by Gary Starta
Dr. Ed Garfield called for the removal of Grimes from the NBN network in an off-air tantrum. “Grimes’s conclusions were outrageous. They were nothing less than a witch hunt. What if he suspected me or my colleagues of such crimes? Would we have been lambasted on the public airwaves by him without so much as legal counsel? The needle proves nothing in the way the congressman contracted his disease. His disease hasn’t even classified so no educated person could even hazard to guess the congressman was purposely infected with it.”
Garfield later volunteered to appear on the conservative MSC network in hopes of restoring the good name of the medical community. Debates, ranging from how the media breaks news to the public hatred of medical practitioners fueled discussions in a domino effect. Each cable news station gave large chunks of air time to the controversy which eventually became classified as mere „fark" – urban slang for tabloid journalism.
“This is a ratings game and nothing more,” stated Agent Price in her one public comment. “Dr. Gonzalez is only being held for questioning, he has not been arrested.”
Yet news of Gonzalez’s detainment troubled Tampa Police Chief Palmieri to not only resign her post but to travel to DC to meet with FBI officials within hours of the broadcasts. The now ex-police chief was perhaps the only law official in the country who realized Gonzalez’s detainment actually warranted top news billing.
Palmieri found herself on the other side of a desk this time attempting to bear Agent Price’s obvious disapproval with reserve. Her hands shook as Price cast constant disdainful stares at her throughout the interview.
“Can I remind you Agent Price that I came here on my accord? I will not tolerate your rudeness. If not for the welfare of Dr. Gonzalez, I would leave.”
“I’m sure IA back in Tampa would welcome your return.”
“I am not on the run, Agent Price. I resigned. But you are correct. If Internal Affairs brings charges against me, it is at their sole discretion – not yours.”
Price paced her office, pausing to gaze out the window.
“Okay, I’m listening, Ms. Palmieri – not judging. Tell me why you believe Dr. Gonzalez is not guilty of any crime, although I remind you the Bureau has not brought any formal charges against him. Seems to me, you’re putting the cart before the horse. And I usually find that people who do such things harbor guilt. Is it because one or the two of you are involved in some kind homegrown terror?”
“Dr. Gonzalez came to you with good intentions. He simply wanted to apprise the public of a lethal epidemic. He has obviously made you aware of the incident in Tampa. And it’s logical to conclude the death of the congressman might be connected. Why would a guilty man apprise you of such concerns? The answer is: Dr. Gonzalez is not guilty. Not in the least. I, on the other hand, willfully admit to falsifying reports. You are right. One of us is guilty. It’s me. I am prepared to face the consequences for my actions. But my actions were warranted. You have to concur the bizarre crime scene in Ybor City left me little choice. Was I supposed to announce a flesh-eating criminal is at large? Would the Bureau – blamed for covering up everything from UFO"s to Marilyn Monroe’s death – have acted any differently? I challenge your hypocrisy, Agent Price. Stand by Dr. Gonzalez and alert the public of a conspiracy. It’s plain to me that Gonzalez was set up. Evidence was planted. His character leaves no room for doubt.”
“I’m glad you vouch for him, Ms. Palmieri – now. I’m just confused why you didn’t listen to Gonzalez in the first place – especially since you uphold his character in the highest regard. But that doesn’t mean I share your assessment. There is doubt about Gonzalez. I’ve watched the news. Conclusions were drawn about the ME"s possible involvement.”
Palmieri waved her hand. “All circumstantial, I remind you. None of it is a basis for arrest. It’s why he hasn’t been charged. Now I suggest you let me talk to him so I can apologize for my mistake. You might want to observe how that’s done; it seems to me the Bureau could use a lesson.”
***
“I wish I could say I was glad you came,” Gonzalez said to Palmieri through a glass window. “But I’m not. You’ve only targeted yourself for public ridicule – if not worse.” He paused to point at his orange jump suit. “Need I say more?”
“You’ll be out soon. We’ll find people who believe you.”
“Ah, that’s funny. You didn’t believe me. In fact, I don’t even think my lawyer believes me. But he does agree I’ll be out within 24 hours. But that’s only because the Bureau is so fucking incompetent.”
“What do you mean, doctor?”
“I mean the substance they found in my baggage probably will remain a mystery. Bureau lab techs are probably scratching their asses right now wondering just what the hell they’re trying to analyze. To be fair, I don’t think I could come up with an answer either. Whoever is behind this is good.”
“I have a good mind to challenge your detainment. How could they have known a needle was in your bag? Would it have shown in the luggage X-rays?”
“I don’t believe so. What tipped off the alarm was a belt buckle of all things. It was tucked into one of the sleeves of my suitcase.”
“Do you suspect it was planted along with the needle?”
“I can’t be sure. The darn luggage is so old. The buckle…I don’t know. It could be mine. I tend to save everything like a packrat.”
“But even so. Someone planted evidence on you. How would they have been given the chance?”
“Via my room, I have no doubt. I stupidly tipped the hotel manager off as soon as I arrived. I started asking questions about the congressman’s death.” “Which happened right here in this hotel…”
“I know. I walked right into whatever this is.”
“Whatever it is, it’s bigger than both of us. I should have listened to you.
I’m sorry, doctor. I didn’t see the bigger picture. I foolishly believed I could contain something I didn’t want to admit happened. I behaved arrogantly. I failed to do my job, to protect the public. But I promise you, I will spend the coming weeks doing everything I can to rectify the situation. I just don’t owe this to you; I owe this to the citizens of Tampa. Especially…when you consider an infected man or woman is out there.”
“I appreciate your candor, Chief. But the truth is there’s little you or I can do now about this. Our reputations have been sullied whether warranted or not.”
“You mean the press… Yeah, you’re right. I can’t believe they referred to you as „Gonzo" Gonzalez. The bastards…”
“That’s what I’ll be known for, from now on. And you’ll be known as the ex-police chief who falsified an investigation.”
“No. I refuse to believe that. These bastards behind this; they’ll mess up. They’ll be exposed one way or the other.” “Maybe so Chief; but it will be too late. I think whoever is behind this disease will unleash it in a big way soon.”
“Then we’ve got to urge the Bureau, the District Attorney even, that the perpetrators must be caught at any expense.”
“Won’t be easy; if it were, I’d be under arrest. The reason why I’ll be released is that they can’t identify whatever resides inside that needle. If they could, they might prove it to be a lethal weapon in the death of the congressman. I have to believe he was injected. I talked to the coroner working his case. He claimed there were no bite wounds. That leaves me to conclude one thing.”
“Yes. It seems to have been engineered. Injected… Well, hardly the work of zombies, if I must say so, doctor. Anyway, if that’s the case, whoever killed Comiskey might be a victim as well. They could have been either bitten by yet another victim – or…”
“Given the disease by injection,” Gonzalez said. “But we don’t know who.”
Palmieri recalled her paranormal experience with Amado James. But even though the crime lord was able to appear in two different places simultaneously
she doubted a thug of his kind could engineer such a disease. She had to conclude he was one of the victims. He might even be responsible for Chomsky’s death. But Palmieri would not come clean about everything. She had already learned the hard way coming clean didn’t make everything okay. And if she did report James’s possible involvement, she might very well be jeopardizing the life of her best friend’s daughter. Her cop instinct told her that James purposely targeted the young woman. She couldn’t be certain why. Maybe to expose the disease, the way she and Gonzalez now hoped to do. But if that were the case, the bastard crime lord would have little luck. The last words of Gonzalez echoed in her head as she exited the J. Edgar Hoover Building: “If they can’t use the needle and its contents as evidence to pin the crime on me, how they will ever be able to pin the crime on the real perp?”
Chapter 21
A fuzzy head was better than a shaking hand. At least that’s how Brendan McKean, ex ATF, current extortionist viewed things. He stood before his nemesis, the scum who gave him reason to break some laws for the greater good; one of the kingpins of the Florida underworld: Amado James. He had been simply making deliveries of the encapsulated blue pills to James in exchange for cash – the crime lord in turn, swallowing up the drug in hope to retain some semblance of his dirt bag humanity. McKean wondered, his head still buzzing from whiskey, what good the money he collected had done for him. Still divorced, still retired. Amado James, though thoroughly screwed, was still alive.
McKean believed watching James squirm and plead for his treatments, not to mention collecting some of the blood money James had stolen throughout the years might afford him serenity. But peace of mind apparently could not be bought by Brendan McKean. He tossed and turned at night, mulling over his use of the tainted green bills. Yes, they were laundered; he was spending untraceable cash which could not be linked to crimes. But that’s what bothered McKean especially. He was getting away with the one thing he hated most about James and his like. He was enjoying free meals and free merchandise, particularly his new HD flat TV, by duping others. His money was no good because his money had been James’s money. And to make matters worse, he delivered money to Brinkhaus, willingly funding a means to spread James’s supernatural affliction upon others. Reasoning that the „others" might be vermin like James did nothing to quiet his conscience. The bottles of booze certainly hadn’t helped. He only drank today to steady his hand because today McKean had to amend his agreement with Brinkhaus.
He gathered from watching the news that Congressman Katz had been collateral damage. He foresaw no reason why Brinkhaus would unleash his disease upon one sole public individual. And if Brinkhaus had not infected the congressman that meant there were other players out there, playing on a large field – the United States of America – a place he had once sworn to protect as a government agent. His conscience refused to accept being part of that team. So today, McKean would buy passage to a place where he could no longer witness these player’s crimes. A place where serenity was promised once you paid for your misdeeds. He had served his country well. His one misdeed was to give in to his lust for street justice. It would be a big misdeed for his personal God to overlook. But McKean believed his God considered all circumstances and motivations before passing judgment.
McKean kept the gun trained on James as usual. He pushed the pill filled duffel bag across linoleum flooring to its recipient. The foyer he stood in could have been a palace fit for royalty, he thought. Well-lit with overhead chandeliers, the floor shined. One could never see James’s true character in this atmosphere. They could never see the murderer, the thief or even the woman beater. McKean took a long pause to wonder what it would be like to be ignorant. It certainly would be bliss. He wouldn’t have to carry out his plan. If only he were ignorant.
“You’ll notice your buck is going a bit farther today,” McKean said, his voice flat.
“Well, that’s cryptic. I highly doubt you’re taking pity on me. So, what gives?” James asked.
“You’ll get nothing more than the pills and like it, scumbag.”
“You know what I’d like. Just one little picture of the fucking bastard behind this, what’s so hard about that? You’re willing to give me a generous supply of pills. What’s a little photo going to cost you? I’ll even pay extra for it. Now, do we finally have a deal?”
“No deal. You get the pills only, period.”
“It seems to me that you’re giving me extra pills because you’re afraid of the damage I’ll do without them. If that’s the case, and I’m sure it is, then you can appease your conscience by giving one little goddamn photo. Then I’ll take care of your boss and voila – no more problems, no more nagging dreams waking you in the middle of the night. And,” James paused to point a finger at McKean, “Don’t tell me you’re sleeping soundly because you look like refried shit.”
“Stop pointing your finger at me. I’ve got a gun on you. I can end your sick existence, whatever it might be now. I really can’t tell the difference. You were a monster before, now you’ve become a new kind of monster. Once a monster, always a monster,” McKean said, his voice now giving rise to emotion. He cocked his head and spat. “See, your shiny floors can’t protect you from what you are. You’re scum. And I’ll never help you find my boss. You’ll never get that satisfaction.”
“But if I don’t stop your boss he’ll make other monsters. Do you think he’ll regulate this affliction to the likes of me? Do you think he’ll exclude people like your ex-wife and daughter from his equation?”
“I told you before. I don’t have…f-f-family.” McKean’s speech slurred. He heard it plainly. He knew James had.
“Come now. You’re stuttering. That means you’re lying, which means you really do care for your fucking wife, despite your split.”
“I’m drunk, that’s all. I needed a good stiff drink so I could handle the gross image of your punk ass little face. Good you’re not a TV star. Imagine you’re pug like face in high def.”
“You probably even care about that nice congressman, I can’t remember his name but he was leading the charge on the war on drugs.” James laughed smugly. “And we all know how that war is going to play out, don’t we?”
McKean brandished the gun at James. “Slide over the bag. I want my money.” He hoped his interest in the tainted bills might conceal his true agenda. He wanted to see the surprised look on James’s smug, pug face before he left.
James obliged, kicking the bag across the floor. McKean pretended to take great interest in it, training one eye on it. James spoke again to refocus McKean’s attention.
“But to get back to the congressman for a moment, I do think his death proved my point. That the disease will be spread in the same fashion it was given to me – by injection. It’s a humane way for criminals to infect their victims. It’s how you did it. God knows you would have failed horribly if you had to bite me…like an animal. And I’m sure it pains you greatly to see me here, still a man, still a human, despite my changes. You see, I’m not an animal. Thanks in part to the pills. So again, I remind you, I can stop your boss from giving this shit to the innocent. I can stop your pain because I can stop your boss. I don’t think he’s cut from the same cloth as me. I think he’s a learned man. And with me, that makes him a weak man.”
McKean laughed. He waved the gun. He felt some shaking in his hand despite the steady buzz of alcohol consumption. He thought it might be adrenaline. It had to be. It was almost performance time anyhow. His hand would be steady enough when the time came.
“That’s funny,” McKean added, “I recall a prior conversation where you said I’d be the one trying to end my pain – not yours. Do you remember that?”
Now James’s composure fractured like a slight crack in a wall. He stuttered. “What are you getting at, Mr. No Name? My money isn’t good enough for you? Isn’t enough to ease your condition?”
McKean scratched his forehea
d with a free hand. Lost in thought he barely noticed the change in James’s posture. He surmised he had called James’s bluff catching a faint whiff of desperation in his tone.
James’s head began to bow. His hand clenched in front of his stomach. Engulfed in rage, McKean became blind to physical details.
“No. You see the problem is…is that THIS,” he waved the gun in the direction of the money bag, “Is NOT your fucking money. It’s your victims" money, you rat bastard…”
McKean was to face to face with his nemesis in a heartbeat.
But how can this be…? He blinked. Another image of James still stood across the room from him, head bowed, anguished by some kind of pain.
The doppelganger swung at him. McKean ducked, head throbbing from drunkenness, he wobbled. He caught his balance as James reared back for another swing.
This time McKean was ready. He stiff armed James’s punch, cradling his hand gun near his gut. Then he head butted James, pivoted to situate his free arm in prime striking position, and leveled an elbow into James’s rib cage. But the spitting image of Amado James seemed hardly daunted. Wild eyed, devoid of his usual cynical wit, James bared teeth. Now he appeared as the animal he had denied becoming just seconds before.
McKean realized even combat training would not deter the savage monster James had transformed into. He would have to risk missing the stunned look on Amado James’s face – the real Amado James – the one standing across a foyer from him. The one crippled with a mysterious preoccupation; quite possibly a preoccupation which produced a twin.
The gun was pointed just beneath his throat. The stage was set. The curtain was up. Time for the performance of a lifetime…
McKean amended his deal with devils. He would not deliver pills to fund Karl Bronchus’s sick research any longer. A bullet tore through his skull sealing the deal, splaying red droplets of blood along with human brain matter all over Amado James’s slick and shiny floor.