Life Struggles (Life Stories Book 1) (12 page)

“It's Alex. When he could talk he called him ‘Uncle Luke.’ That cinched it. He's in a hospital upstate and will be here some time tomorrow. I offered to arrange a city ambulance but Luke refused. He's riding down with Alex in a private ambulance and the nurse is bringing back Luke's car. Alex isn't out of the woods completely, but the doctors say he's going to survive.” Danny was smiling.

“What's wrong with Alex?” I hoped it wasn't serious.

Danny looked concerned. “Well, dysentery for one. And West Nile virus. The state health people are all over that one. And some sort of parasite that's going to take another few weeks to get rid of. And a couple of things the doctor said that I didn't understand. Ethan, he's one sick boy. But he's alive.” Sick Alex or dead Alex? That was an easy choice.

The next morning Barbara came to see me along with the managing editor. I didn't think that Mr. Pryce knew who I was. Well, he probably didn't.

My job at the newspaper was secure. Lucy had started writing the
Life Continues
column with heavy editing support. It would appear every other week until I returned. Her first column was an inside report on the takedown of the Capelleti family. She turned down a book offer but said she'd help me write it. Barbara added that Lucy actually had a scoop. Everybody figured the Capelletis were Italian. You know, mobs and shit. They were originally from Norway.

Then Luke walked in. I hugged him until he couldn't breathe. Alex was downstairs and, if I behaved, I could go down to see him. I promised to be on my best behavior.

“Luke, the paintings, you …” He wouldn't let me finish.

“They're still in storage and are not needed. Anyway, it's just canvas and paint.” He paused for a few seconds.

“Now, are you going to behave?” I nodded yes, then stopped when my head hurt.

A nurse I recognized from the ward came in with a wheelchair. Luke and the nurse helped me out of bed, and while the nurse was untangling the wires and tubes Luke grabbed another hospital gown to drape it over my backside. It was a nice gesture, but I didn't really care. By this time all but three people in the time zone had seen me naked, and those three were way to the north and living in an igloo.

The trip to the elevator took forever. The nurse had to recruit an assistant to help keep the cords and tubes untangled. Luke offered to help and was told to fuck off. He just grinned.

It was only one floor, but I thought I was going to be released to go home before we finished riding down that short distance. I was wheeled into a private room (Cheryl has some real clout at that hospital) and I saw a curtain around a bed. I could hear a young woman's voice.

The curtain was pulled aside and the woman was in a nurse's uniform with some sort of pin on it that said “In Training.”And then, there he was. Thin and sick, but most importantly alive.

“Alex”

“Douchebag.” But Alex was smiling.

Chapter Thirteen

After a couple of days they let me visit Alex for a whole hour. I told him I was sorry for being so hard on him after Dana's death. I hoped he could understand that I missed her so much, and didn't give enough consideration to the fact that I hadn't just lost my wife, he had lost his mother. I asked him to forgive me.

Alex forgave me. He said that he might have been a little hard on me, too, and that we should both try to get along better. Then we cried together until the nurse came and told me to get the fuck out.

Alex and I were released on the same day a week later. Cheryl recruited “volunteer” nursing students to cover the daytime and she spent the night. Every night. Before long I was ready for that blowjob. It was worth the wait.

We cleared up a few details. Veronica, the nursing student who had gone with Luke, was a star. She said the dysentery was easy (for her, anyway). The parasite was also easy since she had just taken a course on parasitology. The fact that a worm was poking out of Alex's ass didn't hinder the diagnosis.

“What about the West Nile virus?” That was Cheryl. “Early stages look like a million other things. I seriously doubt I could have made that call.”

“Well,” started Veronica, “he had all the symptoms of a million other things, but most of them the medics and the hospital would be ready to treat. Headache was bad, eyes were photosensitive and he had a rash. That still could be dozens of other stuff that they were prepared to treat. So, I called West Nile because they should be ready. I just got lucky.”

“Lucky my ass.” That was me. “What did you do?”

“Well, first I had Luke put something under his feet and legs.” She turned to explain to the ignorant one; that would be me. “That pushes blood and other fluids toward the core and the brain. Then I had him pull some willow bark and start turning it into powder. See, neither one of us had remembered to bring aspirin or ibuprofen or anything.” Cheryl glowered at her and she bowed her head for a moment.

Finally she resumed her story. “Luke alternated producing powder and massaging Alex's legs to increase fluid flow. He had bought a coke with crushed ice, so I had him bring me that to feed Alex ice chips. I put small amounts of willow bark powder under his tongue every two minutes.” She shrugged. “Anybody could have done that.”

“Yeah, if anybody is you or MacGyver,” contributed Cheryl. “Willow bark was an inspiration. It slowed down the developing encephalitis, reduced his fever and helped with some of the pain. As for running off without the right supplies, consider yourself severely chastised.”

“So, the next time I'm sick I need to go into the back yard and chew on some tree bark?” Actually, Alex's question was the same one I had.

“Willow bark contains a salicylate, just like aspirin. I thought everybody knew that.” Veronica's opinion of ‘everybody's’ breadth of knowledge sure exceeded mine.

Alex, with Cheryl's support, had won the epic Battle of the Pants. Monica had started spending the night the second day Alex was home. I was too tired to deal with it. Alex had stopped wearing clothes, and I wasn't too tired to deal with that.

“Go put on some fucking clothes,” was my response. Alex disagreed.

“It's my house and I'll wear what I want.” When he was well enough for it I was going to kill the punk.

“We have Cheryl and Monica here,” I told him.

Alex was ready for that. “Cheryl's a nurse and Monica's seen me naked more than you have.”

Cheryl actually supported me on the anti-nudity stance. “Alex, I've seen more dicks than everybody else in this room combined. And, I'm sure Monica has seen you naked plenty of times. The issue is household accidents. I see them every week in trauma. Some guy is running around naked in his house just because he can, and winds up in the ER with a burned, bruised, cut – or worse – penis. And the damage to the testicles is no picnic.”

Alex wore tighty whiteys after that. I tried to object, but Cheryl shot me down. “Have you seen MTV? Looked at a clothing catalog? Seen Marcus go to the market in his boxers? Give it up, Ethan. You won the on the naked thing.”

So, when Veronica showed up Alex was in his underwear. It was a good thing Monica wasn't there, because she would have had a meltdown. Alex was smitten.

He kept getting up to go stand by her, touching her, doing everything but throw himself at her feet. Alex told her his nipples felt abnormal, and grabbed her hand to “examine” them. He asked her to give him a complete physical and she laughed.

“Alex, the important part is one I'm not qualified to examine. That's your pre-frontal cortex. In most other ways you're a man. For the next four to eight years your pre-frontal cortex will still be that of a boy. And there ain't shit you can do about it.

“As the pre-frontal cortex matures so does the person. I'm sure you can father babies, and I have no doubt you're a veritable God in bed. But you're still a boy. And I'm a woman.” Veronica looked sorry to have let Alex down. Alex looked even sorrier because he was let down.

But now I had my trump card: Your pre-frontal cortex is still a boy, so I who am a man have said no. End of discussion.

I asked Alex about his feelings toward Veronica. He said that he and Monica were really just friends with lots and lots of benefits. I cautioned him about sex without love.

“Ethan, blah blah blah.”

I had stopped listening after he called me Ethan and not Douchebag.

We were getting along much better. There were still conflicts and battles and boundaries to deal with. But this was more of the Alex I remembered while Dana was alive. He can't help being eighteen and rebellious. I just need to remember that I'm the adult here.

Oh, by the way, some foundation paid all of Veronica's costs for the rest of her nursing degree. It used the same bank Herb Lockhart had used for the reward fund. I called him and he said he was pleading the Fifth.

Danny came by and we got some more details. It seems Blowjob Bob had taken me to his house for the fun and games. When the emergency button went off they panicked and left. Danny and a couple of uniforms responded to the alarm, and found AB negative blood (my type, fairly rare) and my driver's license. Blowjob's fingerprints were all over the Chrysler. And the knife, with my blood and his fingerprints, was recovered from a trash bin about a hundred feet from his front door.

His arrest plus some of my blood on the front bumper of the truck got a search warrant for the transport company. Stiletto rolled over on everybody. The city ran out of jail cells and had to farm out some of the prisoners. The importer was still working (The Boss refused to talk) but the wholesaler was shut down. The price of coke and heroin on the street skyrocketed.

A Baton Rouge gang tried to fill the void and sent a truck with drugs toward the city. It got into an accident on the Interstate. With a police car.

The book deal came through. I said three years for final copy, they said nine months. We agreed on fifteen months and I took a $350K advance. Herb told me I was a fucking idiot. I told him I was a broke fucking idiot and the advance fixed so many financial problems that more money was just icing on the cake. Step one was to give Luke back his money. He knew I would worry until it was paid back, so he just said “Thanks.”

I eventually reminded Danny I wanted to speak to the ADA handling Rufus Yardley's case, unless it was Hartag. He said Hartag was serving a three-month suspension of her license, and it was a guy named Mike. Lucy drove me to the DA's office.

“Sir, I'm Ethan McQuade. You have Rufus Yardley dead to rights on six murders, and two of them include special circumstances. He's dead, just not buried.” I had gotten all of that from Will, the crime beat guy at the paper who got me started on trying to find Alex.

“Ethan, I'm Mike Jagger. That's all correct, but I have no idea what you want to do.” He looked puzzled.

“Did anybody ever call you Mick?” That was me.

“Nobody who survived.” That was Jagger. “Now, what do you want?” He didn't appear rude, just wanting to get to the issue.

“Your job is ensuring justice is done, right? Not winning cases or sending murderers to the death chamber?” My few conversations with Herb Lockhart over the past three weeks had been fruitful.

“So what?” That was actually a very good question from Mick. Or Mike.

“So, what if I can give you a seventh murder for which he has not been charged? And for which someone has already been wrongfully convicted and is serving a life sentence without parole?” I just stared at him.

“Fuck. Who is it?” I reminded him about the journalist part and confidential sources. He added another “Fuck,” and then asked his secretary to get an appointment with the D.A. herself. Now.

He came back in four minutes. “What do you want?”

Well, apart from clearing Jerry for the murder, I wasn't sure.

“What can you give him?” After all, I was a journalist and had taken Interviewing 101 my freshman year.

“The only thing we have to give up is the death penalty.
If
I can get the victims' families to agree to that, we might have a deal.
If
you can get me the seventh murder.” I couldn't have hoped for any more.

Three days later Mike called me. I was to meet with him, Rufus and Rufus's lawyer that afternoon. I was looking forward to it.

We met in a conference room at the D.A.'s office. It was a lot better furnished than the rooms at the newspaper, but the newspaper didn't have its hand in the taxpayer's pocket. I decided to put that thought aside.

“Rufus, I'm Ethan McQuade, a journalist with the New Orleans
Daily Post
. I…” That was all I could get out.

“You're the motherfucker who threatened me at the Pussy Willow. Fuck you. You ain't gettin' shit.” He turned to his lawyer. “Let's go.”

His lawyer was trying to protect his client and not prove how long his dick was. “Rufus, sit down. Let's hear what everybody has to say, OK?” Rufus sat down.

“Rufus, I'm days away from going to press with the story of another murder where you intentionally framed someone else.” Rufus started looking nervous. “Yeah, that one. When the guy you framed reads the piece, you won't live to stand trial.” Never underestimate the power of a good bluff.

Rufus looked at his lawyer.

“What do you have to offer?” That was the lawyer and the question was aimed at the ADA.

“We take the death penalty off the table
if
we get a full confession to all seven murders, including the one Mr. McQuade raised. That's it. Your client is going to jail for the rest of his life, almost certainly without possibility of parole.

“If your client accepts the deal I will be sorry that the state can't execute him. On the other hand, I will not cry if he's murdered in prison and suffers terribly for a long time while dying. Either way, he's dead.” Jagger spoke matter-of-factly, and I believed every word of it.

The lawyer and Rufus spoke for a minute before the lawyer said, “It's a deal. Now, I want the reporter out of here.”

“One thing first.” Mike didn't look happy, but that was his problem. “I want Rufus to name the guy he framed before I go.”

We all looked expectantly at Rufus. Finally he said, “Jerry Fuckin' Gamblin, the liquor store hit. I knew I should have fuckin' killed you the first time I saw you.”