Ask Not For Whom The Panther Prowls (9 page)

“
She isn't.
She's under our anesthetic now. Still needs the breathing tube, so
we have to keep her sedated, but she's on the mend.”

3

I was
leaving Northside after another visit the next day. Laura was still
under anesthetic, but the doctors assured me that it was only a
matter of a day or so before they would start to wean her from it.
She'd be fine after that, though it might take her a while to
completely recover from the poison. It depended on exactly how much
had been used.

Wandering
out into the parking lot, which was one of the easier ways to get
to MARTA, I felt a sharp sting on my arm, looked down and saw the
air-gun dart. The same kind as Danny found when Laura collapsed. I
flicked it off, but it was too late, I began to feel woozy. The
blue Mercedes that was next to me began to speed off, but not
before I recognized Dr. Jones from the International Studies
Department in the passenger seat. He was putting away his
air-pistol. I pulled out my pistol and fired at the car as it
pulled away. The noise of racing engine and the screams of
onlookers filled the air. The sounds came from all around me. I
hardly noticed the reports from my pistol as I squeezed off the
shots. Five, Six, Seven shots and then it locked open. As I blacked
out the last thing I remembered hearing was a satisfying crash as
the car piled into a concrete pillar in the parking
deck.

I awoke in
panic with this horrible thing sitting in my throat and forcing air
into my chest. Then I drifted off as the anesthetic removed the
consciousness of my ventilator pipe from me. Sometime later I awoke
for good. I was alive. I tried to turn my head, but nothing worked
right. My eyes could just barely focus. There was Laura, or at
least a Laura-shaped blur. As my eyes finally began to focus, it
was clear it was her. She was sitting by me. Her were eyes red with
tears and tiredness, and she was wearing that damned necklace. “La
– Lu”, I tried to speak. My mouth didn't work.

She looked
up, then kissed me on my forehead, possibly because it was the only
place available. “Will, don't try to speak. Until enough of the
toxin is clear, you can't.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “Can we try
again?”

Everything would be alright.

4

Well not
quite immediately alright. I'd fired my firearm in a 'gun-free'
zone in a hospital at a fleeing car. It didn't matter that there
was enough evidence in the car to convict the occupants of murder
and attempted murder several times over. Stopping suspects was the
police's task, not mine.

As soon as I
could hobble about with a cane, I found myself on the wrong side of
the court in the pretrial hearings. We rose when Judge Josephs
entered. He wearily looked around the room, and spotting Ms. Brown
began, “Ms. Brown, the prosecution can begin.”

“
I'm sorry
your honor, I'm helping with the defense this time.”

That was a
shock, Laura was well-known as a hot-shot prosecutor. This time she
was working for the defense. He paused, then asked, “Would the
prosecutor begin?”

It didn't
take very long in the end. The evidence that I discharged my weapon
in a hospital parking lot was non-contestable. The question before
the court was whether it was a criminal action. The proceedings had
just barely begun when Judge Josephs called the prosecution and
defense attorneys to the bench. They turned on a loud buzzing sound
to mask their discussions from the jury and the public. It was
rather obvious from their body language that they were having a
heated discussion.

Judge
Josephs abruptly switched off the noise and the two attorney's
returned to their seats. He asked me to rise. Unsteadily, with the
aid of my cane, I did. He began to speak.

“
Dr. Sharpe,
I understand that you were firing at the people who just shot you
with a dart. A dart of the same sort that killed or seriously
injured other people. Including Ms. Brown.”

“
Yes, your
honor.”

“
Did it hit
you?”

“
Yes, your
honor, and I was in the hospital until last week from
it.”

“
Just answer
the question I asked. I also understand that due to your quick
action at least one of the gang members was caught. I was told the
other member is a fugitive and is believed to be
overseas.”

'Yes, your honor.”

“
Were you
working in close cooperation with the police, particularly with
Detective Morrison of the Atlanta Police Department?”

“
Yes, your
honor.”

“
Finally,
are you a licensed private detective who can be an officer of the
court if need be?”

“
Yes, your
honor.”

He turned to
the prosecuting attorney and glared, “Why are you wasting this
courts time with a trivial case like this? I have a full docket,
and this case does not belong on it. Case dismissed, no charges
against the defendant to be entered.”

After the
hearing adjourned, in the few short minutes before the next one
started, Laura and the new prosecutor were chatting about legal
practice. I rather hoped she'd give him a few pointers about using
his discretion when choosing to prosecute. I mean he seemed a nice
enough fellow. Meanwhile, Morrison came over to congratulate me on
what he considered to be my narrow escape. “That new prosecutor,
he's trying to make a name for himself.”

“
I think he
is, just not the sort he would like to have.”

“
Yeah, but
he's young. Maybe he'll learn.”

I paused, and then it hit me. “Alvin, there's a
big difference between the first attacks and the ones that took out
Laura and me.”

“
There
is?”

“
Time. Laura
and I collapsed almost at once, the other ones were an hour or so
after they were stung or scratched.”

“
Damn Will,
that is odd. Do people differ that much in how they respond to this
stuff?”

“
I can
check, but I doubt it. There's either two groups using different
toxins or something has happened to their supply.”

6

Arthur sent
the bill for Argus's services to GSU. Then to a collection agency.
Eventually Argus received a check for our services. It
bounced.

I agreed
with Laura. My, well Helena's and my townhouse had to be cleaned
out. It was time to make a clean break with the past and get rid of
the crap. The townhouse was in a good school district, so we could
move in if we wanted. Otherwise, we would just sell it. I'd let her
decide that. There was a firm she used for her father's estate
sale. They'd paw through everything, evaluate it, sell it what they
could get and haul the rest off to the dump. For a fee, of course.
It was well worth it.

Laura let me
keep my distance. I signed the paperwork, gave her authorization
and went off to keep busy. Her call was a surprise. “Will, you need
to come here. I'm at the townhouse.”

“
Why?”

“
I can't say
over the phone. It's important.”

“
Has the cat
coughed up another hairball?” It was our prearranged cover for a
distress call.

“
No, he's
fine. No hairballs”

I quickly
made my way back to the townhouse. Laura was sitting on the couch
in the living room, smiling amidst the disorder, with a shoe-box on
her lap. “The sale agents said we probably didn't want to sell
this.”

“
Why?” Laura
liked one or two of the pieces of jewelry I'd given Helena, and
insisted that the rest go. I couldn't imagine her wanting to keep
Helena's shoes. Especially, this pair, in an old box from the
discount shoe store in Toco Hills.

“
Come here.
Sit next to me and look.”

I sat and
took the box from her. It was extremely heavy. Laura chirped in
excitement, “I think it's part of the missing gold.”

I opened it. Something like a hundred ounce bars
were neatly stacked in the box. On top was a letter. It was in
Helena's handwriting. I started to read it, then gave it to Laura.
“It's really for you.”

Dearest Will,

If you've found this, I'm long dead. I
wasn't a very good wife for you in the end.

Laura commented, “I told you she was a
skank.”

I'm
sorry and please forgive me. I hope you found someone else, someone
who would faithfully love you the way I can't. Let her read this
and make sure she understands you are totally hers now. I can't
undo the pain I'm sure I caused you, but maybe these will help you
to build a new life.

H.

We sat there
silently for a moment. Laura looked at me. “Will, it's not ours. It
belongs to the university, the state, it's evidence.”

“
Evidence of
what? It was Helena's, she's clearly given it to me. It is ours.
They don't want to see it, hear about it or anything. It will only
cause them problems.”

Laura was dubious about my argument. “I'm not
sure about that Will.”

I took Laura's hand and squeezed it. “I'm not
letting you turn this in. If nothing else, it will be Danny's
college tuition.”

Laura kissed
me. “I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking straight. You know Will, we need
to go over everything in this house before the estate sale. Who
knows what else is here?”

Dr. Rogers watched the television in the nursing
home. There wasn't much else to do. Nor was there much choice in
what they watched. Fox news. Its fictional version of current
events didn't help bring the psychiatric patients back into touch
with reality. On the other hand watching it made the first months
of his extended trip even more surreal. Unfortunately, the massive
dose of nano-encapsulated LSD he took was beginning to wear off,
and the news was changing from an enjoyable background of
improbable events to what was simply an annoying noise.

One local
exclusive caught his notice. The dart murderers were caught. Not
quite, but one was caught and the other had skipped the country for
home. The news anchor was interviewing some APD detective or
another about how this violent and lethal gang had been rounded up
due to the cooperation of Georgia State University. He shouted
“Like Hell.” Then he turned to the blue-haired woman in the
reclining chair next to him and said, “Time to wake up. It's been
real Ethyl, but I must be going.”

It wasn't clear that she understood what he
said, and it wouldn't have mattered in any case. He pushed the
lever on his chair, stood up and stretched. “God that feels
good.”

The night nurse looked at him. “Mr. Rogers,
John, what are you doing?”

“
Sorry son,
but it's time to leave. Can't say it's been the most pleasant of
stays, but I'd recommend this motel to anyone who needs it. I'd say
it rates four and a half bed-pans.”

It wasn't that easy of course, but as Dr. John
Rogers was clearly in command of his faculties, the next week found
him back on the street, blinking in the unexpectedly bright light
of an Atlanta Fall.

“
Damn,” he
said to no one in particular, “I didn't think it would take them
that long.” His lab had long since been closed, with his students
disbursed to other, more productive, or perhaps, better stated,
more active and alive mentors. He called a taxi, and after a bit of
negotiation convinced it to take him to his condo block at a
discount. At least his key still fit.

He turned
the lock and cautiously pushed the door open. There was a slight
resistance. “Doubt that's cobwebs.” He pulled it closed and locked
it again. “I'll have to ask the landlord to get it cleaned before I
move in. If he does it the day before payday he can save himself
some money.”

He sauntered
down the hall, pushed the elevator button and waited. Two burly
Hispanic men came and stood beside him. One on each side. He missed
the elevator, as, at their forceful suggestion, they took the
stairs. They used the back exit, hurried him into a waiting car and
sped off.

As they sped
off, they blew through a red light in their haste. Unfortunately
for them, it was near the end of the fiscal month and the state
police had to fill their quota in a hurry. After a brief chase they
stopped. It didn't take long for the police computer to link Dr.
Roger's companions to their warrants. Dr. Rogers kept his mouth
shut, which the men much appreciated, and as an uncooperative
witness who was just riding with his friends, he was free to go. He
went.

More to the point he was picked up by his
friends. They drove a late-model BMW and drove him to a mansion in
Buckhead.

I was negotiating the crowds on Peachtree during
the inter-class rush when I ran into a pair of the Bengali women
Laura and I had met at the airport. I didn't recognize them, of
course, but they were lost and I looked vaguely familiar so they
asked me a question.

“Sir, Can you help?”

“Yes, well maybe.” At least they weren't
pan-handling. “What do you need?”

“Where is the Physics Department?”

“That's easy, just walk back to Peachtree Ave
and then a block north. It's the sixth floor in 25 Peachtree, the
old Sun-Trust bulding.”

I received a puzzled look. My directions could
have been in Greek for all they helped. So I asked, “Why did you
want to know?”