The Continuing Saga of:
”ICICLE BILL and Tommy Two-Head”

Chapter Seventeen: Resurrection and Remorse

Detective Smith slammed down the phone in disgust. ”Damn it!” Another problem to throw on the pile of crap that was beginning to stink up his life. The wife had finally had it with his philandering with the delicious Belinda Butluggage and was threatening divorce. The possibility of a broken home had the kids running wilder than usual and acting out even worse. Belinda was dissatisfied because he’d cinched up the wallet strings in fear of a divorce settlement, and now this. One of his best junior detectives had been busted for going flat-out, wild-eyed crazy. They found him naked on the roof of a Home Depot, unloading a shotgun into the parking lot while howling at the moon.

Some cases could be smoothed over, but the city attorney was pressing this one. The papers and local news were all over it and questions were being raised as to the Chief Detective’s competence and leadership. This on the heels of that high speed chase through residential neighborhoods that left an officer banged up and suspects getting away. This wasn’t how Smith liked things to run, he was a no-nonsense, do what it takes kind of guy. He also knew there was one way to calm the media and the higher-ups, that was to solve cases.

”Pederman!” In times like this he was glad his number two was around. Smith knew how to wield his own degree of power and influence, Pederman was a voice of reason. He brought intellect and insight to chaos. He was also detail-oriented and a sharp thinker.

”Yes boss.”

”What’s the status on the attempted homicide on our patrol officer?”

Pederman didn’t disappoint, he’d been working on the case diligently since day one, it was a welcomed reprieve from the dreary sameness that was life as an underling in the L.V.P.D. ”It’s getting interesting boss. We’ve learned that the John Doe suspect in the Lincoln was working in an L.A. law office, and not just any old hack firm, one of the most prestigious. He came up missing a few days prior to showing up in our jurisdiction and ramming our patrol vehicle. The L.A. District Attorney’s office says that their A.D.A., Elena Chang, had apparently been involved with the suspect for awhile, some reports indicate it was a serious relationship. She’s still missing, it’s been labeled ”under mysterious circumstances” and they’re sending somebody up here to see firsthand what we’ve got.”

Smith leaned back and let the puzzle pieces swirl around in his imagination. A suspect operating under an alias, living an existence that was a complete lie with a missing girlfriend that worked, or works, in the L.A. District Attorney’s office, and on the run from who knows what, wanted for questioning in a triple murder in Miami. He shows up in Vegas, and deliberately runs head-on into a police car, after being involved in an apparent high speed chase involving possible gang members and a mystery woman in a bikini bottom. Too many unanswered questions out there. He realized this case could easily become an obsession with him.

It was his devotion and single-mindedness, once he got his teeth into an involved case that was not only responsible for his advancement up the ranks, but also contributed to the neglect of his personal life. He vowed that once this case was over, he was going to give up the long hours and spend more time with the wife and kids...be a more devoted family man. The running and boozin’ was gonna have to cease too, that was a young man’s game. Maybe the girlfriend was gonna have to go also. ”Damn, life ain’t easy.” Smith thought. He knew he should have broken things off with Belinda a long time ago. But even now, just thinking about her made his palms sweat and his mouth go dry.

How the hell had things gotten so complicated? He had started up with her on a whim, a one-time thing that lead to another rendezvous, then another. Things just got out of control, snowballed out of balance till he was seeing her almost every day. You’d think the thing would’ve run it’s course, but with Belinda, he couldn’t get enough of her. ”...she makes hungry where most she satisfies.” Smith couldn’t help but smile to himself, Shakespeare... she made him read Shakespeare. He shook his head, a gum-popping pole dancer teaching the Chief of Detectives about literature, ain’t life funny.

He related his own life to how things might have similarly shaken out for the enigmatic John Doe. One misdeed or misstep leading to another, before you know it, an avalanche of misfortune. He reflected back on how his own circumstances played out. A naive and ambitious rookie cop with more courage than good sense. Time and reality slowly eroding away at the idealism until it was gradually replaced by cynicism and apathy.

And then there were the sidetracks. A planted gun on an otherwise valid arrest that sent a murdering scum away for good. A couple of bundles of drug money missing from a crime scene that ended up as a down payment on a house for the mother of two whose husband died in a home-invasion robbery. But those were the cases where malfeasance was done with some good intent, there were other times when the motive was far from philanthropic. Instances where greed and personal desire clouded clear-thinking. Detective Smith didn’t think about those anymore...not much anyway. Wasn’t a lifetime spent putting away the bad guys and probably sacrificing his marriage a worthy counterbalance for a few momentary lapses of integrity? And wasn’t he merely bending the rules as opposed to breaking the law? Or was he making excuses for himself. Just like all the other John Does he’d arrested over the years. They all had excuses and reasons too, every one of them. Smith knew what Internal Affairs would make of it.

In these moments of c1arity and reason, shadows of conscience resurrected within like some mystical beast that wouldn’t stay slain. Hence, the boozing and womanizing and overworking. Smith knew deep inside that he was merely trying to desperately fill the hours of his days with activity in order to not allow those old thoughts to creep back into the forefront of his mind. It was his m.o., everybody had a modus operandi, just like criminals. Looking back at Smith’s arrests history, one might be able to detect a pattern. Arrest after arrest of wife and child abusers. From the outside looking in, it merely might appear as good police work, to protect and serve. Smith never suggested otherwise. Perhaps he wasn’t completely aware of it himself. An internal motivation subconsciously and personally guilt-driven. A wife-beating father, a little boy unable to protect his terrorized mother as he cowered under the bedcovers. In adulthood, the boy now overcompensating by casting himself in the real life role of crime fighter. And yet, his own fallible nature rising up to sabotage efforts of redemption. Smith shook it off, too complicated to even consider.

Maybe that’s why he was drawn to Belinda. With her, you knew what you were getting and it wasn’t complicated. A little attention and the occasional expensive gift, a few kind words and she’d absolutely make the pain go away. No responsibility or emotional commitment. He always knew that should a bigger spender come along he’d be benched. No damage done, other than to his marriage... and his ideals. How had he let it go on this long? A couple of months turned into a couple of years, now five. Maybe it was easier to allow it to continue than to face a break-up. Smith’s face contorted and his brow furrowed in contemplation. Was he thinking of his girlfriend or his wife in those terms? He’d have to once again push the personal thoughts and obligations aside in favor of devoting his full attention to the job at hand. Maybe that’s why he chose this line of work in the first place. And perhaps he felt by providing a nice house and luxuries for his wife and kids that it somehow made up for the lack of communications and nurturing. The overtime and high salary and sexy girlfriend a substitute for a fully developed family life. All the outward appearances of a well-rounded happy home without the day-to-day toil necessary in order to develop a wholesome existence. A tootsie pop without the chewy center, a paper dress, a rotten apple...or worse, an airplane built with faulty parts, a beautiful woman without morals. Appearances can truly be deceiving.

Pederman was still in the room. ”Did Miami P.D. get back to you?”

Smith looked up as if surprised by his presence. ”What?”

”Miami Police, they were supposed to get back to you on our John Doe’s involvement in their triple murder. Three Cubans washed ashore.”

”Yeah, yeah. The head homicide detective is reviewing the paperwork and will get back to me this week. You know Pederman, this case is opening up like a rotten can of worms. It’s like a scab. The more you dig at it, the worse it gets. I got a feeling we’re just beginning to scratch the surface.

”Yeah boss, this John Doe character left a trail of destruction behind him from one coast to the other. This is one no good son-of-a-bitch.”

Smith was nodding. ”That’s a fact. What’s his status?”

Pederman answered. ”Pretty extensive head trauma with severe blood loss. He survived the brain surgery and he’s hanging on...barely.”

In the recovery room of the sealed-off critical care unit of the Las Vegas hospital, a doctor examined Bill’s wounds with a well-trained eye. After fourteen hours of intense head and brain surgery, he was exhausted and reasonably certain the patient wouldn’t live out the day. He spoke grimly, ”Nurse Nabana, clean him up, put on a morphine drip and keep him as comfortable as possible, that’s all we can do.” The nurse complied and went about the work quickly and efficiently. ”What about the hand and ankle cuffs doctor?” The doctor eyed the armed police officer standing sentry at the door. ”Your call, he isn’t going anywhere.”

As the nurse began scrubbing the blood from Bill’s various lacerations, he watched the process hovering slightly above the bed. He felt conscious and alert, but he could see that his body wasn’t moving and the bed sheets were a bright red. His head was bandaged heavily and tubes and machines beeped and buzzed and seemed to be keeping him alive. As nurse Nabana worked diligently, Bill wondered if perhaps her first name might be ’Anna’. Anna Nabana, he smiled inwardly at that, he was cracking himself up. This was the second time in not so many days that he’d experienced an out-of-body experience. He was getting used to it.

The sheets felt warm and wet, like the ocean...he drifted...the morphine flooded his system and the pain washed away like foam on the evening tide. He was in the Gulf of Mexico working on an oil rig with his buddy Bullwinkle. It was the first summer after he’d left home and he’d lied about his age to get the job. They were about seven miles out to sea and on hot days they’d dive from the platform into the clear blue-green gulf for a swim. Nothing but sea and sky and the wonders of youth.

One day while swimming, they came upon a fisherman in a tiny dingy with what appeared to be about an inch thick fishing line. As they treaded water near the boat, Bill asked, ”Hey, what you fishing for.” The old fisherman hollered back, ”Hammerhead.” Bill and Bullwinkle looked at one another comically. ”You mean like shark?” Bullwinkle was goading the old man, but he answered back sincerely, ”That’s right.”

”You ever see any?” Bill asked.

The old man scratched his nose and casually replied, ”Here comes one now.”

The thing about shark sightings is, once you notice them, it’s too late. He looked around for Bullwinkle, but he was gone. Was he over the next wave so quickly that Bill couldn’t see him? Why’s the ocean turning dark? Bill swam as calmly and quickly as he could but the shark was stealth and fast. It clamped down on his arm up to the elbow. It felt warm and slimy. Bill wriggled to free himself but he was forcefully being pulled down...now he was in eighth grade English class with Mrs. Weinstein. She was the substitute and every time she was there it meant he would have to stay after class and clean the chalkboards. She made him stand on that heavy, sturdy teacher’s chair and scrub till his arms hurt. She always insisted on holding it for him so there would be no accidents. It made him feel queasy every time he had to stay after, and the way she looked at him made him uncomfortable. Like a hungry shark, always looking at him like she was going to eat him alive. Now the shark was trying to swallow him whole, he was pushing it away but it kept pulling him in deeper. She wouldn’t let go. It had him by the head now and was biting down, hard! His head was exploding... the sensation awoke him. Bill opened his one good eye, he could barely see through the bandaging.

Nurse Nabana was really working on that bloody mess. Did the shark do that? Bill’s dreams and reality were indistinguishable under the effects of the morphine. It was all one and the same. She glanced up at him. She must be Filipina, he thought. She has Chinese eyes though, like Elena, he drifted.

He was back at the beach, this time it was the Pacific Ocean. He met Elena Chang when she was fresh out of law school and applying for a job at the L.A. law firm where he was working as an accountant. She didn’t get the job but he pulled her application and got her phone number. She questioned as to whether that was ethical, he replied, ”What ethics? I work at a law firm.” The whirlwind love affair it began swept them both away. She was petite and fragile and beautiful, with milk chocolate hair and almond eyes. As sweet as cherry pie and as sexy as anyone could ever desire.

It didn’t take Elena long to secure a job. To Bill’s dismay, it was with the L.A. County District Attorney’s office. He was on the run, using an alias, and he didn’t know how her working for the D.A. was going to affect their relationship. He had bluffed his way into the law firm job, using the employment agency that sent him on the interview as a bogus reference. If he secured the job, the agent stood to make a hefty commission so they devised a plan where the phone number given as a reference was a direct line to the agent. They made up a fake employment background and the law firm unwittingly called the agent for a glowing reference. Bill only had one year of bookkeeping in high school and once he got the job, took all the firm’s books to a real accountant. In one night they showed him the basics on how to run the whole financial operations of a multi-million dollar law firm. He knew he could keep the bluff up at the firm indefinitely, but with Elena, he realized he’d have to come clean.

On Valentine’s Day, he proposed and she accepted. They celebrated at a secluded beach and made love in the surf all afternoon. When they took a swim she was frightened, but he’d just laughed at her for being a baby. They were about twenty-feet out and waist deep when they wandered into a rip current. In two seconds the ocean was neck high and the sand dropped off into an abyss. Elena frantically clutched Bill’s neck in a panic. He knew to remain calm and move parallel to get free of the current, but Elena had his neck in a death grip and he couldn’t make ground. She was weighing him down and they both were drowning. Finally, he’d found everything to live for and they both were going to die.

When he came to, he was face up in the surf, on the edge of the beach... Elena was gone. Bill frantically searched the beach and the water...running, diving, swimming as far as he could in every direction. He yelled until his voice gave out. The love, the joy, the hope for a future together, the bliss of finding that one special one, gone. There are no adequate words for that kind of torturous pain and sorrow and guilt. The pain would never leave him. He searched all night and most of the next day, he couldn’t bear to leave the shoreline, at noon on the third day, he gave up. It’s said in order to overcome a great grief is to forgive. How does one go about forgiving himself?

Over the next weeks, Bill embezzled one-hundred thousand dollars from the firm. He drank every night and used whatever drugs he could lay his hands on to try and kill the pain. The morphine they’d given him to dull the car crash injuries came closest to being able to quell the hurt. But still, when he dreamed, he dreamed of her. He’d scream out her name with no sound coming out. He cried in sobs with no tears left to shed. He prayed and pleaded, ”Let me die, just let me die.”

At that moment, the heart monitors bottomed out and a steady beeping filled the hospital room. Nurse Nabana ran for the doctor. Bill awoke with Elena leaning over him, wiping his brow. Softly she told him, ”Not yet baby, not yet.” He shook the cobwebs from his head. Nurse Nabana was looking down at him calm and serene with those familiar eyes. For this day at least, the peaceful embrace of death would have to wait.

As the fog cleared, Bill realized where he was and he remembered how he had gotten here. He also realized he was shackled to the bed, hand and feet. His head was bandaged and he was lying on bloody sheets with a Filipina nurse standing over him. If he only had a dime for every time that had happened to him. He smiled inwardly, he was still cracking himself up.

* * *

Back at the L.V.P.D., the phone rang. Pederman picked up. ”Hello, Detective Pederman speaking, how may I help you?”

”Is Detective Smith available?”

”Who may I say is calling?”

”It’s Belinda. Just tell him it’s me.”

”Belinda Butluggage?”

”It’s Bu-t’lege asshole. You know, French.”

”Par domme’ vous madame’. Hey boss, you got a call!”

Smith lazily picked up the phone on his desk. It had been a long day, ”Hello.”

”Hi poppy! I miss you!”

Detective Smith’s palms began to sweat again.