff, by now familiar with me, let me into her room. The respirator chugged away quietly in the background while she lay there immobile. The heart monitor beeped repeatedly with a steady rhythm. Over to the side of her bed was a vase with a dried bunch of roses in it, and a note, from me. it was still unopened.

  One of the ICU nurses came over and asked me, “You're her husband aren't you?”

  “Just married. I hope it lasts, we had a big argument just before -”

  He gave my shoulder a shove, “It usually does, just be patient and tell her you love her when you can. I have some good news for you.”

  “Good news? She looks the same as always, yesterday, the day before.”

  “She isn't. She's under our anesthetic now. Still needs the breathing tube, so we have to keep her sedated, but she's on the mend.”

  3

  I was leaving Northside after another visit the next day. Laura was still under anesthetic, but the doctors assured me that it was only a matter of a day or so before they would start to wean her from it. She'd be fine after that, though it might take her a while to completely recover from the poison. It depended on exactly how much had been used.

  Wandering out into the parking lot, which was one of the easier ways to get to MARTA, I felt a sharp sting on my arm, looked down and saw the air-gun dart. The same kind as Danny found when Laura collapsed. I flicked it off, but it was too late, I began to feel woozy. The blue Mercedes that was next to me began to speed off, but not before I recognized Dr. Jones from the International Studies Department in the passenger seat. He was putting away his air-pistol. I pulled out my pistol and fired at the car as it pulled away. The noise of racing engine and the screams of onlookers filled the air. The sounds came from all around me. I hardly noticed the reports from my pistol as I squeezed off the shots. Five, Six, Seven shots and then it locked open. As
I blacked out the last thing I remembered hearing was a satisfying crash as the car piled into a concrete pillar in the parking deck.

  I awoke in panic with this horrible thing sitting in my throat and forcing air into my chest. Then I drifted off as the anesthetic removed the consciousness of my ventilator pipe from me. Sometime later I awoke for good. I was alive. I tried to turn my head, but nothing worked right. My eyes could just barely focus. There was Laura, or at least a Laura-shaped blur. As my eyes finally began to focus, it was clear it was her. She was sitting by me. Her were eyes red with tears and tiredness, and she was wearing that damned necklace. “La – Lu”, I tried to speak. My mouth didn't work.

  She looked up, then kissed me on my forehead, possibly because it was the only place available. “Will, don't try to speak. Until enough of the toxin is clear, you can't.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “Can we try again?”

  Everything would be alright.

  4

  Well not quite immediately alright. I'd fired my firearm in a 'gun-free' zone in a hospital at a fleeing car. It didn't matter that there was enough evidence in the car to convict the occupants of murder and attempted murder several times over. Stopping suspects was the police's task, not mine.

  As soon as I could hobble about with a cane, I found myself on the wrong side of the court in the pretrial hearings. We rose when Judge Josephs entered. He wearily looked around the room, and spotting Ms. Brown began, “Ms. Brown, the prosecution can begin.”

  “I'm sorry your honor, I'm helping with the defense this time.”

  That was a shock, Laura was well-known as a hot-shot prosecutor. This time she was working for the defense. He paused, then asked, “Would the prosecutor begin?”

  It didn't take very long in the end. The evidence that I discharged my weapon in a hospital parking lot was non-contestable. The question before the court was whether it was a criminal action. The proceedings had just barely begun when Judge Josephs called the prosecution and defense attorneys to the bench. They turned on a loud buzzing sound to mask their discussions from the jury and the public. It was rather obvious from their body language that they were having a heated discussion.

  Judge Josephs abruptly switched off the noise and the two attorney's returned to their seats. He asked me to rise. Unsteadily, with the aid of my cane, I did. He began to speak.

  “Dr. Sharpe, I understand that you were firing at the people who just shot you with a dart. A dart of the same sort that killed or seriously injured other people. Including Ms. Brown.”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Did it hit you?”

  “Yes, your honor, and I was in the hospital until last week from it.”

  “Just answer the question I asked. I also understand that due to your quick action at least one of the gang members was caught. I was told the other member is a fugitive and is believed to be overseas.”

  'Yes, your honor.”

  “Were you working in close cooperation with the police, particularly with Detective Morrison of the Atlanta Police Department?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “Finally, are you a licensed private detective who can be an officer of the court if need be?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  He turned to the prosecuting attorney and glared, “Why are you wasting this courts time with a trivial case like this? I have a full docket, and this case does not belong on it. Case dismissed, no charges against the defendant to be entered.”

  After the hearing adjourned, in the few short minutes before the next one started, Laura and the new prosecutor were chatting about legal practice. I rather hoped she'd give him a few pointers about using his discretion when choosing to prosecute. I mean he seemed a nice enough fellow. Meanwhile, Morrison came over to congratulate me on what he considered to be my narrow escape. “That new prosecutor, he's trying to make a name for himself.”

  “I think he is, just not the sort he would like to have.”

  “Yeah, but he's young. Maybe he'll learn.”

  I paused, and then it hit me. “Alvin, there's a big difference between the first attacks and the ones that took out Laura and me.”

  “There is?”

  “Time. Laura and I collapsed almost at once, the other ones were an hour or so after they were stung or scratched.”

  “Damn Will, that is odd. Do people differ that much in how they respond to this stuff?”

  “I can check, but I doubt it. There's either two groups using different toxins or something has happened to their supply.”

  6

  Arthur sent the bill for Argus's services to GSU. Then to a collection agency. Eventually Argus received a check for our services. It bounced.

  13. Lost and Found.

  I agreed with Laura. My, well Helena's and my townhouse had to be cleaned out. It was time to make a clean break with the past and get rid of the crap. The townhouse was in a good school district, so we could move in if we wanted. Otherwise, we would just sell it. I'd let her decide that. There was a firm she used for her father's estate sale. They'd paw through everything, evaluate it, sell it what they could get and haul the rest off to the dump. For a fee, of course. It was well worth it.

  Laura let me keep my distance. I signed the paperwork, gave her authorization and went off to keep busy. Her call was a surprise. “Will, you need to come here. I'm at the townhouse.”

  “Why?”

  “I can't say over the phone. It's important.”

  “Has the cat coughed up another hairball?” It was our prearranged cover for a distress call.

  “No, he's fine. No hairballs”

  I quickly made my way back to the townhouse. Laura was sitting on the couch in the living room, smiling amidst the disorder, with a shoe-box on her lap. “The sale agents said we probably didn't want to sell this.”

  “Why?” Laura liked one or two of the pieces of jewelry I'd given Helena, and insisted that the rest go. I couldn't imagine her wanting to keep Helena's shoes. Especially, this pair, in an old box from the discount shoe store in Toco Hills.

  “Come here. Sit next to me and look.”

  I sat and took the box from her. It was extremely heavy. Laura chirped in excitement, “I think it's part of the missing gold.”

  I opened it. Something like a hundred ounce bars were neatly stacked in the box. On top was a letter. It was in Helena's handwriting. I started to read it, then gave it to Laura. “It's really for you.”

  Dearest Will,

  If you've found this, I'm long dead. I wasn't a very good wife for you in the end.

  Laura commented, “I told you she was a skank.”

  I'm sorry and please forgive me. I hope you found someone else, someone who would faithfully love you the way I can't. Let her read this and make sure she understands you are totally hers now. I can't undo the pain I'm sure I caused you, but maybe these will help you to build a new life.

  H.

  We sat there silently for a moment. Laura looked at me. “Will, it's not ours. It belongs to the university, the state, it's evidence.”

  “Evidence of what? It was Helena's, she's clearly given it to me. It is ours. They don't want to see it, hear about it or anything. It will only cause them problems.”

  Laura was dubious about my argument. “I'm not sure about that Will.”

  I took Laura's hand and squeezed it. “I'm not letting you turn this in. If nothing else, it will be Danny's college tuition.”

  Laura kissed me. “I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking straight. You know Will, we need to go over everything in this house before the estate sale. Who knows what else is here?”

  14. Return of the Chemist.

  Dr. Rogers watched the television in the nursing home. There wasn't much else to do. Nor was there much choice in what they watched. Fox news. Its fictional version of current events didn't help bring the psychiatric patients back into touch with reality. On the other hand watching it made the first months of his extended trip even more surreal. Unfortunately, th
e massive dose of nano-encapsulated LSD he took was beginning to wear off, and the news was changing from an enjoyable background of improbable events to what was simply an annoying noise.

  One local exclusive caught his notice. The dart murderers were caught. Not quite, but one was caught and the other had skipped the country for home. The news anchor was interviewing some APD detective or another about how this violent and lethal gang had been rounded up due to the cooperation of Georgia State University. He shouted “Like Hell.” Then he turned to the blue-haired woman in the reclining chair next to him and said, “Time to wake up. It's been real Ethyl, but I must be going.”

  It wasn't clear that she understood what he said, and it wouldn't have mattered in any case. He pushed the lever on his chair, stood up and stretched. “God that feels good.”

  The night nurse looked at him. “Mr. Rogers, John, what are you doing?”

  “Sorry son, but it's time to leave. Can't say it's been the most pleasant of stays, but I'd recommend this motel to anyone who needs it. I'd say it rates four and a half bed-pans.”

  It wasn't that easy of course, but as Dr. John Rogers was clearly in command of his faculties, the next week found him back on the street, blinking in the unexpectedly bright light of an Atlanta Fall.

  “Damn,” he said to no one in particular, “I didn't think it would take them that long.” His lab had long since been closed, with his students disbursed to other, more productive, or perhaps, better stated, more active and alive mentors. He called a taxi, and after a bit of negotiation convinced it to take him to his condo block at a discount. At least his key still fit.

  He turned the lock and cautiously pushed the door open. There was a slight resistance. “Doubt that's cobwebs.” He pulled it closed and locked it again. “I'll have to ask the landlord to get it cleaned before I move in. If he does it the day before payday he can save himself some money.”

  He sauntered down the hall, pushed the elevator button and waited. Two burly Hispanic men came and stood beside him. One on each side. He missed the elevator, as, at their forceful suggestion, they took the stairs. They used the back exit, hurried him into a waiting car and sped off.