The Quartet
Intro
by ipam
Smashwords Edition Copyright 2012 Pamela Joan Barlow
Smashwords Edition, License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
CHARACTERS
Austin Bartholomew Berrington, IV, billionaire, C.E.O., Quartet Associates, Coral Beach, Florida
Franklin Ferdinand Mangrove, III, billionaire, C.F.O., Quartet Associates
Stuart Thant Gage, III, billionaire, C.O.O., Quartet Associates
Thomas Edison Sawyer, III, billionaire, lawyer, Quartet Associates
PROLOGUE
Knock! Knock! White door creaks, oddly. Yellow light glows, eerily. Black wheels squeak, nosily. Silver metal on cart scrapes, loudly. Visible dark skull female voices flute soprano at archway. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey!” Child wears yellow leg cast with blue smiley faces & signatures of friends, reads comic.
“Clifford, right, kid!” She blows flute soprano.
Clifford cocks, sideways skull, inquires, friendly. “Ya know me?”
“Chart, kid.” She points, rudely at clip board.
“Oh! Yeah!” He giggles, silly.
“Cookies, kid.” She offers, friendly.
“COOKIES!” He touches with hand, yells, painfully. “OUCH! Hot!” He drops cookies to tray, rubs sting on finger pads.
“Hot plate, kid.” She warns, un-carefully, sits milk carton on tray.
“No, your hand.” He clarifies, cautiously, eye burns her fingers.
“Hurt, kid?”
“Naw. Stings a little!” He grabs cookie, heads towards mouth. She reaches for leg caste. He objects, commandingly. “Don’t! Hurts from the shots.”
“What happened, Mom hit you, kid?”
“My Mom’s sweet and nice. She’d never do that. She loves me.” He frowns, ugly, talks, nicey.
“Pushed out a tree, kid?”
“No! Jumped high up, way up on my bike, smashed the bone...” He points, rudely middle of leg caste. “Here.” He chuckles, lightly. “Didn’t cry? Mom fainted. Dad grabbed me. So cool! Bone sticking out. Blood on...leg, me, Dad, car, floor...EVERYWHERE! So cool! Can’t wait to show my pals.” He describes, vividly, chuckles, lightly, bites cookies.
“Adventure, kid!”
“Kid!” He repeats, boldly, chews cookie, vigorously. “You talk funny...”
“Parents, kid?”
“Told them stay home. Not scared. Mom cried. Can’t stand that? Girls! Just a bone. Told Dad stay with Mom. I’m brave and cour...age...ous. Ten going to fifth grade. Afraid of nothin’, ghosts, witches...or ugly nurses.” He giggles, spits cookies crumbles onto gown, tray, sheets.
“Tough, kid. Ya know, big old hospitals like this one…haunted with souls of the dead.”
“Won’t work? Not scared.” He giggles, silly, spits more crumbles from open mouth.
“Fearless, kid!”
“Yeah, that’s me, the fearless Clifford Milton Burton, the third.” He points at chest, grins.
“Moving along, kid.”
“Good night, Lady!” Clifford Milton Burton, III hails good-bye.
Tues. June 1.estate manor, Austin Bartholomew Berrington, IV, One Coral Lane, Coral Beach, Florida, 33135, bedroom, Waning Gibbous moon, partly cloudy, 74*F, 2:31 a.m. “CLIFFY!” He screams, bolts upright, rubs sweat from forehead.
“Another bad dream, sweetie.” She purrs, softly, rubs, tenderly naked back muscles with soft manicured fingers, smoothes his tense stiff neck muscles.
“My godson...a girl…GIRL with dark hair. Again. I saw it, again.” He talks, firmly.
“Allow me to relax you…sweetie.” She hums, softly, rubs, tenderly hands over his back muscles.
He moans, lightly from massage of warm hands & sharp finger nails, closes, eyelids, purges, quickly third night dream image of his godson Cliffy dead in bed then he drifts, deeply asleep.
Florida room. party sunny. 78*F. 9:03 a.m. Small remote tip of land locates Southern part of Miami, Florida away from hustle & bustle of U.S. Highway 1 stands print sign painted bright orange letters Coral Beach. Coral Beach is privately incorporated community of Miami-Dade County, boasts mayor, sheriff, physician & lawyer under domed city hall along with facilities such as jail cells, interrogation room, weapons room, firing hole, library & art museum. Beach community houses fire department, helicopter pad, vehicle & boat garages, gardener atrium, mechanic machine & equipment shop, Post Office station, numerous servant houses, surrounds state-of-the-art security system hidden inside iron & concrete decorative gates. Land entrance into lovely & lush Coral Beach at East road from U.S. Highway 1 intersects first sentry gate where armed guards blocks & inspects any warmly welcomed visitors or coldly un-welcomed strangers. If lucky party passes through first sentry, second sentry station blocks & inspects ya for second look-see. Once fully accepted, party ventures along the magnificent majestic avenue of mansions on formal address of “Coral Lane.” Estates surround West by 18-hole manicured grasses, sand traps & water hazards golf course, North with old Banyan trees lining shaded private park and native plants, South and East eyeballs, foot prints & bodies merge, directly into open bluish-green Atlantic Ocean. Yellow cobblestone single road parallels unique gas street lights sitting, prettily on iron curvy poles planted along pink brick walkways displaying four massive pastel-colored mansions: orange, green, yellow & pink. Four colored limousines of gold, silver, white & black bolt, slowly on pretty street, stop, suddenly first residence of Coral Lane. Upright bodies shift, quickly onto front porch like shadows of darkness.
SLAM! SLAM! Double cherry doors on pink mansion, residence of Austin Bartholomew Berrington, IV, Coral Beach, sails, swiftly light speed as delicate glass crystal door knobs crash, nosily against yellow interior walls below whitish-gray granite foyer.
“DAMN IT TO HELL! DAMN IT TO HELL! DAMN IT TO HELL!” Deep baritone trombone echoes, painfully as figure enters, rapidly, kicks, accurately wood table with expensive leather.
Healthy green fern & table drops, sideways, skids Mexican tile floor, halts, abruptly edge of three-story staircase bottom step. Plant vomits, ugly sandy dirt from broken terra cotta pot, scatters, geographically different directions from hostile windmill of movement of shadows.
Austin struts, manly towards twin table holding crystal lamp near twin sofa. Table soars, upwardly, hits, accurately pink granite fireplace, breaks, beautifully into two wooden staves, lands, deftly on floor. Lamp sails opposite direction, rolls, smashes into tiny bits of glass near pot.
CRASH! ZANG! POP! BOOM! Austin marches without song like high stepping solider in parade deeper into Florida room, or as other folks call “living room” seeks new target. He raises, quickly leg, aims, perfectly at delicate glass coffee table curved around yellow & white circular sofa.
“AUSTIN.” Loud tenor trumpet permeates, deeply from Franklin Ferdinand Mangrove, III, life time brother, permanent business partner & peaceful neighbor of Austin. Austin stops, slumps neck muscles to chest, eye burns helpless tile with intense fury, hate & revenge.
“Calm down! We all feel the same way, bro.” Deep bass drum smoothes, tenderly from Stuart Thant Gage, III, life time brother, permanent business partner & protective neighbor of Austin. Stu pushes, gently Austin toward sofa away from table holding delicate glass sculpted chess set.
“Sit down, Old Man.” Thomas Edison Sawyer, III, final life time brother, permanent business partner & troublesome neighbor of Austin talks, hurriedly in tenor saxophone, strolls by Austin, shoves, powerfully Austin’s chest into sofa. Tom inquires, friendly. “Does anyone else want a drink?” He races to wet bar located Southeastern Florida room.
Austin stumbles, mindlessly backwards from table, hits sofa with back of legs, bents, sits, quietly on edge, parts feet, places elbows on knee caps, lowers skull into open palms, eye burns clean Mexican tile floor, thinks, mentally, ponders, deeply, wishes, regretfully, hates…everything.
“Need I remind you, the hour is nine in the morning, Tom.” Stu instructs, motherly.
“Know that. I have a damn watch. I can tell fucking time. I learned that trick in elementary school as a young boy. I need something to kill the butt-ass kicking pain, Stu.” Tom sulks, sourly, grabs glass from cabinet.
“Just one, Tom or I’ll tell Janey,” Frank eye burns busy Tom, lectures, fatherly.
“You always were the tattle tale in our band, Frank then Stu would kick your fucking ass for reporting us.” Tom laughs, hardy, drops, nosily two ice cubes, pours hot brown liquid measured within three fingers from Jack Daniels distilled corn whiskey into tumbler.
Stu jerks, victoriously both arms in air, hollers, barbaric. “Boo-wah.”
Frank smirks, annoyingly, twists from billiards table, advances twin sofa, observes, acutely that Austin sits, post-morbidly with skull in hands. Stu eye burns worried Frank. Frank neck snaps to Tom.
Tom shakes, sideways blonde skull, advances to billiards table located Southwest Florida room. Billiards table set, prettily pinned colored balls in rack ready for next match. Tom places, gently whiskey on edge, removes rack, grabs pool stick, licks end with squared white chalk, positions white cue ball in middle of table. Aims & fires stick against ball, it breaks, lazily all balls from center, scatters different directions, not strike into pocket.
“I’m going to the kitchen for a beverage, Frank?” Stu announces, mildly.
“Please, bring me a bottle of Dr. Pepper along with a medium glass filled with crashed ice cubes.” Frank orders, gently, nods, once.
“Not only a fucking tattle tale, but the classy and proper ‘Miss Manners’ gent, don’t ya know ‘real men’ drink from the goddamn bottle, Frank?” Tom laughs, hardy, sips, nosily whiskey.
“Austin?” Stu poses, soldierly, offers, brotherly. Austin eye burns helpless tile. Stu pivots, shakes, sideways bald skull, disappears into kitchen.
Frank neck snaps to closed double doors, inquires, worriedly. “Where are our lovely ladies?”
Tom explains, slo mo in bass saxophone. “They are comforting...Marge...at her house. Jane said...not to expect them for a while, maybe not until dinner.”
“Burton?” Frank frowns, worriedly, asks, softly.
“Making the funeral arrangements…” Tom rushes his words, returns, studiously his solitary game of billiards. Cue ball taps against four ball landing in right corner pocket. THUMP!
Frank eye burns lovely North undivided clean, shiny glass windows, views, beautifully swaying field of green tear-shaped banyan trees guarding shaded picnic benches, roped wooden swings, beach hammocks & grass refrigerated man-made huts for storing food and drink (only beer for Tom) refreshments. Beyond Florida’s nature park, golden hot sands dive into Atlantic Ocean, perfect spot for young children to roam free and play unendingly without invasion of rude visitors, mean kids, or half naked sun bathing young girls. Beach & park property inside Coral Beach is private, enclosed & well guarded playground owned solely by Austin, Frank, Stu & Tom. No other foot prints are allowed on sands.
“True” benefit of paradise for a billionaire living in the most beautiful spot on Earth…Miami. Weather is warm all year around for swimming, skiing, fishing, boating, sporting, shopping, jogging, walking and…playing. Only money can buy this kind of paradise, Frank has money, lots & lots of money. He has never ever remembered not living without money thanks to his family ancestor of inheritance from his extremely wealthy father, very wealthy grandfather and slightly wealthy great grandfather. His great grandfather is part of the nicknamed street gang called “Fathers of Miami” repeated by local folks living & working within city streets of South Florida.
The boys (Austin, Stu, Frank & Tom) call themselves the “Band of Brothers.” They aren’t biological siblings. They are “blood” brothers just like when their great grandfathers in 1838 formed the eternity “bond” as young teens among the wild farmlands and wilder forests of northern Florida, near the spouting town of Tallahassee, state capital of Florida.
Mangrove, the original had moved as teenager from his beloved native country of Spain along with his favorite stallion, barn animals, furniture, medical supplies & farm equipment to the new lands in America where his Father worked as veterinary & occasional only available human physician inside small township of people.
Gage, the original was shipped as slave from his home land of Africa working on Deep South’s plantation and farm crop fields. He escaped & headed to wild and free lands of Florida bartering his new skills as farmer in new township.
Sawyer, the original of German royalty had been determined to rule his own destiny in the New World rather in the Fatherland. He had left behind family members & family fortune becoming small township’s mayor.
Berrington, the second had traveled the wooden dangerous seasickingly ship over Atlantic Ocean along with other peasants from Great Britain seeking freedom from prosecution as he expanded his tradeship as blacksmith in the place called “America.”
Millionaire? Billionaire? Zillionaire? Frank ponders, deeply that all his money can’t bring that young boy back to life. Clifford & Marge Burton’s only child is found dead less than twenty-four hours inside private hospital room being admitted to Pediatric ward of Charity Kendall Hospital for broken leg, very minor, common & non-threatening injury. Cliffy would’ve worn leg cast for required eight weeks, removed it & continued his young playful full life starting fifth grade at prep school where his father and Frank befriended each other on first day of kindergarten in 1983.
PRESENT. Clifford plans funeral for Monday, discuss details with director, selects small coffin, signs transfer papers from hospital morgue, pays 7 feet by 8 feet plot of dirt for 6 feet deep hole to bury…his baby boy.
Franklin Ferdinand Mangrove, III has no heirs to his throne…yet. His beautiful & talented wife, Misty Marie and he will plan for the future and happy event, not this year…maybe next year after pain, angry & sadness of this useless devastating tragedy subsides within his heart, his mind and his soul. Time heals everything.
Stu returns, two bottles, Coke & Dr. Pepper in right hand & glass tumbler filled with ice in other, hands cold tumbler to Frank. Frank nods, once, accepts beverage, addresses, gentile elegance, eye burns happy Stu. “Thank you kindly, sir. Where are the napkins?” Stu roller balls pupils into skull, twists, sideways, occupies opposite end of Frank, then eye burns somber Austin.
Tom chuckles, lightly, lectures, silly. “Told ya! Hey! Miss Manners, ‘real’ men use their shirt sleeves for wiping, Watch, like so.” He jerks, hardy fabric of his expensively tailored hand-made white cotton buttoned down shirt with dangling emerald cufflinks to wrist, places clothed forearm against mouth, mops, cleanly red lips of wet whiskey, drops, widely arms, wiggles finger pads, grins, toothy with perfect white straight teeth.
Stu hollers, loudly. “Boo-wah!” Frank shakes, sideways red skull, leaves amusing and abusing pair, disappears into kitchen for napkins. Austin stares, studiously at tile.
“I’ve been pondering this delicate sensitive intense tragic situation. Could this have been a kidnapping attempt that went amiss?” Stu expresses, gravely.
Tom leans, heavily into three ball, hits, misses, frowns, ugly, uprights, grabs, sweaty tumbler, swallows whiskey, compliments, greatly. “I believe ya got the makings of an excellent theory there, my brother.” Tom inquires. “Cliff’s a multi-millionaire. How much is he worth now days?”
“Cliff Burton’s fortune is quite vast around 180 mil.” Frank answers, holds handful of paper napkins, places, gently drinking glass on stack, unfolds, carefully four napkins upon his lap like a true South Florida gentleman of good breeding.
“We live in stressed social times where millionaires are open exposed targets for kidnapping and ransoms.” Tom remarks, knocks around ball into left pocket. THUMP!
“Not in the good ‘ole’ US of A, you don’t see that type of criminal behavior or executed plots committed by desperate poor American people on rich American citizens.” Frank observes, socially.
“I concur, Frank but I can’t envision a different outcome. What else could the death of Cliffy been caused from a virus? A drug? A fall? A murder?” Stu theorizes, quickly.
Austin stares, studiously at Mexican tile floor colored pink, yellow & cream long geometric patterns newly installed last month by his so-called “girl pal” named Liz Harris. Liz had suggested re-decorating the Florida room with more zing, had instructed the personal highly priced interior decorator to use spring time colors: canary yellows, mint greens, bright whites & sky blues. Austin doesn’t mind spending his money, finds with forced painful outcomes from past defeats to allow Liz her wishes and dreams. Miss Harris is a one woman single dominating “Force of Nature.” When Liz gets an idea, she nags, pursues & whines until Austin gives. Austin dares not use the term ‘”girlfriend” or “companion” to describe Harris. Lasting connotation implies to other people that the relationship might lead to something more permanent, such as a diamond ring, a pre-engagement party, an engagement, a wedding, a marriage and finally…a baby.
Clifford Milton Burton, III is not a baby. Austin shakes, slightly skull, ponders, deeply that Cliffy is ten years old entering fifth grade at Austin’s old Alma Motto. Little boy full of energy plays second base in baseball, rules video games on Xbox, rides bicycles in park trail, collects small lizards, rocks & insects and scares Mom with the yucky contents, just like a typical young boy does in America…land of free & home of the brave. Amazing to Austin, death of Cliffy has ignited long ago stored memories from his own past adventures as a young kid, growing up in Miami.
24 years ago. First mission for “Band of Brothers” (young Frank, young Tom, young Stu & young Austin) vows to honor & protect each brother on cool spring March 1988, first grade, Coral Gables Prep on playground. Oversized, strong & tall six year old Stu beats shit out of eight-year-old Cassidy Clay Stone, III after calling Tom “wimpy cry baby.” If Austin’s long term memory services, correctly, this is Tom’s first of many rescues by Stu. He smirks, lightly.
“We four stick together come Hell, or Heaven forever until eternity.” Six year old Stuart Thant Gage, III announces, boldly, watches, excitedly details of warfare programming on TV and Hollywood films. Grandfather Gage is formal Navy officer deployed from Miami in 1940’s, fought in World War II & Korean War. Stu is very proud of grandfather, desires military life, not shared by his Dad, Stuart Thant Gage, Junior. Stuart Thant is pure logic, discipline & devotion, loyal, truly as a golden retriever to his masters, consisting of brothers, families, friends, employees, guests & beautiful and talented wife, Gracie Jean. Stu does not ever meet a strange. Once he’s your friend, you’re his for life. Brilliant man possesses multiple postgraduate degrees, Ph.D in engineering, Master’s of computer science, Bachelor’s of mathematics & certified as law enforcement officer just for the Hell of it. Austin has welcomed & relied on his brotherhood, friendship and protection for many, many years. It doesn’t hurt that Stu stands 6 foot, 6 inches of dark brown African American pure sinew and muscle weighs 260 pounds, shaved bald head, intense deep brown eyes, sunken cheekbones on an intense and trusted warrior face along with the stern fatherly manners of an “old” soul. Tallest of the Band of Brothers, Dr. Gage is known as “Big Man.” Stuart Thant Gage, III maintains peace, harmony & tranquility with people at home, at work & on the planet called Earth.
“All for one and one for all.” Six-year-old Thomas Edison Sawyer, III quotes, frequently from his favorite fantasy adventure fiction book, The Three Musketeers. Tom is a full blown science fiction nut, reads, quotes & annoys the shit out of ya with his latest & greatest sci-fi novel filled with space battles, x-ray guns, time warped flying ships set in various locations from white stone castles to black outer space. Sawyer lives in his science fiction world while being oblivious to the current social, economic, global & financial events that occur on a day-to-day basis in Miami, in Florida, in America & on Earth. Austin feels, truly that Tom’s highly exceptional I.Q. of 180 is the blame for split in his “real” bi-polar personality. Loud mouth foul jokester all the time except when Tom’s required to preside over a law case, brilliant legal genius smooth talking and fast thinking attorney emerges, quickly. Thomas Edison Sawyer, III has never lost a single legal case for his company, his employees, or his family members since passing the Florida bar in 2003. The man is furious, fastidious & feverous with regards to legal and law issues. His brain cells can quote to you any Federal, State or local case, legal ruling and court procedure since 1829 that has occurred within the United States of America boundaries, the “Law Man.”
“The Band of four Brothers may no man force us apart, least ye die.” Six-year-old Franklin Ferdinand Mangrove, III cites, often. Mangrove is the romantic, Renaissance man within the “Band of Brothers.” His beating heart rules his mind. His sharp mind absorbs accounting principles & medicine knowledge. Franklin is C.P.A., Certified Public Accountant passing the examination in 2000 then becoming fully certified medical physician, specializing in dermatology from Miami-Dade University Medical School, three years later. Dr. Mangrove prefers chess to war and books to guns with side interests of gemology & art collecting. People call him “Money Man.”
“Brothers in life and the afterlife.” Six-year-old Austin Bartholomew Berrington, IV cheers, loudly among his brothers. After proclaimed personalized motto, Stu opens, gently four inched pen knife withdrawal from uniform pocket. Each boy nicks index finger, squeezes blood from cut skin, touches, mixes blood, completes ritual, binds the “Blood Pact.” As brothers advance through grammar school to middle school into high school & finally college, the “Blood Pact” endures & strengthens “Band of Brothers” union. Austin feels, absorbs & gathers strength from his brothers…today during this tragic loss of Austin’s only godson, Cliffy.
11 years ago. Clifford gradates college with Austin, marries lovely & kind girlfriend Marge Gail Wells at St. Luke’s Catholic Church, produces 11 months later…Clifford Milton Burton, III nicknamed as “Cliffy.” Clifford inherits his Father’s home & business alarm security Store, Factory & Warehouse, then benefits, greatly from backlash of new & updated security installations in Miami, in Florida, in America…all over the world compliments of International security guardian & protection services of newly formed company called Quartet Associates privately owned by the Quartet (that’s Austin, Stu, Frank & Tom). Grateful for wealthy business & eternally friendship, Clifford & Marge names Austin as Cliffy’s godfather. Godfather attends only baptism ceremonial at church, supplies big present at each birthday party & every Christmas day then avoids the “kid” thing, the “family” thing & the “marriage” thing.
Austin observes, studiously that unforgettable rapid hyper speed male transformation of Frank, Tom and Stu from flamboyant single carefree guy to reserved, cautious & trapped man after these nasty words: “I do.” Austin is not married, not dating, either. That word “date” is too closely associated with the other word: “engagement.” His “girl pal” is the single & available Miss Liz Gwinnett Harris, daughter of prominent family in Miami and can trace, backwardly her native Florida roots from 1920’s township sprung from waters of the Atlantic.
Austin and Liz dates, off and on since middle school through college…and now. Liz isn’t college degreed, lives aboard in Paris, London, Milan & various European cities, pops in and out of Miami faster than retired Concord jet. She arrives in Miami then Austin wines, dines mostly for his pleasure rather than hers. Then, she disappears for another six months, and then re-returns into arms of Austin. Same old routine, same old questions, same old answers.
Liz is beautiful, 31 years old, tall, big breasts, small waist, slender thighs, long tanned legs, blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect smile & sun kissed coffee complexion, looks gorgeous in expensive evening gown, long shorts, backless sundress, tiny bikini & nude. Austin smirks, slightly. Liz dialects, perfectly in four foreign languages, rides back of Austin’s limo, attends galas on Austin’s arm, wears gems and gowns as Austin’s eye candy, photos, lovely beside Austin for local, national and international media circus. Austin uses and abuses his rights to her. She uses and abuses her greedy, rude & snot-nosed aristocratic silver spoon breeding.
Liz, or “Lizard” as Tom teases, relentlessly with pox marked pet nickname, is not “wife material” for the “forever” thing commitment to marriage, children or family lifestyle. Austin ponders, deeply if he will ever be committed to one girl or just afraid of the “marriage” thing. If Austin finds the perfect girl who becomes the perfect wife and who bears the perfect child, then the perfect child faces same fate as Cliffy. Austin sighs, breathes, deeply, thinks deeply dark.
“MURDER? Whoa! Stu, step back. You’re tossing sand into hurricane winds, my boy, speculating there might be a killer loose within the pink painted walls of good merciful Charity Hospital.” Tom sums, quickly, smacks six ball, misses pocket, frowns, ugly, gulps bourbon.
Stu is dually certified law enforcement officer after attending the City of Miami Police Academy, passing all written, verbal and physical tests at the age of eighteen after high school. Admiring his Miami-Dade County police badge, Stu declines, politely offers of jobs within the police force. Gage is…and will always & forever be devoted to his permanent partnership & friendship to Quartet Associates. Private company of him & his brothers (Austin, Tom & Frank) consists 50% funding of the “new” Quartet & 50% funding from the “old” Quartet (fathers of Austin, Tom, Frank & Stu). Old family company named Quarter Company is old seaport, air & land freight commerce business built by their grandfathers, given to their fathers and left to these sons for future development. The Quartet’s grandfathers formed, firstly a friendship then secondly, a bond, both has endured through thick & thin adventure, defeat & desire for success in America…land of the free & home of the brave. Grandfather Gage talks hours with Stu about his Mom and Dad living & surviving in the “olden” days on the farm lands in north Florida near Tallahassee.
Stu enjoys, thrillingly & listens, interestingly to daring adventures of simply farm boy life & lectures about God Almighty, Lord Jesus Christ, Holy Spirit, Heavenly Angels, USA, family, brothers, friends & community. Stu loves & trusts Grandfather Gage, Gracie Jean, his brothers, his guts & his instincts yelling painfully ache & loss of a young child.
Stu marks, clearly. “Look at the factual evidence, Tom no marks identified on the body. Physicians, nurses, clerks and technicians were questioned, repeatedly. The answers agreed with his medical chart which indicated Cliffy was alive and breathing in his hospital bed before the lights out notification for sleep. He received no additional medications, I.V.s or pain killers for his broken leg.”
“The shot?” Frank calls, loudly, sips, softly on beverage.
Stu details, fully. “The hypoderm needle contained a minor nerve killer in the leg, clearly documented in the medical chart at 9:16 yesterday morning when Cliffy arrived in the emergency room. The low level drug was administrated to Cliffy directly from the orthopedic physician to straighten the bone before the casting materials were applied. At least, eleven hours had passed and Cliffy didn’t vomit, sneeze or cough from the pain reliever.”
“The physical evidence clears the physician but the medication could have been contaminated at the manufacturing site before transported to the hospital.” Frank proposes, boldly.
Stu nods, once, compliments, highly. “Very good point, Frank. The hospital has researched that question. The answer given to me is that Cliffy didn’t react to the sedative. As a matter of medical fact, neither had any of the other patients seen in Ortho that same day and night. No other child or adult had died within 24 hours of administrating that particular dosage of drug.”
“So, does the hospital have another explanation?” Tom asks from legal view, hits ball, misses, again.
“Hospital Administration isn’t commenting about these circumstances until the formal investigation is released by police.” Frank informs, academically, sips, gently beverage.
“Shouldn’t we be there, now, trailing the officers?” Stu questions, seriously.
Austin stands, swiftly, flings, loudly. “NO!” He faces Stu & Frank, rumbles in baritone trombone. “Our first duty…is to observe the autopsy of Cliffy…my godson.”
Wed. June 2. Austin’s manor. bedroom. Waning Gibbous moon. Clear. 71*F. 2:31 a.m. “CLIFFORD!” He screams, uprights in bed, faces wall, sweats from skull, neck & chest.
“Sweetie, you okay?” She rouses, slowly, rubs his bicep, lightly.
“Clifford…burning…alive. My God! He dies…” He talks, softly, replays dream vision.
She lays skull on satin pillow, talks, sleepy tone. “Clifford, Marge…home. Rest, sweetie. Rest.”
He settles skull on pillow, closes eyelids, inhales, exhales, deeply, purges, rapidly dream vision, drifts, lightly to sleep.
city morgue, Miami-Dade County Building 1st Street, 24th Avenue, Miami, 33133, medical examiner autopsy room, visitors, partly cloudy, 75*F, 10:07 a.m. Room cools like arctic North Pole, paints dull gray from ceiling to tiles. Black bag covers silver dissection table. Two rows, five tall metal black painted stools, man wears gray destroyable scrubs from head to toe, holds clear respiratory breathing devise in hand, motions with free hand for his guests to enter autopsy room. Gray ghost emerges from silver filing cabinet in corner with black camera, the photographer.
Austin dresses, funky in same Halloween costume of heavy lead lined gray protection clothing of gown, gloves, cap, shoe covers, eye goggles & face mask with N95 breathing apparatus, leads, bravely throng of Frank, Stu, Tom & Clifford towards black bag. Double doors swing, twice, admits Chief of Police of Miami Leo Trilling, short woman, short man & tall man, all from Charity Hospital Headquarters in the city of Kendall, Florida.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Miles Curie, III. I’m the Miami-Dade Metro city Chief Medical Examiner. If you don’t have any questions for me, we can begin, immediately.” He pauses, dramatically, inhales, exhales, deeply, restarts in tenor saxophone. “Since…suspicion of the current cause of the dead maybe poisoning…not yet a confirmed determination by the hospital medical staff, I strongly advise you to use…” He holds devise in air. “…respiratory breather in your hands for extra precaution as we exam the body.”
“Noted. Please proceed.” Austin orders, commandingly, places hard plastic mask over face, neck snaps to Tom, Frank, Stu & Clifford as they follow medical doctor’s preventive clinical advice.
Miles places breather on face, orders in funny synthesized timber. “Microphone on.”
“Microphone is working, doctor.” Visible nurse confirms, assists in medical procedure, lacks properly intro by Miles. Austin notes, mentally.
“This is Doctor Miles Curie, III, Chief Medical Examiner of Miami-Dade city, county and district. Please unzip the bag, nurse.” He orders, commandingly as nurse moves opposite side of dissection cart and unzips black bag. Child’s eyelids are closed. Face is grayish-blue in color, arms at his side, broken leg yellow casting material. Clifford Milton Burton, III looks, peacefully asleep.
Burton, Junior grabs, swiftly face, rips N95 apparatus, shakes skulls, twists, abruptly, exits autopsy room. Frank stands, swiftly, follows Clifford, exits into slight warm reception area.
Uninterrupted by swinging doors, Miles informs. “The body is a child named Clifford Milton Burton, III. He appears to be nine years of age.”
“Doctor, the demographic information has been collected and recorded by the hospital staff. You do not need to restate the same data.” Nurse advices, subtlety.
Miles mumbles, irritantly, whips skull, sideways. “Very well! The body is wearing a hospital gown blue in color covering neck to the knees. Photo.” He yells, loudly. Photography snaps three pics quickly, silently returns to cabinet like wraith. “Remove the gown.” Nurse clips, silently fabric from body, stores in plastic bag beside table. “No visible evidence of residue on the skin. Photo.” Photographer snaps two pics, returns, silently. “Light.” Nurse hands, silently Miles portable six inch overhead square lamp. Bright violet color washes over small body. Miles drags light top of bone skull, then scans, quickly to bone toes. “No further residue partials from the body utilizing the ultraviolet beam. Samples.” Nurse pulls, silently metal pick extracting materials from body’s toenails and fingernails then clips strands of blonde hair, places each sample in plastic bag, marking it with black pen. “Stop recording.” Miles orders, princely.
Nurse confirms, softly. “Yes, Doctor.”
Miles faces and grins, toothy to audience, steps away from body, pulls breather from face, details, fully. “At this junction of the autopsy, I have the option of applying the traditional Y-shaped, T-shaped, or a single vertical incision to the chest cavity of the body for the interior examination of the organs consisting of the heart, stomach, liver and lung tissues. I have elected to use a new modern radical method to continue the autopsy.” He rotate neck muscles around stools, seeks reactions.
Dr. Jefferson Davis Brandt, Junior, super president, Charity Healthcare System, Kendall, Florida rumbles in baritone trombone. “You should explain to us in greater detail this new radical method, Miles?”
Miles nods, once, provides, sketchy. “The procedure’s not really…new. The method has existed since 2000 but not many M.E.s chose it.”
Frank asks, diplomatically as concerned physician & worried guest. “Please elaborate, medically for all of us, Dr. Curie?”
“Tell us, Curie?” Miami-Dade County Chief of Police Leo Trilling blasts, fury.
“Radiographic gamma imaging.” Miles talks, encryptedly, grins, wickedly.
Frank translated, swiftly. “He means x-rays.”
“Precisely, Dr. Mangrove.” Miles nods, once, accepts, kindly.
“Is this procedure danger to us, Curie?” Leo barks, nervously.
Miles educates, academically. “Not at all, the average human living in the U.S. is exposed to about .361 M.R.E.M. annually from background sources, alone. For example, a typical dental X-ray of the human mouth results in an exposure of .003 to .09 M.R.E.M.”
“You’re going to x-ray the child’s insides. Will that fry his organs?” Leo growls, dangerously.
“The organs aren’t functioning. The light’s invisible to the naked eyes.” Miles explains.
Jefferson explores, reasonably. “Why not use the standard procedure, Miles? We’re here. You’re prepared. You...”
Miles intersects, forcefully. “I...have discussed the possibility with my colleagues of poison leaking from the body in the form of a solid, gas or liquid which is the reason for the added protection gear of the re-breather masks. The conjecture from the attending hospital physicians is the body absorbed the poison destroying the oxygen causing asphyxiation.”
Austin’s jaw tightens, painfully, ponders, deeply that his godson suffocated, and then died at the hands of some evil monster, promises, mentally that monster is going to die a very slow painful death by his bare hands. He inhales, exhales, heavily.
“So, ya think the poison’s still in the kid’s system.” Leo deducts, logically, shakes, vertically brown skull for confirmation.
“A live viral toxin.” Miles concludes with unconfirmed tested medical results.
Frank injects, firmly. “Maybe?”
Jefferson blasts, loudly. “Impossible, Miles!”
“Do you have an opinion, Dr. Brandt?” Miles questions, sternly, frowns, ugly.
Jefferson rationalizes, fully. “Not an opinion, a medical fact. This is best set by a simple analogy. When a rattle snake bites a boy, the boy will die not given an antidote within a certain amount of time. During treatment of the boy, the venom if extracted from boy by medical personnel, they aren’t in any danger of being infected with the venom. The boy’s cell structure, enzymes, blood, acids and proteins have broken down the toxin from the snake’s fang. The same theory can be applied here. The boy’s exposed organs cannot harm you, Miles. Therefore, I vote…we proceed with the traditional T-shaped method of autopsy.”
“This isn’t a democracy, Dr. Brandt. I’m the Chief M.E. of Dade County. I decide what venue I follow, not you, in my laboratory.” Miles adjusts, viciously. Austin ponders, deeply that Miles sounds like crazy Dr. Frankenstein from horror fiction novel.
“I didn’t give you permission to do this, either.” Leo includes his opinion, nervously.
Miles points, rudely at Leo. “You did not.” Then Miles neck snap, points, rudely at Jefferson, instructs, legally. “He did not. And I don’t care. My approvals flow from the F.D.P.H.”
“F.D.P.H?” Austin repeats, interestingly.
“The State of Florida Department of Public Health in Tallahassee gives me the power to select any autopsy method that I want based on the current medical criteria available.” Miles defends, powerfully delicate intense mysterious hospital dead body.
Jefferson raves, boldly. “Pardon me…for being blunt but it would seem that YOU have made YOUR decision.”
“I have. Please sit down so we can proceed without any more interruptions, should we? Nurse, place the fluorescence over the body starting at the head.” Miles orders, commanding. Nurse shifts fluorescence light on machine, rolls across ceiling, stops at skull. Miles commands. “Pass out the glasses.” Nurses shuffles from machine to corner, lifts, carries tray with brown tinted visors shaped & sized like sun glasses. Miles instructs, quickly. “Remove your clear goggles and place these over your eyes.”
Jefferson inquires, bravely. “The degree of radiation danger may I ask?”
“The unit of measure for a single x-ray beam is one M.R.E.M. The output of the machine will produce .0001 M.R.E.M. of exposure to your body and eyes. As I mentioned before, the average person living in the United States is exposed to about .361 M.R.E.M. in a calendar year from background sources of light alone.” Miles details, scientifically.
Frank translates, simply. “Fractional.”
“Correct, Dr. Mangrove.” Miles praises, smiles, lightly at Frank.
Jefferson jabs, bravely. “Do you know what to look for, Miles?”
Miles tosses, hearty, sneers, nasty. “Of course, I do, Jefferson, a distortion in the veins, skeleton or organs, maybe. X-rays can easily detect cancer cells, cysts and tumors.”
Leo questions. “All of us are going to be viewing the image, Curie?”
Miles neck snaps to audience, intros, proudly. “We are. I hope you’re just as excited as I. I must tell you. I usually work alone, not with an audience of distinguished guests and visitors.”
Austin notes, mentally that first, physician doesn’t credit nameless nurse, who represents valuable asset to his work, especially when he works alone. Second, he sucks up to the four billionaires observing his new methods of crude barbaric autopsy on a child in crowded cold smelly dull gray room. Austin neck snaps to Frank, trained medical physician, long time friend & life time brother on his right. You can’t hear verbal comments from Frank but facial expression talks a thousand words. Frank acknowledges, disapprovingly, nods, once to Austin.
“As the wave advances down the body, you’ll see the complete skeleton structure which will display the color of white. X-rays block dense tissues such as organs, muscles and skin therefore the monitor will turn black.” Miles clarifies, medically.
Leo mumbles, loudly. “Waste of time.”
“We shall see, Chief.” Miles comments, neck snaps to nurse. “Ignition.” Machine starts, jolts with loud humming sound from mechanic engines & metal plates. Nurse drags cable, pulls rolling machine as blue light pours, slowly Cliffy’s still lifeless small fragile body. Miles offers, peacefully. “If anyone cares not to participate, you may leave the room…now.”
1 second. 2 seconds. 3 seconds.
“Very well!” Miles claps hands, replaces goggles and mask over eyes, replays. “Radiation waves are invisible to the naked eyes. The goggles don’t show any colored lights or beams reflecting off the dead body. The monitor will display with vivid clarify the skull and bones in white contracted with fuzzy black patches of organs and veins as the beam passes through the body.”
Austin stares, studiously bones of child’s skull, feels quite eerie observing someone alive and breathing full of joy and happiness. His nausea twists, violently into deep fury, rage & hate, ponders, deeply entire autopsy has been hard on Frank & Stu, harder on him, hardest on Marge and Clifford, parents of Cliffy.
Miles ticks off significant anatomy parts of biological body with hand-held devise. “Skull, nasal bone, clavicle, rib cage, lungs, heart, humerus, pancreas, stomach, liver...stop.” Nurse points, rudely blue light at liver.
Jefferson inquires. “What do you see, Miles?”
“The liver...I think.” Miles guesses, interestingly.
Jefferson lectures. “The liver is the second largest organ in the human body.”
Frank educates. “The largest organ is the skin.” He pauses, then offers, loudly. “In case…someone is curious.”
“Thanks, Dr. Mangrove.” Leo compliments, nods, once.
“Switch to the telescope, nurse.” Miles dictates, sternly.
“Yes, doctor.” Nurse confirms, clicks dial on machine panel. Screen magnifies close up of the child’s liver. Color is strangely light and bright, almost white illuminated rather than the dense dark blot of black.
“Location is correct right side of the upper abdomen and below the diaphragm.” Miles shifts, slowly telescope lens up and down between rib cage and right hip bone, tracing object on computer screen.
Leo complains, annoyingly. “Ya missed it, Curie.”
“I have keyed the liver which lies on the right of the stomach, here. There’s the bed for the gallbladder. This object is the liver. I’m quite certain, Chief Trilling.” Miles insists, moves metal scope back and forth, right to left on bright misplaced spot, scanning the thing in more detail.
Leo comments, surly. “I thought ya said organs are colored black, Curie.”
Jefferson shuffles from second row to table across from Miles, confirms, medically. “Organs are black. I can guarantee the color of all films on any X-ray equipment in the world. But…this one is almost white. The image doesn’t make any sense, Miles. Open him up.”
“Scalpel.” Miles calls, loudly as nurse hands, gently instrument. He cuts straight slow but steady line along epidermis deeper into the skin. Using tongs, he opens each side of the slit. He leans, heavily into body.
Instead soft pinkish-brown largest gland in human body, Miles & Jefferson eye burn “boomerang shaped” lighted lump of liver. Lighted liver echoes, clearly upon computer display on gamma x-ray screen, appears appropriate size & shape of ten year old male about four pounds. However, soft tissue of non-functioning liver covers, brightly radiant light substance, explains mysterious odd image projected by X-ray machine. Cliffy’s human organ gleams, glitters & glistens with hard crystallized yellow crusted coat of pus from heated overhead autopsy lamps.
Jefferson puffs, musically. “My God!”
“Good grief.” Miles sings, quietly, stills, tightly scalpel in air. Bright yellow hard pus twinkles, starry against other dead black tissues. Yellow residue coats every square inch of the liver from top to down and side to side shaping the liver similar to fat puffy golden pound cake with yellow starred shaped sprinkles on top. Yellow prickly mysterious unknown substance does not extend beyond the liver to the lower intestines, or colon. Yellow hard pus concentrates & adheres, exclusively & purposefully to the liver.
Jefferson inquires, shockingly. “Miles, what you do think?” Miles eye burns starry yellow liver.
Frank stomps beside Jefferson, observes, studiously, questions, intensively. “What are you admiring?”
Jefferson shares, boldly, points, rudely at organ. “Pus…yellow hard pus is covering the entire liver.”
Frank frowns, ugly, consults, wisely. “Have you ever seen anything like it, Dr. Curie?” Miles eye burns pretty yellow liver.
“Sample.” Jefferson orders, commandingly, jerks, nosily medical instrument from autopsy tray, pokes, tenderly organ with tongs. Liver shifts, violently.
Frank yelps, scary. “Shit!”
Jefferson reacts, worriedly. “God be damned. What is this?”
Miles eye burns pretty starry liver. Liver jiggles like Jell-O, then winks at Miles. Miles blinks once, twice. Liver winks, twice at him. Miles talks, softly. “Alive.”
“What the Hell are you doing, Curie?” Leo hollers, wildly, shuffles from chair, investigates, personally.
Frank points, rudely at liver, observes, studiously. “It shook. Did you see it shake, Jefferson?”
Jefferson reacts, slowly. “I think…I believe it...”
“Alive…it’s alive?” Miles talks, mildly, stills, tightly scalpel in air.
Frank demands, nervously. “Explain that, Jefferson?”
“I can’t believe this.” Jefferson remarks, mysteriously, punches, forcefully hard pus with the tongs. Lives dances, sideways. Jefferson reacts, shockingly. “Shit!”
“Alive…it’s alive.” Miles talks, shaky.
Frank injects, reasonably. “Impossible.”
Leo demands, nervously. “Explain that, Curie?”
Lives jiggles, winks, signals intentions. Miles inhales, exhales, deeply, tosses scalpel into body, yells, powerfully. “ALIVE…IT’S ALIVE…GET OUT… IT’S ALIVE...GET OUT!” He races into stools, trips on big feet, stumbles on knees to tile.
“Flee the room...” Leo assumes leadership, yells, loudly. “OUT! OUT! GET OUT!” Leo grabs, forcefully neck collar, jerks, powerfully Miles to feet, leads into reception room, instructs, loudly. “Calm down, Curie.”
Austin, Tom, Frank, Stu along with other guests rush, swiftly out autopsy room wearing P.P.E. equipment, line upright bodies along reception walls between bookshelves, desks & tables.
Leo shoves, viciously Miles to East wall, body spins to stunned guests, orders, commandingly. “No one leaves this building.” He pulls, swiftly Colt .45 from holster. “…unless you want to die.”
Tom flings, silly arms in air, whines, baby-tonish. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m an innocent bystander.”
“Sit down! Be quiet, Tom!” Stu jerks down, steady both Tom’s arms, shoves, violently Tom’s lean six feet body to twin sofa against West wall. Miles slumps on shaky knees, then folds in half, vomits yellowish-white puke from mouth & nose onto tile.
Jefferson yells. “Yuck! Stay on your side of the lobby, Miles!”
Right hand holds pistol, free hand juggles cell from belt, commands, loudly. “Trilling. Code Zulu...repeat code Zulu...”
isolation unit, Charity Kendall Hospital, 11 Charity Way, Kendall, Florida, 33172, negative air pressurized room, 9th floor, room 943, inpatients, light rain showers, 88*F, 12:19 p.m. Four men wear red standard issued hospital gowns, sit, quietly on white cotton lined mobile beds or stand, nosily on white tiles in white sterile dry choleric smelly isolation negative air pressure room ninth floor of Charity Kendall Hospital.
“I think I’m going to puke.” Tom announces, wildly, sits in assigned cot, frames palms on face.
“Do it on your side of the room, Tom?” Stu warns, nasty, eye burns Tom.
“It’s been 56 minutes. How much longer, Frank?” Tom complains, greatly.
“We can’t leave until the quarantine is lifted.” Frank addresses numerous times.
“When’s that, Frank?” Tom complains, twice, eye burns Frank.
“Another 56 minutes, you were standing here when Jace told us.” Frank reminds, gently.
“I’m hungry.” Tom moans, baby-tonish on bed.
“I thought you were sick, Tom.” Stu wonders, oddly, stands next to Frank.
“I’m sick and I’m hungry.” Tom whines like a puppy for its mama, sits on bed.
“Shut up, Tom.” Frank barks, fondly, moves, quickly, punches, hardy Tom’s arm.
Tom rubs, tenderly thin muscled bicep, whines, baby-tonish. “Ouch, that hurt, Frank. God, I’m sore from the needles and...”
“Tomorrow’s going to be worse.” Frank notes, medically, chuckles, lightly.
“Worrrse...” Tom eye burns studious Franks, frowns, ugly, moans, loudly.
“The blood taken from your arm was tested to reveal the dead microorganisms of inactive inoculations in your healthy body identifying what medical shots were required for your annual immunization treatment for the exposure of any microbe bacteria in the autopsy lab.” Frank clarifies, medically, then grins, toothy at Stu. Stu winks, brotherly.
Tom smartasses, quickly to Frank. “Ya know. I really didn’t like know-it-alls. Some other people don’t, either. Right, Stu?” Tom nods, once to Gage.
Stu eye burns deceptive Frank, compliments, greatly. “I’m very much interested in healthcare medical knowledge and clinical treatment protocols regarding annually required immunization inoculations for my family. I find the topic valuable and most fascinating. I had my shots when I was a small child. What else would I need, Frank?”
“Ya yelp like a puppy dog, Stu. I had my shots.” Tom jokes, lightly, chuckles, hardy.
“Shut up, Tom.” Stu barks, fondly then eye burns deceptive Frank, nods, once. “Please continue, Frank?”
“The list is relatively short, tetanus, smallpox, diphtheria, measles, mumps, rubella, not only should children be immunized each year adults as well for any unexpected exposure to microbe bacteria.” Frank educates, medically, grins, toothy at Stu. Stu nod, once.
“Fascinating shit, Frank.” Tom huffs, musically, plays with gown strings.
“I believe ya missed a disease needing vaccination, Franklin.” Stu remarks, carefully, signals to Frank, grins, toothy.
“Oh, which one, Stuart?” Frank plays along, acts, seriously.
“Rabies.” Stu comments, gravely, nods, once to Frank. Frank nods back.
“He’s fucking kidding, Frank.” Tom warns, purposefully, drags gown string to knees.
“Stu’s quite correct. Rabies is a very dangerous transmittable disease from its carrier. We all should be inoculated.” Frank lectures, medically, nods, once at Stu.
“Only dogs get rabies.” Tom notes, scientifically, measures gown string to arm.
“And it is passed to humans through bites.” Frank explores, stomps to locked and sealed door, raps, nosily on glass window.
Nurse appears, rapidly, yells, rudely into wall speaker. “WHAT?”
“Nice staff!” Tom spits, nasty, drags gown string to forehead.
Frank intros, quickly. “Nurse, I’m a physician.” He points, rudely at Tom. “This man needs a rabies shot.” Tom occupies, quietly corner bed, chews with exposed teeth, viciously on white draw strings of gown out of boredom. Stu sniggers, lightly. Austin stares, interestingly.
“How did you come to that conclusion, doctor?” Nurse yells.
Frank shuffles from window, points, twice at Tom. “Nurse, do you see the white stringy foam dripping from the edge of his mouth?”
Lips part, openly. Eyelids spring, widely. Mask surrounds her face, quickly. Nurse talks, loudly. “I do.” She grabs, nosily capped needle from medical tray in gloved hand, unlatches, loudly lock. CLICK!
Tom clears, beautifully two feet of air from bed, sprints, rapidly, slams ajar door, shuts, completely, shouts, angrily. “GET OUT!” Then, he growls & barks, loudly like mad dog. “WOOF! WOOOF! WOOOOOF!”
Nurse screams, loudly, re-locks, guards door, secures contaminated victims of exposed biological germs. BOOM! CLICK! “I’m calling security.” Nurse threats, seriously.
Tom stops barking, stands, soldierly, sneers, nasty. “No…body likes a smart ass, either, Frank.” Stu laughs, hardy along with Mangrove. Tom pushes, violently Frank against wall, re-seats, quietly on bed, park elbows on knees, palms against pale face. Austin thinks, interestingly next 55 minutes with brothers.
Door slams opens, presents elder distinguished man over six feet tall in short red gown barely covering his knees and cell phone growing from his ear, yells, loudly. “Yes.”
Pause.
“No.”
Pause.
“Shit.”
Pause.
“No.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Pause.
“Shit.”
Pause.
Elder male names. “President.”
Tom echoes in quiet room. “Fucking president.”
“I’m the fucking president.” Elder man shouts into cell.
Tom echoes, twice. “Fucking super president.”
“I’m the fucking super president.” Elder man screams, loudly.
Elder man removes, quickly silver growth from his ear, launches, rapidly portable mobile phone into air, hits North wall. BOOM! Phone breaks, separates receiver from body, falls, partly on tile and on table. BOOM! SLAP!
“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT.” Elder man calls, loudly, wiggles, violently causing his gown to open from behind exposing his pale cheek butt, feels sudden wind storm, grabs, roughly back of the gown swaddling it around his private parts. “DAMN.”
Austin smirks, wickedly, recalls vividly destroying twelve mobile phones in same manner when information on other end isn’t satisfactory to his personal degree since New Year’s Day, asks, calmly. “What’s going on, Jefferson?”
“Lots of shit, damn shit, green shit piled high over my fucking head, that’s what’s going on?” Dr. Jefferson Davis Brandt, super president, Charity Healthcare System, rambles, ill-mannerly.
“What kind of shit, Jefferson?” Stu explores, keenly.
“Forget the green shit, when are we getting out of here?” Tom stands, swiftly, blows back of his hospital gown bellowing open, grabs, roughly fabric wrapping around his narrow hips. “Crap this gown.”
Jefferson lectures, fatherly, avoids obvious question, eye burns Stu, Frank. “Did you receive the protocols? Wash your hands thoroughly for the next 24 hours, no contact with relatives, especially spouses for the next 24 hours, no sex, bland foods, oatmeal, bananas, crackers, water, no dairy products, got your shots…”
“Yeah. My arm hurts.” Tom growls, deeply.
“Wait until tomorrow...” Jefferson frowns, funny, relays, boldly.
“Here we go again, another smart ass physician.” Tom blasts, purposefully, frowns, ugly.
“Thomas, I don’t like that tone. You’re to wear the mask with the respiratory re-breather...” Jefferson holds devise in air, reprimands, seriously.
“…for the next 24 hours.” Tom whines, baby-tonish, roller balls blue pupils into skull. “Know the protocols.”
“These rules are for your safety and the safety of your loved ones.” Jefferson advices, medically.
“Got a question?” Tom puffs, sternly.
“Yes, Thomas, what’s your question?” Jefferson acknowledges, eye burns Tom.
“Do I hold my shit for the next 24 hours, too?” Tom jokes, funny. Stu laughs. Frank chuckles. Austin grins.
Jefferson roller balls brown pupils into skull, eye burns Austin, informs. “Meitner is double checking the lab results to ensure everyone has their shots.” Tom sniggers, lightly, barks like dog. Jefferson eye burns Tom, frowns, funny.
“Time for his medicine.” Frank employs, seriously, reads new data on medical chart from nurse to Jefferson. Stu snickers. Austin grins. Tom grunts, loudly.
“Pardon me?” Jefferson frowns, ugly, comments, annoyingly.
“Lab results?” Austin rumbles baritone trombone, agrees with Tom for leaving hospital.
“Another hour, we’ll
be out of here. The problem’s all of our clothes and shoes were
incinerated in case of viral contamination.” Jefferson details,
fully.
“Wallets?” Stu reminds, gently.
Jefferson punches digits into landline, instructs, quickly. “Judy, please bring our personal effects from the Sentinel Containment Lab stores and find us some new oversized physician coats made to fit roaming Colorado buffalos hides.”
“Yes, sir.” Judy obeys, disconnects, loudly. CLICK!
Jefferson explains, fully. “Wallets and cell phones had to be stream sprayed in the tank for microorganisms.”
“The phones won’t be in working order.” Stu observes, correctly.
Jefferson nods, once, confirms. “I’m afraid you’re correct, Stu. Most of the contents of your wallets are intact, drivers’ license and credit cards. Money can dry out. If you have any photos, they’re ruined.”
“Small price to pay for not getting bugs.” Frank voices, positively.
Jefferson nods, once, confirms, happily. “Correct, Franklin.” Window opens, widely. Plastic tray contains wet leather cases. Jefferson points, rudely at tray, informs. “Your personal effects.” He addresses, pleasantly. “Thanks, nurse.” Nurse nods, silently, closed window, disappears.
Jefferson eye burns Austin, instructs, commandingly. “If you find something missing, report it to me, personally.”
“We trust your staff, Jefferson.” Austin suggests, strongly, flips through wet wallet, uselessly.
“What other shit do you have for us, Jefferson?” Stu asks, curtly, desires ending to mystery.
“Curie’s being treated for shock and confined to the Psyche ward on the fourth floor…here. The sight of the encrusted liver freaked him out.” Jefferson informs, medically.
“I can honestly admit I am quite terribly shocked at the colorful gleaming organ, too.” Frank adds sympathy.
Jefferson taps, loudly pager, curses, boldly. “Shit.”
“Steamed?” Stu asks.
“No, it works. They’re not contacting me.” Jefferson relays, boldly.
“Who?” Stu inquires.
“Police? F.B.I.? N.S.A.? C.I.A.? Homeland Security? Hell, I think Black ops are here somewhere working with fucking super vice-president Dunning. The bastard thinks he’s in charge since I’m in quarantine. If I don’t get to my super office on the tenth floor, I’ll be over ruled, over run and over thrown.” Jefferson exclaims, worriedly, eye burns pager.
“Tough empire!” Tom snickers, lightly.
“What other tidbits of information can you share with us?” Austin asks, curiously.
“Everyone has been interviewed including the residents, nurses, attending docs, social services,
pastoral care personnel, supervisors, trauma coordinators, radiology, lab, security, pediatric physicians, emergency room staff, janitorial, environmental, food services, engineering folks, patients, families, guests, and all execs.” Jefferson lists, purposefully.
“Cliffy is...” Austin does not know.
“Body’s at Turkey Point.” Jefferson talks, softly.
“The nuclear plant?” Stu frowns, ugly, blurts, loudly.
“No other medical facility wants to finish performing the medical autopsy.” Jefferson educates, flatly.
“So much for advanced disaster planning protocols in a crisis.” Frank notes, medically.
“Enforcement of the local law?” Stu questions, bravely.
“No enforcement. Hospitals are private property. If the Chief Medical Officer doesn’t want you
there, you..are not there.” Jefferson cites, legally.
“Cobra law?” Frank offers.
“Doesn’t apply, here? This isn’t a Florida state emergency situation.” Jefferson cites, again.
“Miami Public Health Department?” Frank suggests.
“They don’t want an epidemic. The clinic sees 2,500 really sick immunized comprised people day in and out in a ten hour day.” Jefferson relays.
“Charity Hospital?” Austin poses, seriously.
Jefferson shakes, sideways brown skull, retorts, regretfully. “I’m in too much muck. The discovery of the dead body of a young boy without a medical explanation, coupled with a shiny polished yellow organ is stirring panic and fear within the staff, patients and guests.”
“Are patients leaving?” Tom inquires.
“Not yet!” Jefferson answers.
“Are employees leaving?” Tom asks.
“No!” Jefferson spits.
“Are docs leaving?” Tom questions, grins, toothy.
“Thomas, stop asking me questions. Do you want to hear the rest of my data or not?” Jefferson barks, loudly.
Thurs. June 3. Austin’s manor. Bedroom. Waning moon. T-storms. 70*F. 2:31 a.m. “AHH!” He screams, uprights, rubs sweaty face.
“Again… more nightmares.” She brushes, lightly his forearm, remains skull on satin pillow. “Tell, Frank.” She flips opposite side of bed.
“They will pass once…funeral…” He talks, softly, drops, heavy to pillow, purges second nightmare of Clifford’s death, closes eyelids, exhales, inhales, heavily, drifts, lightly asleep.
parking lot, blue letter D, headquarters, Charity Healthcare System, Charity Hospital, 11 Charity Way, Kendall, Florida, 33172, media circus, isolated T-storms, 78*F, 8:43 a.m. Austin stands, soldierly at limo, eye burns cloudy sky, feels hot and humid, sighs, breathes, deeply, rotate neck muscles around parking lot adjunct to hospital building.
Lot fills colorful heavy TV vans & trucks, numerous antennas, mobile cameras & well-dressed reporters from Metro city of Miami channel 17, PBS, WLRN; channel 10, ABC, WPLG; channel 33, UPN, WBFS; channel 4, CBS, WFOR; and channel 7, Fox, WSVN; from Orlando, channel 2, NBC, WESH; from Pensacola, channel 3, ABC, WEAK; from Daytona Beach, channel 2, NBC, WESH; from Jacksonville, channel 25, ABC, WJXX and finally, from the Spanish broadcasting system, SBS, channel 42 shooting media waves from Miami to New York to L.A. to Puerto Rico.
Tom balks, loudly. “MY GOD...”
“No comments.” Austin neck snaps to Tom. The Quartet walks, slowly passed pink twin water fountains (signature trophy since fresh water is premium) to headquarters building of Charity Healthcare System, parent company of individual Charity Hospitals located from Southern Key West to Northern Miami Beach.
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