Barracuda (3 page)

A phone rang, and Micko snapped back into the
present as he looked up to see the good sergeant fielding a
call.

“O’Shaughnessy,” he barked, “room number
three.”

Micko struggled to get out of the tiny chair and
slowly walked into room three where Dr. Bellamy was puffing on a
cigarette as he perused Micko’s folder. Micko liked Dr. Bellamy. He
was a bit unorthodox, but fair. He was also a bit comical in his
ways. Lost in thought, he didn’t acknowledge Micko’s entrance.

The office was small and unassuming, and it was
painted a boring mustard color. A picture of that poor skinless man
hung on the wall with his insides visible to the world, and an
ancient eye chart adorned the opposite wall.

Micko looked at the balding, sixtyish,
overweight man who nervously sucked down cigarettes like they were
candy. Neither the doctor nor Sergeant Callahan were destined to
win any best-dressed awards, that was for sure. Dr. Bellamy wore a
dark blue shirt that had faded with age. The collar was frayed, and
he was missing a button where the shirt entered his brown trousers,
revealing a once white undershirt. He had one of those plastic
penholders that all the nerds had stuck in his shirt pocket.
Cigarette ashes covered his clothes, making him look like a refugee
from the Mount St. Helen’s eruption. Without looking up, he said,
“Take off your pants.”

“But, Doctor, I hardly know you!” Micko
replied.

Bellamy smiled and slowly looked up. Then he
looked Micko directly in the eye and said, “It’s nice to see you
again, Detective.”

“You too, Doc. Hey, I see you’re buying your
clothes at Yves St. Laurent.”

“Do you want to be returned to work full duty
tomorrow, funny man?”

“Sorry, Doc,” Micko said with a grin.

The two usually traded funny barbs and light
banter before getting down to business. Dr. Bellamy gave Micko a
thorough examination and then spoke frankly. “I don’t like the way
your leg developed atrophy while it was in the cast. Nine months is
too long for a full leg cast, but there was no choice. It’s still
too soon to send you back to light duty, so I’ll recommend to the
medical board that you remain on full sick leave for at least
another thirty days.”

That was fine with Micko. He was not eager to
get back to work yet, especially in his current physical and mental
condition. He knew that he would be assigned to desk duty, which
meant manning the switchboard and handling stupid calls from stupid
people complaining about stupid things until he would need help
from one of the intervention posters.

The doctor and Micko discussed several exercises
to help strengthen the leg.

“You could practice kicking the dog,” Bellamy
cracked.

“Can’t. The dog ran away.”

“Okay, kick your wife.”

“Can’t. She ran away with the dog.”

“Isn’t there anyone you can practice
kicking?”

Micko raised his eyes and rolled them toward the
doctor’s big butt.

Noticing his gaze, Bellamy muttered, “Don’t even
think about it.” Suddenly, he said, “I have a better idea. Wait
outside while I make a call.”

Micko did as he was told and decided to stand
rather than squeeze into the midget chair again. If Sergeant
Cauliflower Ears wanted a fight, then a fight he would get.

A few minutes later, Dr. Bellamy stuck his head
outside the door. “It’s all arranged. Dr. Goldberg will see you
now.”

Micko walked over toward the end office where
Dr. Gladys Goldberg held court. Dr. Goldberg was much more than
just the department psychiatrist. She was a stunning redhead that
oozed sex appeal out of every pore in her body. Micko was very
lucky that Gladys liked him. When she liked someone, she would
harmlessly flirt with him, but she also had the power to end the
career of any cop, from patrolman to chief. Micko had already had
several sessions with her, and he’d won her over with his
charm.

Dr. Goldberg’s office was as small as Dr.
Bellamy’s, but hers was freshly painted egg yolk yellow. Several
lithographs of Renoir paintings added a serene touch, providing a
relaxed setting.

“Come on in and have a seat, Michael,” she
offered.

Micko thought Gladys looked terrific that day.
She had her hair in a sweep that coyly covered one eye and she wore
a pink silk blouse that fit her ample bosom so snugly that Micko
feared a button might pop off and take out one of his staring eyes.
Gladys always wore black stockings, and this day was no
exception.

Micko looked her over from the tips of her sexy
high heels right up her stockings to her leather skirt. This woman
sure knew how to get a rise out of men.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he answered. “God, you
look great today.”

“Just today, Michael?” She pretended to be hurt
as she gave her best puppy dog frown.

They both laughed, and as her breasts heaved
with each chuckle, he feared he would surely lose an eye.

“I have some very good news for you, Michael,”
she said, “and I bet you could use some good news. Dr. Bellamy
consulted with me about the atrophy of your leg, and we came up
with a solution that you might like. The weather is turning cold
and winter is approaching, so it will be difficult for you to
properly exercise outdoors. We think that you need a vacation in a
warmer climate.”

“Can you do that?” Micko asked.

“Hell, I’m the department shrink,” she said with
a laugh. “I can do anything. My sister is a travel agent. I’ll have
her set something up for you. Dr. Bellamy mentioned that you like
scuba diving. We both agree that scuba diving would be great stress
therapy, and it would also help build up your leg muscles without
risking further injury. Water related exercises are zero
impact.”

This is too good to be true!
Micko
thought. “Where should I pick to go diving?” he asked.

“I’ll call my sister Sharon and let her find a
nice place that’s not too expensive. We all know about a cop’s
paltry salary.”

Her smile was as wide as the Grand Canyon. He
wondered if those magnificent white teeth were all capped.

“I guess I’ll see you in about thirty days or
so,” she added with a smirk. “Call me when you return. We still
have to discuss the insensitive comments you made at the shooting
scene and the failure to render assistance to your prisoner.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he muttered.

Micko was on Cloud Nine as he walked out of Dr.
Goldberg’s office. He stared at Sharon Goldberg’s business card and
wondered where on earth she would send him to recuperate.

Then he barged into Dr. Bellamy’s office and
interrupted him while he was with a patient.

“Thanks for everything, Doc!” he blurted. “Hey,
Fritz, how’s the elbow?” he called out to the patient that he
suddenly recognized.

“Better,” Fritz replied.

Micko smiled to himself and he limped toward the
elevator. He had worked with Fritz on a detail when they were both
young patrolmen. The man’s speech and facial features reminded
Micko of Fred Flintstone’s sidekick Barney Rubble. Fritz almost
always answered any question with a one-word response. If he was
ever run over by a truck and someone asked him what happened, all
he was bound to say was, “Ouch!”

When Micko reached his car, he decided to take
off the T-tops, pop in a doo-wop tape, and slip back into the
1950s. Dion and the Belmonts were belting out a song called
“Runaround Sue” as he drove off. He was too young to remember, but
he had an unexplained love for fifties music. It was a very cool
ride home, but even if the weather was challenged, his spirit
wasn’t. There were no signs of depression now.

Back at his apartment, Micko took off his monkey
suit and immediately began pulling out his scuba gear. It had been
a few years since his last dive trip, and the gear needed some
serious servicing. His dive computer needed new batteries, his
regulator had to be refit, he had to replace the straps on his fins
and mask and replace the O-rings on his underwater camera and any
other gear that required them…. He couldn’t wait to call Gus and
tell him about his good news.

Micko waited until thirteen hundred hours to
call Sharon. Gladys wanted to give her a heads-up first so her
sister would have time to do a bit of research for a cheap trip.
Micko was surprised when she answered the phone on the first
ring.

“Gold’s Travel, Sharon speaking.”

“Hi, Sharon, this is Mick O’Shaughnessy. Gladys
gave me your card.”

“Oh, Michael, I’ve been waiting for your call.
How soon can you get down here?”

“Um…down where?”

“Five hundred Park Avenue, suite number
two-eleven.”

“I guess I can be there in an hour.”

“You’ll love the trip I’ve got planned for you.
See you in an hour.”

Micko left his dive gear strewn about his living
room floor and dressed in casual jeans and an NYPD sweatshirt. He
wanted to remind Sharon that he was a poor cop. The Park Avenue
address concerned him that the trip might cost him either an arm
and a leg or his firstborn child.

Micko rode the elevator alone, exited at the
second floor. A huge set of ornate bronze doors caught his eyes and
the number “211” was proudly displayed.

“I can’t afford this,” he disappointedly
murmured to himself as he pushed his way into the labyrinth that
was Gold’s Travel.

The waiting room was as big as a gymnasium, and
the walls were pockmarked with posters of various exotic vacation
destinations. After each poster was a door leading to an agent’s
office. From behind a large desk, an anorexic-looking woman
inquired, “May I help you?”

Micko almost replied, “Yeah, I’d like to fatten
you up with a couple of Big Macs,” but instead he said, “I’m here
to see Sharon Goldberg. My name is—”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she interrupted with a
boney smile. “Sharon is expecting you, Officer.” She resembled the
Grim Reaper as she pointed a skinny finger toward the largest
office. “Go right in.”

Micko tried not to limp as he ambled toward the
door.

Sharon Goldberg was just as gorgeous as Gladys
except that she was blonde. She also had a penchant for tight
blouses and black stockings. Micko had trouble not staring at her
cleavage while talking to her. He was careful to only sneak a peek
when he thought she couldn’t see him doing it.

Sharon had a professional air about her, but she
was still a striking woman all the same. Long blonde hair hung
slightly over her shoulders and rested on a black V-neck cashmere
sweater. A small dainty emerald necklace encircled her swan-like
neck, and she wore a thin yellow belt around a wasp-like waist that
kept her black skirt from sliding down her sexy stockings. On her
left hand, she wore an emerald ring that matched her necklace, and
a beautiful emerald bracelet graced her right wrist. Her nails were
perfectly manicured and shone with a rich coat of red polish.

While Gladys was a sexy, flirtatious temptress,
this woman was a classy businesswoman. Micko liked her—and not just
for the shallow, superficial reasons why men love gorgeous, busty
women. Sharon dealt in direct terms and turned out to be as honest
as the day was long, something most people in business found
difficult to be.

She made Micko comfortable in an oversized brown
leather reclining chair and offered him coffee, and he surprised
himself by saying, “Yes, please.”

“I have a trip of a lifetime for you at a price
you will not believe,” she stated. “I have a business acquaintance
that just came back from scuba diving at Bikini Atoll. Have you
ever heard of it?”

“I have, but only regarding the A bomb,” Micko
answered. “Where is Bikini?”

“It’s part of the Marshall Islands in the
Pacific Ocean, not far from Guam.”

“Guam! Who am I? John Freaking Wayne? What the
heck will I do in Guam?”

“Easy, Michael. Let me explain. This is why
Bikini is the diving secret of the scuba community. Oh, and that
John Wayne movie was in Iwo Freaking Jima.” She flashed a smile
that rivaled her sister’s in beauty. “After World War II, the U.S.
placed a large number of captured ships in Bikini Atoll and used a
nuclear bomb to sink them. More than fifty years later, the
Bikinians moved back and built up the islands with hotels and dive
resorts that offer some of the best shipwreck diving on the planet.
Since the resorts are new and word isn’t out yet, I can get you a
great deal.”

Micko’s brow furrowed. “You know, I kind of
remember reading something about that. The radiation is gone and
the U.S. had to help pay to rebuild the islands and jumpstart the
Bikini economy.”

“Yes, and there has been diving in the Bikini
Lagoon since 1996.
National Geographic
, the Discovery
Channel,
Scuba Diving
magazine, and many other noted dive
publications rave about it in their reviews,” Sharon said. “There
is a grand opening of a new hotel and dive resort scheduled for
next week on Shark Alley Island. It’s just a couple of miles from
the Bikini Resort, and it has the largest and fastest dive boats.
They do all the same dives as the Bikini dive resort, but this
place is luxurious. I could either book you at the Bikini dive
resort where you live on the water in a thatched hut with few
amenities, or into a five-star hotel with a swimming pool, casino,
golf course, three bars, a world class restaurant, and more. Your
choice, but I can get you a great deal on the grand opening of the
Majuro Majestic on Shark Alley Island.”

Micko was stunned as he listened, and of course,
he preferred the luxurious resort. He finally stopped staring at
Sharon’s bust as she explained the package details. It was a great
deal. He had a thousand questions, and Sharon crossed her shapely
legs and sat in her splendid beauty as she patiently answered each
one. Her silky voice was as enthralling as her honesty. When she
didn’t have an answer, she made notes and promised to get an answer
ASAP. She didn’t try to pull any BS and gave Micko her undivided
attention for two straight hours without interruption.