Desperate Times Three - Revolution (14 page)

Julie pulled away just long enough to point a finger at Jimmy. “Look at him,” she moaned. “That’s not the face I fell in love with.”

“Ooh,” grunted Bill.

Suddenly, all eyes were on Jimmy who felt as if he were part of a circus sideshow. He tried to smile, but his bruised face wouldn’t cooperate. “This is why I have to run,” he said, pointing a finger at his swollen nose. “This is part of the bullshit that has to stop. I’m done living in a police state, and I’ll do everything I can to see that people quit abusing their power. Maybe I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Bill was right—I am a pretty good judge of character. If we surround ourselves with good, honest people, dedicated to taking our country back from the assholes who stole it from us, I think we’ll be fine. If we don’t do it, Julie, who will? Somebody has to step up to the plate.”

“That’s right,” agreed Dunn. “Don’t worry about these guys, sweetie. You people are in good hands.”

“Damn straight,” said Jacobs. “We just have to lay low for a while and let the dust settle.”

“What about Patty?” asked Ken. “Do you have anyone who can look for her? I don’t know if I can last a few days.”

“Thrill is all over that,” said Jacobs, reassuringly. “Like you said, you need to put your faith in God that He’s watching out for her. Don’t worry, Ken. We’ll find her.”

“And Cindy, too,” said Bill.

Jimmy nodded his head. “And Cindy, too,” he repeated.

“All the rights secured to the citizens under the Constitution are worth nothing, and a mere bubble, except guaranteed to them by an independent and virtuous Judiciary.” ~ Andrew Jackson

Sonya Chen rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and checked her watch. For the first time in many months, she had slept a full eight hours. She also knew that if she closed her eyes she might sleep another hour, or even two. But there was too much to do, and Sonja knew that people were depending on her. Reluctantly, Sonya rolled out of the warm bed and put her feet down on the cold tile floor. She quickly dressed into her running suit and followed the smell of strong coffee into the kitchen of her new home.

“Good morning, Sonya,” greeted Sonya’s uncle, Dr. Hideo Chen. “I trust that you slept well?”

“Good morning, Uncle. Yes, I slept very well. Thank you.”

Uncle Hideo was sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee and reading emails on his laptop computer. Sunshine streamed in from the large window that overlooked the pond that sat behind their rented house. Sonya poured herself a cup of coffee and stood at the window, watching a large flock of migrating mallards as they enjoyed a respite in the secluded water behind their house.

The house was sparsely furnished, smelled of disuse, and Sonya guessed that it was last decorated during the Clinton administration, but it was home and she was thankful to have it. Sonya had never lived out in the country, and it had taken some getting used to. The house sat twenty minutes by car from the Mayo Clinic which sat nestled inside the cozy little city of Rochester. Sonya loved the town, which had somehow survived the riots nearly unscathed. Both she and her uncle now worked at the clinic. And while her dreams of becoming a surgeon had been put on hold, she was happy to be far away from the Monroe Institute. She knew her Uncle Hideo felt the same way. The people at the Mayo did not subscribe to the new techniques and questionable ethics of those teaching at the Monroe Institute, and others like it that had sprung up around the country. Sonya sipped her coffee and shook the bad memory from her thoughts.

“I hate to rush you, Sonya, but if you wish to run this morning you had better get moving. We have to be at hospital in one hour.”

“I know,” said Sonya, setting her coffee cup on the table and kissing her uncle on top of his head. “I just want to get a few miles in before I hit the shower. I thought you were going to start running with me?”

“I told you. I start tomorrow.”

Sonya smiled as she headed for the front door. Uncle Hideo had lots of plans for tomorrow, and true to his word, that is exactly where they stayed. Sonya unlocked the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. The thermometer on the garage was hovering just above forty, and there was no breeze to speak of. Sonya quickly stretched her calves and thighs and began to slowly jog down the long gravel driveway. The air was crisp and clean, and the countryside was quiet, save for the sound of a faraway barking dog. Sonya slowly built up speed as her muscles gradually began to warm up. The terrain was hilly, and the deserted country highway meandered along switchbacks and up and over some steep grades. Sonya loved it out here, and she continued to build speed as she slipped into her runner’s groove.

She had ran for nearly three miles and was just about to turn back when she noticed the big car. With gasoline at sixty dollars a gallon, most people were driving hybrids or riding bicycles. The Crown Victoria was a throwback to a bygone era, and it immediately put her on high alert. Sonya watched as the car lumbered up and down the rolling hills and continued heading in her direction. With most of the homes in this area vacant, Sonya had little doubt that whoever was inside the black car was looking for them. She wondered if it was someone from the Mayo, but she doubted that because they would have called or sent them an email. The car rolled up next to her, and she stopped running.

Two men stepped outside the car, and Sonya slid her hand inside her pocket and felt for the small can of mace. She stared defiantly at the unsmiling men and sized them up as they approached. They both wore loosened ties and sports jackets, and both appeared to be somewhere around forty years of age. The driver was tall with blonde hair and pale, snow-white skin. The shorter man was broad in the shoulders, obviously a bodybuilder, and wore his dark hair slicked back with plenty of goop. Sonya hated goop in men’s hair.

The shorter man spoke first. “Sonya Chen?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she said. “Who are you, and can I see some identification?”

The blonde smiled, exposing two rows of rotten yellow teeth. “Relax, geisha-girl, we’re cops.”

“What did you call me?”

The goopy-haired man shook his head and held his wallet out for Sonya to inspect. “Don’t listen to him,” he said. “The guy is a complete moron.”

Sonya stared at the identification with fire in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, Ralph. God, why does everyone have to be so sensitive?”

“Get back in the car, and that’s an order,” the shorter cop said, pointing a finger into his counterpart’s chest.

“Ah, geez,” said the blonde, but he spun on his heels and sulked back to the car and retracted himself back behind the wheel.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m Detective Ralph Wilcox. Can we start this over, Ms. Chen?”

Sonya studied the man’s eyes and decided that he was closer to thirty five. He looked honest, and if he lost the hair-goop, Sonya thought she might even consider him to be attractive. She nodded her head, and when he smiled, Sonya had no doubt that she found him attractive. “I don’t have much time,” she said. “What can I do for you, and what type of people name their son Ralph?”

The cop smiled and shook his head. “I was actually named after my uncle. He was also a cop and died saving two kids from a house fire.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be. That was before I was born. Nice morning for a run. I’m jealous. It’s beautiful out here.”

Sonya stared off into the distance and nodded her head. “We like it out here,” she replied.

“Are you married?”

“Whatever gave you that idea? Do you see a ring on my finger? No, I live out here with my uncle, and we work at the Mayo. But I expect you already know that, don’t you Detective Wilcox?”

The cop nodded his head and smiled. “Ralph,” he said. “Please, call me Ralph.”

“Okay, Ralph,” Sonya said, finding herself being charmed by Ralph’s boyish looks and lighthearted attitude. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Ralph smiled. “You do,” he said. “I need a running partner.”

Sonya laughed. “What makes you think I’d go running with you? Do I look like the type of girl who takes off running with every man she meets?”

“Not at all, I just thought it might be nice. Look, I don’t want to waste your time so I’ll get to the point. We’re looking for a doctor from the Monroe Institute, a Dr. Simon Botch. Does that name ring a bell?”

“He was one of my surgical instructors. Why, what did he do?”

“He’s been missing for nearly three weeks. Can you tell me the last time you remember seeing him?”

Sonya crossed her arms and shook her head. “I suppose it was back at the school, sometime before we left. Why on earth would you drive all the way out here to ask me about Dr. Botch? In case you haven’t noticed, a lot of people are missing. A lot of people are dead. How do you know that he didn’t meet someone and leave the state?”

“We don’t know that, but he left behind a wife and five kids,” the detective said, gazing deep into her eyes. “Can you think of anything that might help us find him? Did he say anything? Did he seem unhappy? Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

“Look, he was my surgical instructor. I never knew him outside of the institute, and I have no idea if he was happy or not. To be honest with you, I didn’t care for the man and neither did my uncle. He was one of the reasons we moved down here.”

“Yeah?” the detective asked, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dr. Botch and his friends have been given the green light to play God. They’ve taken it upon themselves to decide who lives and who dies. Have you heard of the slippery slope? Well, Dr. Botch is both a transplant surgeon and an organ harvester. Can you see a conflict of interest? They don’t have to wait for the donors to die; not anymore.”

The detective nodded his head and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly turned away and cleared his throat.

“Detective?” asked Sonya, sensing something was terribly wrong. “Are you all right?”

The detective held his hands up in the air and began to walk away from Sonya and his partner in the car. Two crows cawed from their perch high above them on a power line. Sonya studied them for a moment,
scavengers,
she thought. Just like Dr. Botch.

Detective Ralph finally turned back to face Sonya, and she could see that something had boiled very close to the surface. “You do understand me then,” she said. “A lot of people don’t get it anymore. Life has become so cheap.”

“I understand you perfectly,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He paused for a few seconds and smiled, sadly. “My wife,” he said. “She was a donor.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to say that there is anything wrong with being a donor.”

“I know you weren’t. They said she was gone, but I heard later that she wasn’t.”

“That’s horrible.”

The detective spun on his heels again and rubbed his eyes. Sonya could see the pain in his expression and waited while he pulled himself together. The crows cawed again and flew off into the deep blue November sky.

“What do you know about a woman named Patty Dahlgren?” the detective suddenly asked, his back still turned to her.

Sonya was stunned by the question and bit her bottom lip. “She was a patient at the Monroe Institute. I heard she was scheduled for organ harvesting, and she was one of the reasons we left. Dr. Botch had declared her brain dead, which was a blatant lie.”

“You know who she was? You know she was the wife of Ken Dahlgren, and you know who he is?”

“Come on. I haven’t been living under a rock. I know who he is.”

Detective Ralph seemed to gather himself and turned to face Sonya. He stared off into the sky for a long moment, and his eyes slowly fell to meet her own. “Patty Dahlgren was supposedly Dr. Botch’s last patient before he disappeared. We can’t seem to find anyone who witnessed the operation. We do know that organs were harvested and that those organs were transplanted successfully into a number of needy patients.”

Sonya stuck her hands on her hips. “What are you trying to say?”

“Did you know that both Dr. Botch and Patty Dahlgren were both Type O?”

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“What happened at the Monroe Institute?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I really don’t like what you’re insinuating. I have to get to the clinic, and unless you have a warrant, this discussion is over.”

The detective took two steps towards Sonya and took her gently by the bicep. “I think we both know what happened, Sonya,” he whispered. “I’m trying to help you, but I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth. One more time—what happened at the Monroe Institute?”

Sonya tore her arm free and began to jog back in the direction of home. “Lose the hair gel, Ralph,” she said. “And for the record, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to go.”

Detective Ralph Wilcox’s hand instinctively touched the side of his head. He smiled as he watched the fit Asian woman jog away from him. He heard the car door open and the footsteps of his partner, Detective Bob Johnson, as he approached.

“Well, did you get anything?” asked Johnson.

Wilcox crossed his arms and watched as his suspect disappeared in the distance. “She knows something,” he said. “Think about it; why else would they leave the Monroe Institute? She was near the top of her class and her uncle was rolling in dough. She suddenly drops out of school and he up and quits his position? Yeah, they know something.”

“So, what’s the plan? Why don’t we just arrest the both of them and bring them back to Minneapolis?”

“Come on,” said Wilcox, heading back towards the car. “Let’s go get something to eat and I’ll explain on the way. I’m starving; how about you?”

“I could eat,” Johnson said, slapping his stomach with both hands.

Sonya’s heart felt as if it would explode as she ran. She considered stopping to get it back under control. Sweat poured down her face, and she was nearly gasping for breath. She ran with her head down and prayed that the two men wouldn’t follow her. She shuddered as she remembered what the good-looking detective had said to her:
“They were both a Type O.”

The crows flew along with her as she ran, and their calls sent shivers down her spine. She needed time to think. How would she put this to Uncle Hideo? The best parts of Dr. Simon Botch were alive and well and living inside five transplant patients. That was justice. With his face wrapped tightly in gauze bandages, the class had mercilessly harvested his organs as other teams of surgeons transplanted them into the needy, never knowing the identity of their nameless donor. That was karma.