The Administrator (4 page)

She pushed unruly, red curls away from her sky blue eyes exposing a too broad forehead hovering over thick eyebrows. Her square jaw and ski slope nose made her plain face seem pleasant. She was no raving beauty, but I’ve seen a lot of women with pretty faces who are much uglier.

She was silent for a moment then said, “In the neighborhood where I grew up, a girl became a nun or she turned tricks on the street. I tried both. I didn’t like either option, so I went into rookie training. I figured they would stick me behind a desk somewhere answering 911 calls, but I guess the pretty girls get those jobs. So here I am. Patrolling the same streets I used to stroll looking for Johns.” She smiled. “It’s your turn, Gordy. Why did you become a cop?”

“Beats the hell out of me why anyone does it, especially me. But what else is there? My father was a cop and his father before him. Family tradition I guess. Besides, I’m lazy. Being a policeman’s son made it easy. I already knew the rules. At least, I did until they changed them. Now, I’m not real sure exactly what the rules are.”

“You mean rules like why we have to let that kid go back to the streets just because he’s a juvenile? So he can kill someone else?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Like body selling?”

“Yeah.”

“Like criminal justice?”

Slamming the cup on the table and adding another brown blotch to its dingy surface, I snapped, “What do you know about justice? Rookie school teaches you all the rights criminals have. Don’t hurt the little creeps. Don’t talk rough to them. Give them TV, soft beds, new shoes, telephones in their cells so they can talk to their lawyers, camping trips to the few forests still left for rehabilitation. The same forests that are closed to the public because the justice system needs them for poor misguided criminals. Yeah we know all the rules, but what about justice for the victims? What about justice for all the poor bastards who go to work everyday in the organ factories knowing they are killing themselves with the chemicals they use? And what happens to those organs? We give whatever the wealthy can’t use to prison inmates because they have rights too!”

She frowned. “Hey, Gordy, I didn’t mean to hit a sore spot. Just making conversation. That’s all.” Her blue eyes were wide but not scared or surprised, kind of cool and maybe a little amused.

Damn, I berated myself, I’m supposed to be the observer, the cool one. Why did I let her yank my chain like that? I summoned my ‘it was all a joke’ smile and said, “No sore spot. No more than any other cop. Except maybe for the Psyches. Tell me, Shelly, are you an undercover Psyche? Maybe checking out my sanity?”

She chuckled. “Hey, I’m the rookie. Remember?”

I felt a bit uneasy, but I didn’t know why. Later that night, after my fourth bourbon, it hit me. According to the rules, when you ask someone if they are an undercover shrink, they have to tell you if they are. Entrapment laws being what they are.

She hadn’t said she was, but she didn’t exactly say she wasn’t either. I made a mental note to check her out. Certain members of the Justice League were not above having the watchers become the watched.

The next morning, I pulled in a few markers from Flossie at personnel and ran Shelly through a background check. She wasn’t a Psyche. “Thanks, Flossie. I owe you.”

She smiled through bright red lipstick. “You sure do, Honey.”

I planted a kiss on the soft folds of her 70-year-old cheek and went to work.

Shelly and I were assigned to investigate a black market organ ring. I asked for the case. Simple enough. After 24 years on the force, I had sources on the street that wouldn’t talk to anyone else. None of them were easy to find today though, so we took a trip to the organ factory.

It was late when we got there. The dusky smog was settling into the city. You could almost see it slither into the cracks and crevices in the cold, black pavement of the alleys and streets. As I maneuvered the car into a parking place obviously designed for a tricycle instead of a car, Shelly stared up through the eternal haze of smog that hovered over the city.

She twisted her neck sideways to look up at the ten story, ice white building. It’s sheer, windowless face towered over a gaping, glass doorway nestled at its base. She shivered and said, “I expected it to look like a hospital. It’s more like a tomb.”

“Your first time here?” I was a little surprised. Most rookies are given the tour.

“Yeah. I was sick the day the class toured this and the prison.”

A sleek blonde behind the huge, granite greeting desk smiled with practiced reassurance at us. Her name tag declared her to be Phyllis. “May we help you, officers?” The peaceful, pastoral mural behind her was meant to make people feel better about selling their loved ones’ bodies, but I doubt it helped much.

“This is Officer Shelly. She’s new on the force, and we’re here to tour your facilities.”

“Oh, well, the scheduled tours are on Thursdays and Saturdays. If you will just add your names to this list, we will be happy to....”

I turned on my ‘knock ‘em dead’ charm and leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “Look, Miss ... ahh ... Phyllis, we would love to come back Saturday, but we got a report of a mishandling of the remains after the harvest, and....”

Her pink, full lips pouted, and a frown marred her almost too smooth forehead. “I assure you, officer, that every one of our client’s remains are handled in a sanitary and respectful manner.”

“I’m sure that’s true, but the rules say we must check on these reports. You are familiar with the rules aren’t you, Phyllis? Every employee of the organ factory must know the rules. It’s in your contract. Surely, you are aware of that?”

“Oh ... oh yes, of course I am. Just a minute. I’ll call an orderly. I’m sure that if all you want to see is the remains crematorium, we can arrange it.” Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the phone.

A few minutes later, a short dark skinned, bald man in a green smock appeared. His forced smile revealed a glimpse of yellow teeth. “You here to see the crematorium? Follow me.” He glared at Miss America behind the desk and slouched off down the hallway.

As we fell into step behind him, Shelly whispered, “I didn’t know about that rule. Why haven’t I heard of it?”

“Because there isn’t such a rule,” I whispered back.

The bald gorilla we were following stopped in front of a door which thick, black letters identified as the, RECEPTION ROOM. He palmed the entry lock, and the door opened.

In the center of the stark white room sat two tables. One had a sheet covered body on it. The other was empty. A tall, thin man with a scalpel in his hand leaned over the one with the body. He turned to us when the door opened. His disheveled, gray hair fell over bushy, gray eyebrows hovering above large, wire frame glasses. He glared at us from behind thick lenses and bellowed, “Gordy. It’s about time. This her?” His mud brown eyes raked Shelly’s body with cold interest.

She halted mid-stride through the door and turned to look questioningly at me. I gave her a gentle push into the room and followed. The gorilla came in and closed the door behind us.

“Gordy, what the hell is going on here? Do you know this man?” Her pretty blue eyes were wide but not scared yet.

“Sorry, Shelly. Didn’t hurt you, did I? Just now, I mean?”

“What are you doi...?” She stopped talking to stare at the dead face on the table that the doctor had just uncovered.

“Recognize him?” I asked gently. I was trying to be nice. “It’s the sewer rat we picked up yesterday. He walked this morning. Not enough evidence.”

She swallowed hard. “What happened?”

“Poor sucker was shot this afternoon. A cop got him.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“Yeah, but too bad I was too late to save my partner. The rat shot her first. Held a grudge, I guess.”

“Your partner? But I’m your partn....” Her eyes went wide again. This time, she looked scared.

“Sorry, Shelly. I thought you might be a force Psyche, so I ran a background check on you. You’re not a Psyche. Worse. You’re Internal Affairs. I’m too close to retirement now, Shelly. Can’t let you go. I’ve gotten used to real coffee and real whiskey. In a couple of years, Doc and I will be able to disappear to some island somewhere and live in luxury.”

“You creep! You won’t get away with this. They’ll just send another agent.”

“No they won’t. Turns out that the rat was behind the black market organ business too. This way, I sort of get two birds with one bullet, so to speak.”

She reached for her gun. The bald gorilla pinned both her arms.

“It’s okay. Let her go. I emptied her gun before we got here. Took the batteries out of her two-way too.”

When he let her go, she came at me with her fists. I ducked, but she landed one on my chin before Doc and the gorilla could catch her. After they pulled her kicking and cursing off of me, I rubbed my chin while they strapped her to the other table. I felt really bad about all this, but what can you do?

Doc growled at me, “Can we get on with this? When you shoot her, try not to hit anything vital. I’ll take care of the rest. You chunked the kid’s heart up so bad it wasn’t worth keeping. Best part too. Strong heart like that’s worth more than all the other organs put together.”

“Sorry, Doc. I was in a hurry, but Shelly’s parts ought to make up for it. Nothing external though. She’s a good cop. Good cops deserve a decent burial.”

She started twisting on the table, fighting the restraints. Her blue eyes flashed anger, not fear, from her white face as Doc filled the syringe.

“Shelly, I’m really sorry about this. You tried to obey the laws, to follow the rules. I did too ... once. Problem is that the rules favor the criminal, the scum. I want you to know that in our little operation here, we only sell the bad guys. The ones the law lets go. You are the first one that’s not. A bad guy, I mean.”

Doc shoved me out of his way. “Enough of this bleeding heart garbage. Let’s get it over with. Where do you want the bodies?”

“In the alley. I’ll finish it there.” I gazed at her red curls spread out on the dead white sheet, at those summer sky eyes shooting disgust at me, at the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Little spasms rippled thorough my gut, and my eyes started to water. “You followed the rules, Honey, but, you forgot the most important rule they teach you in rookie school. Never trust anyone, even your partner.”

Doc slammed the needle into her arm.

I pointed the rat’s gun at her.

Her eyes blazed. “You bastard!” she roared.

After her funeral, I went to my apartment to be alone. I started to pour the good Irish whiskey into a glass but a flash of those blue eyes streaking across my brain stopped it in midair. I tossed the glass away and lifted the bottle to my lips. “Here’s to you, Shelly.” The solid slug of good whiskey burned all the way down my throat. I stared at my friend, the bottle, and whispered to it as I raised it to my lips again. “Too bad. She was a good cop. But I guess that’s criminal justice for you.” The second slug burned even better.

The Alien Feeder

“What is it?”

“Open it and see, Mom.”

“But, it’s not my birthday or Mother’s day, or anything. Oh no! Did I forget another holiday? God! I’m always forgetting lately....”

“No, Mom. You didn’t forget anything. I just felt like getting you a present. That’s all. Now, go ahead. Open it.”

Sarah looked at her daughter. Her baby had become middle aged without Sarah even noticing. Shirley was still very attractive, and tiny lines at the corners of her eyes were the only clue to her real age. Shirley’s full lips smiled at her mother, but her deep brown eyes held pity for an aging woman whom she felt was losing touch with life.

“Early stages of Alzheimer’s,” the doctor had said. A death sentence. Slow and agonizing is what he really meant, Sarah thought. She couldn’t bear that look from her only child. She wished the girl would just go away and leave her to die in solitude.
 

But Shirley came every Saturday at exactly ten o’clock. She always stayed exactly one hour and fifteen minutes to fulfill what she felt were her daughterly duties. She never stayed one hour and fourteen minutes, or one hour and sixteen minutes, it was always one hour and fifteen minutes exactly—always. Sarah often thought about setting the old, kitchen clock ahead a few minutes just to confuse her, and she silently chuckled as she imagined how upsetting that would be to her obsessively punctual daughter.

Why doesn’t she just leave me alone? Sarah thought. But she smiled and turned her attention to the blue foil-wrapped package.

“What is this?” she asked as she raised the sparkling, cylindrical glass and brass object above the crumpled wrapping in her lap.

“Mom, it’s an alien feeder. They’re all the rage now. Everyone has to have one. Haven’t you been watching the network channel?”

“No. I don’t understand all that on-line, web, networking mumbo-jumbo. I just watch the news and my soaps. What am I going to do with an alien feeder? They don’t even come around here.”

“Mom, of course they don’t come. You don’t have a feeder. Now they will come, and you will enjoy their company. You’ll see. They’re very interesting. Some people say that they’re from another dimension, but we don’t really know. Everybody’s trying to figure it out. Mom, they make the most musical sounds, and they’re so cute.”