The Death Gods (A Shell Scott Mystery) (67 page)

Perhaps not surprisingly,
among those who’d viewed the 40-minute videotape—which within weeks
began to seem like half of everybody—one of the biggest hullabaloos
arose from Dr. Wintersong’s admission that his, and Belking-Gray’s,
super-duper IFAI vaccine was useless except as a money-maker; that
scientifically, the glop was less/virtuous than snake oil. Citizens
howled and made nasty accusations; they’d never even thought of
before; the medical fraternity shouted back that the respected and
prestigious physician so obviously and obscenely tricked and
tortured had been forced to lie; and, besides his lies had been
misinterpreted, taken out of context, obtained by deceit and duress
and criminal coercion and if presented in court were not allowable
as testimony anyway, since they would unfairly prejudice any jury
against the defendant.

But, whether such heresay
was allowable or not, many citizens nonetheless saw, heard, and—to
the horror of many Doctors, Lawyers, and Merchant Chiefs—made up
their own minds. It was as though the shock of viewing the “Dr.
Wintersong” videotape—the ugliness of that talking head, the
ugliness of what it, Wintersong, M.D. said—initiated an
at-first-gentle turbulence that continued to grow and spread until
it became a kind of last-straw catalyst bringing into the open, a
host of long-buried fears, doubts, and
never-before-asked—or-answered—questions. Not only activists groups
but individual citizens began committing the cardinal sin of
questioning authority and doubting dogma, and demanding proof, of
unproven claims, and even, (perhaps indicating the end of the world
might be near) arguing with their doctors.

Unquestionably, there was
ferment, and the fermentation was spreading. All of which pleased
me hugely—and I knew Hank would have loved every minute of it.
Indeed, sometimes I felt Hank must be alive, vigorous and well, out
there somewhere, advising and guiding certain people, arranging
protests and press releases—and things like those high-powered
attorneys from POCUEH—while keeping out of sight merely to avoid
arrest, or injury, or murder, remaining silent for good and
sufficient reasons of his own.

Sometimes I felt that; not
most of the time. And, I thought, if he was in fact alive, surely
he would at least phone, give me a ring, say Hi and let me know.
But there’d been no call, no ring, no Hi, and it had been six
months now. Maybe I’d missed something back then, heard one thing
when another was said. I remembered well the last time I’d seen
Hank and even the last odd word, “weep,” he’d said to me just
before they took him away.

Now, relaxed in my
Hollywood apartment, on my chocolate-brown divan, glancing
occasionally at Amelia’s fair fanny but thinking about Hank and
Eleanora. And that last Sunday morning in October.

Had the “Death Gods” won
the battle? I think not. Not completely.

* * * * * *

And, much later, it seemed
to me a chunk of my life, like a chapter in a book, was, most
curiously, ending exactly as it had begun. Well, not exactly. The
words were the same, but their meaning, their weight, their
juiciness—and the story they told—and who told it, were not the
same at all.

Bassackward, Hank might
have said. Just as he’d said you have to look behind the words,
behind the definitions, to know what the thing really is, because
truth never changes, but definitions of it do. Something like that.
He’d said so many unusual things to me, and I couldn’t remember
them all now.

Maybe I could ask him some
day. Maybe, up ahead somewhere, my phone would ring in the middle
of the night and I’d hear that familiar voice—strong, young,
certainly not sick, more like a welcome voice bubbling with
enthusiasm—“Sheldon...?”

I hoped so. I really did
hope so.

But those thoughts were
becoming fuzzy. I was almost asleep. Then really asleep. But just
before then, or maybe just after, I felt Lucinda stir lazily next
to me, and heard again, as I have often heard before, those same
soft, warm, liquid words of ending, or beginning...

“
Good night,
Shell.”

-THE END-

About Richard S.
Prather

Richard Scott Prather was
born in Santa Ana, California on September 9, 1921. He served in
the United States Merchant Marine during World War II. Richard
married Tina Hager in 1945. He then worked as a civilian chief
clerk of surplus property at March Air Force Base in Riverside,
California, until leaving that career to become a full time writer
in 1949. Tina, his wife of 58 years, passed away in April of 2004,
and he passed away on February 14, 2007.

Richard Prather’s long and
successful writing career began in 1950 with the publication of his
first Shell Scott mystery novel,
The Case
of the Vanishing Beauty
, published by
Fawcett’s Gold Medal Paperback Originals. His successful and
best-selling Shell Scott series of thirty-six novels, plus four
short story collections, published between 1950 and 1987, have sold
over 40 million copies in the United States and have enjoyed
foreign language publication, selling millions more world-wide, and
are considered classics. His last Shell Scott mystery,
Shell Shock
, was
published in hardcover in 1987. The manuscript for
The Death Gods
was
completed a few years before his death.

In addition to the Shell
Scott mysteries, Richard penned three mystery novels under
pseudonyms: David Knight and Douglas Ring. He also wrote the first
novel based on the television show,
Dragnet
, titled
Dragnet: Case 561.
The book,
Double in Trouble
,
written with Stephen Marlowe, combined the Shell Scott character
and Marlowe’s character, Chester Drum. Richard’s novel,
The Peddler,
originally
published as by Douglas Ring, was later published under his own
name by Gold Medal. Then in 2006,
The
Peddler
was reissued by Hard Case
Crime.

Richard received the
Private Eye Writers of America Lifetime Achievement Award in 1986,
and was twice on the Board of Directors of the Mystery Writers of
America. He was Editor of
The Comfortable
Coffin
, the 13th Mystery Writers of America
Anthology. His stories have appeared in numerous magazines,
The
Shell Scott Mystery
Magazine
, and several
anthologies.

His biography has appeared
in many reference works including
Twentieth Century Crime and Mystery
Writers
, Editor John M. Reilly, St.
Martin’s Press, New York, 1980; 2002 edition of Marquis
Who’s Who in America
.
Richard S. Prather Manuscript Collection, University of Wyoming,
Laramie.

About Linda
Pendleton

Linda Pendleton writes
fiction and nonfiction books, comics, and screenplays, including
several written with her late husband, Don Pendleton, creator
of
The Executioner, Mack Bolan
Series. She is author of the
Catherine Winter, Private Investigator
Series, the historical novel,
Corn
Silk Days, Iowa, 1862;
The
Dawning
; and
Roulette: The Search for the Sunrise Killer,
written with Don Pendleton. Don and Linda are
known for their popular nonfiction books,
To Dance With Angels
, and
Whispers From the Soul.
Linda wrote
A Walk Through Grief:
Crossing the Bridge Between Worlds,
following the death of her husband. She is a member of the
Authors Guild, Sisters in Crime, and EPIC Authors. Several of her
books have won awards.

Linda Pendleton did an
exclusive in-depth interview with Prather and published the
Exclusive Interview with Richard S.
Prather
,
Author of
the Shell Scott Mystery Series,
two months
before his death. The intimate look at Prather’s writing career and
life turned out to be his last interview. Within the unique
interview, he shares his long writing career, his personal life,
his philosophy, and gives useful information on writing for
aspiring authors.

* * *

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