The Cure Conspiracy

by Clayton Jones

  “Vincent, Daryl, how are you?” Lester could turn on the charm when he needed it. The three stood there talking, other than their bank accounts, like three peas in a pod: no values and a kill or be killed mentality. Two learned their trade on the mean streets, one learned in the board room. Equally vicious and uncaring, but the boardroom was far more deadly and far-reaching. Vincent and Daryl might take one or two lives at a time, but Lester could do in thousands, ruin their lives in the name of profits. Who does more damage: a mugger who takes what you have on you at the time and gives you a few anxious moments, or a rogue stock broker or CEO who takes your life savings with a smile and leaves you broken and in despair for the rest of your life. Vincent and Daryl were good at their jobs but they were chump change compared to Lester.

  “So boys, I have this guy I'd like you to check out.” He's right here in East L.A. Working in a garage with medical equipment. I want you to find out everything he knows, get any papers, computers, everything. Once you have all that, make it look like a drug deal gone bad and finish him. Vincent, take another car from the barn, they're all set up and ready to go.”

  Daryl smiled, he hadn't killed anyone in months and it gave him a rush to see someone die. He was already thinking about how to do it. Vincent said he would put the BMW in the barn; it suited him not to use it “for work.” He parked the car and walked down the row of available vehicles: Ford SHO, Mustang GT, Impala SS, Mercedes AMG, Viper, couple other high performance sedans. Vincent knew whichever car he used would be shredded within hours of finishing the job. In the unlikely event that the car was captured by the police, there were no traceable numbers anywhere. Vincent chose the Chevy just because in East L.A. A Chevy will blend in. He didn't take the Ford because he never forgave them for dropping the two seat T Bird. Such was the intellectual thought process of the criminal mind that night.

  Daryl and Vincent were silent as they drove off, each consumed with their own thoughts about how tomorrow would go. Lester ground the cigar into the dirt and went in the house to wash his hands and have a brandy.

  Wayne finally caught his cat and brought it in for the night. He was glad he was able to catch her. It looked like rain and he didn't want her to have to spend the night outside. Things were going well. He smiled and went inside just as the first drops of rain hit him on the face and shoulders.

  Chapter 8 Personal Disasters

  Wayne arrived at his lab after work ready to put in another five or six hours. As he put the key in the lock the door moved freely. He hesitated then slowly pushed it open. Papers and equipment on the floor told the tale; he'd been robbed. “Ah hell!” He walked in slowly, never expecting the intruder to still be there. Drawers were pulled open and papers were everywhere. What equipment he had was either smashed or missing. “Probably some junkies looking for drugs or something to sell; bastards!” He found the rat cage in a corner lying on it's side with the rats still in it. The bottom slid open to reveal the papers wrapped in plastic. He slid the tray shut and put the cage on a counter. He set about cleaning up the place and in about two hours had the majority of it straightened out. Except for losing some equipment, his papers seemed to all be there and that is what he cared about. Wayne finished putting his papers in a pile and put them in his briefcase. For an instant he looked at the cage but decided to leave those papers for a later time. He closed his briefcase and headed for the door. No point filing a police report; they'd take one look at the place and figure drug deal gone bad.

  The door hit him with such force that he was knocked down and stunned. Two men entered quickly and closed the door behind them. “If it's money you're after you're out of luck” Wayne said looking up from the floor. “I've got ten bucks and you can have it.” Short of a life threatening situation anything else can be replaced; no time for heroics. One man was about six foot two hundred pounds with square features, the other slightly shorter maybe one fifty, dark, with a mustache, and weasel like. They didn't answer him, the weasel took the briefcase and began searching through the papers while the other one kept an eye on Wayne. “I do research, there's nothing here of value to yo---” in mid sentence he was kicked in the face and propelled back into the wall. The force of the kick was unbelievable and so fast Wayne never saw it coming. He was sure his nose was broken and about four front teeth were gone. His left eye was a red haze from the blood running out of a gash on his forehead. There was no pain yet, just a great pressure across his entire face. The closest thing he could relate it to was when he was little and slipped and fell on the ice face first without being able to break his fall. He didn't want to put his hand up to survey the damage; it was extensive, he knew that much. The pain came slowly, building with each heartbeat. Every pulse caused more blood to pump out of his forehead oozing down his face onto his shirt. The warm sticky blood was almost comforting. If he could just close his eyes and be totally emerged in the warm thick fluid he could sleep. He was yanked back from the edge of consciousness by someone grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the concrete wall. “Where are the rest of your papers?” It was the weasel. When Wayne tried to speak he found his mouth was numb and full of blood, broken teeth, and his tongue was split. He leaned over and spit, like you do at the dentist; not too hard because you're afraid teeth will go down that little drain along with the drilled out decay. In Wayne's case it was blood and broken teeth that landed on the floor. His speech was thick and slow and the air moving over his broken teeth as he spoke was very painful. “I don't have any other papers, you already looked everywhere. It's all in my briefcase.” The weasel smiled, he was squatting in front of Wayne using his left hand to hold Wayne's head up. With his right hand he reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out a switchblade, held it by Wayne's left eye and pressed the button. Wayne heard the metallic click as the six inch blade snapped open and locked into place. The blade was very sharp, it didn't even tug as it cut through his shirt and left forearm. “Make a fist.” Wayne found that he couldn't close his fingers. Tendons and nerves had been severed and his hand would not respond to what his brain was telling it to do. “Where are your papers?” Wayne thought as fast as he could. If I give them the papers I can always rewrite them; they already went to the Association and soon they'll be public knowledge. It was at that instant that he realized the papers were not going to be made public, they wanted them all so no trace would be left; Wayne was a dead man. If he was defiant they would continue to torture him until he told them where the papers were. He knew they could do it. His only chance to save his research was to let them think he was broken and then maybe they would end it. The only victory left was to spend the next few minutes begging for mercy. It worked, thinking they had everything, the weasel cut Wayne's throat and they stood and watched him drown in his own blood. Then the weasel wiped his knife on Wayne's shirt, closed the blade and put it away. They took the briefcase, turned out the lights and left, closing the door behind them.

  Our first indication that anything was wrong was when we pulled up in front of Wayne's place and there was a police car in the driveway. I told Shawn to wait in the car and I went to see what was going on. A uniformed officer was outside and as I approached he glanced up from some papers he was filling out. “Can I help you?” “I'm a friend of Wayne's, is anything wrong?” “He's been murdered. Do you have some identification?” I numbly handed him my driver's license. “What happened?” Ignoring my question, he wrote down the information he wanted off my license. “How do you know the victim?” “My son is sick and Wayne is helping him.” “Was” he corrected. “Yes, that's right.” I was beginning to grasp what had happened. Someone had just killed our friend and the only hope we had for making Shawn better. “Someone will be in touch with you.” “But my son needs more medicine and...” “The man's dead, he can't help you now. Better find another doctor.” I walked back to the car trying to hold back a rising panic. “Shawn, Wayne's been murdered; we'll have to find another doctor.” Shawn could see I was floored so he said nothin
g. We drove home in silence. I never noticed the car that followed us.

  When we got home I told Shawn to go upstairs and lay down as he would have if we had seen Wayne. I was trying to figure out what to do when the phone rang. It was a police detective assigned to the case and he wanted to talk to me. He came over and gave me some details about what they had determined and then launched into a long series of questions about how we knew Wayne, our relationship with him, and background information about us. As part of the process aimed at getting me to loosen up he told me a few things about himself. Thirty-five, divorced, no kids, lives alone, fifteen years on the force. The last three as a detective. Likes sailing and most sports. I found him likable and easy to talk to even though I was preoccupied about what to do next for Shawn and how to tell Vicki about this latest turn of events. It was during Mike's questioning (That's his name, Mike Malromb) that I remembered Wayne giving me a set of his papers for safe keeping. In the crush of what had happened today it had slipped my mind. For some unknown reason I didn't mention them. After about an hour Mike said he had enough information for now and would be in touch in a few days. After Mike left, I was alone for the first time and began to realize that Wayne was really dead. I had not only lost someone who was becoming a close friend, but also the person who was trying, and it looked like it was working, to save my son's life. What was I going to do; the whole reason for the move was to be close to Wayne, now that was gone. I felt very alone and depressed, everything was building up and closing in on me. I had to be strong for Vicki; she didn't need me added to her list of concerns. I had been active in organized religion growing up but I have a hard time dealing with the elaborate trappings and rituals and the “our religion is better than yours” mentality. So I dropped out and try to live by the golden rule and what feels right, so at times like this I have to dig deep inside myself if I want any help.

  The days that followed were desperate ones. This latest setback was a tremendous blow to us; how do we move forward? We were trying to sort things out when we were dealt another blow. Shawn and I got up early on a Saturday morning to go bike riding before it got too hot. He was feeling pretty good and a moderate amount of exercise seemed like a good idea. We had juice, vitamins and cereal and got the bikes out of the garage. Two ten speeds, identical except that I had put a softer seat on mine preferring the comfort to the smaller, hard seat; I think age should allow some leeway. We never covered more than a few miles on any given trip. The day was overcast with the threat of rain. We were going to bike to a pier a few miles away and then come back. If it began to rain I could call Vicki from a phone at the pier and she would come get us and the bikes with the station wagon.

  We pushed off at seven thirty with Shawn in the lead so he could set the pace and I could keep an eye on him for any signs of getting tired. From the house the road is fairly level with numerous curves as it follows the coast line; which keeps it from being monotonous. I usually give Shawn about fifty feet so we each have our own space and can still communicate. The road was smooth and wide with large shoulders to allow people to pull off to go to the beach or climb the rocks. Short of a separate trail, it was an ideal place to ride a bike. We had ridden about fifteen minutes when I spotted some whales and called to Shawn to stop. We pulled off the road and sat on the edge where the ground sloped down into the rocks and the beach. The whales were headed North and we assumed they were migrating. To see such large creatures peaceful in their environment was reassuring that, at least for this moment, their world was in order. How man can be allowed to hunt them to the brink of extinction shows how delicate a balance there is on the third planet from the sun and how insensitive man is to his place in the overall scheme of things. It's a shame that the majority of people have to suffer the results of the actions of a few because they have the egos to think they are right and rightful beyond logic.

  Shawn and I watched the large gray mammals until they were barely visible. We talked about life and death, growing up, religion, girls, the environment, and other things that come to mind when you're in such a place and have the time to ponder what you're usually too busy to think about. He was growing up in many ways. His disease had forced him to mature or retreat and he met it head on and had the resolve to beat whatever life threw at him. I was very proud of him, as always, but especially sitting there on that overcast day when everything was subdued and all that he is came out and warmed that small piece of time and space.

  A slight drizzle had started and we decided to get down to the pier and call Mom to come rescue us. We had about a quarter mile to go and should be there in a few minutes. Shawn was in front and it started to rain harder; Vicki was going to skin me alive for letting him get wet. Somewhere behind me I heard a car start; it seemed strange because I hadn't heard or seen any and this one had that deep throb of a lot of power under the hood; something I normally take note of being a “car nut.” Tires spinning on the pavement caused me to look back over my left shoulder. It was a big, black, mid sixties muscle car and it was coming at us like a freight train. “Shawn!” I hollered as the car swerved toward me. I went off into the dirt as the car missed me by inches. As I was falling I saw Shawn still on the road just now starting to look back; he never had time to react. The car was doing at least sixty and accelerating as it bore down on him. I'll never forget that sound. The car swerved a couple more times before it disappeared around the next curve.

  As I ran up to the twisted heap of flesh and metal I was hollering “No! No!” I was afraid to touch him for fear his neck or back might be broken. There was a bone sticking out of his shin but no blood flowing. I felt his neck and I couldn't find a pulse. In shock and hardly able to see through my tears, making crying sounds like a wounded animal, I carefully unfolded the crumpled body by the side of the road. I could feel the lumps under the skin that told of broken bones and organs out of place in what seconds before had been my living, breathing, son. I held him in my arms and kept the rain off his face as I smoothed his hair and told him he would be OK; until people pulled me away. A motorist had seen us within minutes after it happened and had gotten help.

  I came out of a drugged sleep the next day. Vicki was there in the hospital room holding my hand. “Are you OK?” she asked and I replied with an equally ridiculous “Yes.” After the doctor decided I had regained my senses enough to be released we were allowed to go home; Vicki drove.

  The funeral was a few days later. Shawn had signed up to donate his organs. They were only able to take a couple things because of the cancer and the damage from the “accident.” We spread his ashes at sea per his wishes.

  Several weeks after the funeral we decided to go out for dinner in an effort to break the routine and try to take our minds off everything that had happened. We went to a pretty nice place down the coast overlooking the ocean and a small harbor. The first rough spot was when we drove past where Shawn was hit. Vicki, Samantha, and I each started talking at the same time to try to distract each other. The second bad time came when we were waiting to be seated and the hostess came up and with a smile said “three?” I told her we'd like a table for four overlooking the ocean; it was going to take a long time to adjust, if ever. The meal was good and we each tried hard to pretend we were enjoying ourselves.

  Driving home there was a full moon and a cloudless sky. We were driving back in silence along the coast. Except for an occasional oncoming car, and one some distance behind us, we were alone on the dark winding coastal road. I noticed that the car behind us was drawing closer and then there was a red flashing light on it's roof and a siren. I wasn't speeding, in fact since Shawn;s accident I had avoided driving as much as possible. Vicki had had one drink at dinner and asked me to drive home; how could I refuse. “Must be responding to a call.” I said to Vicki and Sam as I slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. To my surprise the car pulled over right behind me with lights and siren still going. Knowing what was coming, I pulled out my wallet and got my license out. I heard two car doors slam b
ehind me. I was looking straight ahead, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. “Get out!” I turned, startled at the gruffness of the Officer. What I saw was not a member of the California Highway Patrol but a short dark man with a mustache. Plainclothes police? I still hadn't caught on. “Out, all of you, NOW!” I was about to protest when I saw the drawn gun. We got out and stood by the side of the car away from the road. In the moonlight and flashing red light I could see that the other man was larger. The shorter man was clearly in charge. He glared at me. “You're staying here. Your wife and daughter are coming with us. If you try to cause any trouble it will go badly for all of you.” I quickly assessed the situation. Alone at night on a dark road facing two armed men with my wife and daughter, I didn't see any course of action other than to do as he said. “Take whatever you want, just leave us alone.” “You're in no position to bargain. They'll be safe as long as you cooperate. No police, no one else.” The other man shoved my wife and daughter into the back seat of the black four door sedan. “Go home; we'll be in touch.” His gaze never wavered, the gun barrel leveled at the middle of my chest from four feet away; nothing to do but obey. He told me to leave first. I gave him all the cliches about not harming my family. He laughed. “Go before I give you a limp in your other leg.” He was enjoying himself. I got into the car and the thought crossed my mind to run him over but where would I go from there? There would still be the other one to deal with and he had a gun and Vicki and Sam in the car. I put the car in gear and drove off down the road. In the mirror I saw the headlights swing around and head off in the opposite direction. I thought about trying to follow them, but I was in no position to do anything.