The Three Dollar Phoenix - Walt Sautter (best way to read e books .txt) 📗

get back to you.” With that, he bid Ed an apologetic goodbye and hastily left.
Ed continued to plod through the pile of paperwork at his desk. He had to finish before he left, otherwise he couldn’t go to Caramore the next day with a clear head. He had taken down some notes and names from Charlie’s conversation, things he’d mention to Al. Maybe he would be able to put some more pieces in place, if he was awake and coherent. That was yet to be seen.
Two or three hours passed. Between the meandering of patients and phone calls, he was finally making a dent in the pile.
Suddenly the door opened. Ed looked up expecting to see another case of chicken poxes or measles, instead, two men, in dark suits, carrying drawn guns, stood in the doorway. Ed, startled by what he saw jumped to his feet.
“What the hell is going on here?” he yelled reflexively.
“Move the chair away from the desk with both hands and sit down” one of the men commanded in a slow deliberate voice.
Ed’s heart was pounding in his throat. He could feel the veins at his temples pounding. He slowly slid the chair to the center of the floor and carefully sat down. The men approached him in silence. They both looked to be middle aged, one black, one white. The white one spoke.
“You are Dr. Bennett aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes” choked Ed as best he could.
In all the years he had worked down here, not once had he even seen a gun, much less had one pointed at him.
“My name is Pete Hollar and this is Sergeant Stan Mercer. We’re with the Narcotics Enforcement Division. Is anyone else in the building?”
“No” replied Ed in a vibrato voice.
“We have a warrant to search these premises as well as your personal effects for suspected narcotics violations.”
With that his companion reached into his vest pocket, withdrew a paper and held it out, while displaying a badge in the other hand. Ed slowly reached for the document. He unfolded it and began to read. He had never seen a search warrant, but this did have an official look and the men had badges. It said something to the effect that the bearer was entitled to search the place which was described in some specifics as the Springfield Avenue Clinic. At the bottom, it bore the signature of a judge. The entire form was done in the legalese as one might expect. Ed handed it back as slowly as he had accepted it.
“What do you expect to find here?” he asked.
“We have the usual pharmaceutical compounds you might expect to find in a clinic. We have proper licensing for all of them.”
“We’re not concerned about those. We’re told that you’re running a private little drugstore here” replied Hollar.
“Please stand up and lean forward against the chair” he added.
Ed compiled and Mercer proceeded to search him.
“We didn’t think you’d be armed but you gotta be careful today. A cop was shot by an eighty-two year old granny a couple months ago in a drug bust in Chicago. After I read that in the paper, I’d search a nun if I was thinkin’ about bustin’ her” said Hollar.
“You can sit down now. Look in the desk drawers first. Make sure there’s no piece lying in there” said Mercer. As he spoke, the rear door to the building opened and three men entered.
“OK! Let’s get this over with” yelled Mercer.
The men began to dissect the clinic, drawer by drawer and shelf by shelf. They removed every band aid and bottle, opening each as they did and sniffing the contents. Every once in a while one would release a loud gasp as he uncorked and sniffed one of the stronger reagents. The desks and cabinets, once emptied were inverted and inspected from all angles, top, bottom, back and front. Once the inspection of a particular unit was completed, its contents were replaced and the next units inspection was methodically begun in the same manner. The search continued for half an hour, Mercer sat across from Ed the entire time like a cat watching a cornered mouse. The guns had been put away but he was at the edge of the chair, waiting to strike at even a hint of escape. Ed said nothing, except an occasional disbelieving claim of innocence. Mercer voiced intermittent comments about sports and the weather the kind of comments one might expect to hear between friends in a neighborhood bar. It was surreal.
Suddenly, from the lavatory at the rear of the room came a yell.
“Sarg! Come here. Bring the good doctor with you.”
Mercer motioned to Ed to rise and together they walked towards the bathroom. When they reached the room, the cover of the toilet tank had been removed by one of the searchers.
“Look what I found in here” he said smiling a wide grin as he gestured at the toilet. Lying in the bottom of the tank was a small plastic bag filled with a white substance.
“What’s this? The cosmetics department? Let’s take a look at that dusting powder” quipped Mercer to the finder who obligingly pulled up his sleeve and reached into the water to retrieve it.
Mercer took the package and placed it on the nearby table and proceeded to open its water tight seal. He pushed his stubby finger into the bag, pulled it out and put it in his mouth.
“Finger lickin’ good” he said in a snide tone.
Ed couldn’t believe his eyes. What was a half pound bag of heroin doing in the toilet tank? Where did it come from?
“You have the right to remain silent” Hollar began.
“Christ, this is like a rerun of a TV detective movie” Ed thought.
It must be a bad dream. He was stunned, he stood speechless as Hollar droned on with his monotone soliloquy.
As he finished, Mercer immediately added, “Alright boys, now there’s some blood in the water. Let’s find the mother load.”
The previous careful disassembly and reassembly of the cabinets and their contents vanished. Two of the men exited the room only to return with two wrecking bars. Soon they began prying the plaster from the walls to search the cavities behind it. Then up came the floor boards so the spaces between the joists could be checked. Portions of the ceiling were removed to complete the inspection. In a matter of forty- five minutes, the interior of the building was all but demolished.
Ed watched as three years of sweat and struggle was laid to ruin. The search produced no additional results. As the final fragment of lathe was pulled free, Mercer looked at him with a penetrating stare.
“Where’s your car, Doc?” he said in a demanding tone.
Seeing the destruction around him, he knew the meaning behind the question. Ed said nothing.
“Obstructing justice. Hindering police investigation. Don’t make it worse than it is, Doc” he taunted.
Ed remained silent. As he looked around. he felt a welling up of anger boiling in his guts. He couldn’t have responded if he wanted to. A word leaking out would be followed by a torrent of uncontrolled rage, as surely as a crack in a dam leads to a deluge, and he knew it. Hollar picked up Ed’s wallet from the table where he had placed it during the search. He leafed through its contents and then pulled out a vehicle registration card.
“This should be kept in your car Doc” he said as he waved it back and forth close to Ed’s face.
“It says here that you own a 1972 Chevy convertible, blue, two door, license plate Kay 723. I think I saw a 72 Chevy convertible on the way here.
Stan, How many of those do you think there are around today?”
“Not many!” replied Mercer.
“Let’s go check some plates. Put on your coat Doc” he said.
“See if he can help us play ‘find the right car’.”
Before they moved towards the door, Ed’s escort handcuffed Ed’s hands behind his back. Mercery Hollar, Ed and one of the other men walked out towards the street. Hollar was watching Ed’s eyes carefully from the moment they left the building. As they walked through the door, Ed spied the car about twenty-five feet down on the right, just where he had left it that morning. Hollar saw his glance to the right and followed it. He studied the street in that direction carefully.
“Let’s take a look down this way” he said as he led them towards the vehicle.
When they reached the car, he stopped, put his foot on the rear bumper and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a half smoked cigar and attempted to squeeze it back into its original, cylindrical, shape. Then he placed it between his teeth and lit it. After a few heavy drags it sprang back to life.
“Is this it., Doc?” he asked rhetorically.
“Give me the key” he added in the same breath.
Ed couldn’t give him the key if he wanted to. It was in his front pocket and his hands were shackled behind his back.
Before he could even respond, Mercer reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen knife and sliced a long opening in the convertible top just above the door. He reached in and unlocked it.
“Sometimes uncooperative suspects make you do things you really don’t wanta do” he said slyly as he opened the door.
“Make sure there’s no shit hidden in there” said Mercer.
With that Hollar began to slice open each roll of the leather seats, one after the other. The other cop tore up the carpets while Mercer kept a close eye on Ed.
“You dirty bastards” he screamed as the fury within him finally gushed to the surface like an erupting volcano. He lunged forward at Mercer attempting to butt him with his head, like an enraged bull. He struck him dead center, just beneath the rib cage. Mercer gasped and the cigar flew from his mouth like a cork from a pop gun. He turned and slumped forward, over the hood, trying to regain his breath. Ed viciously kicked at his unprotected posterior cursing at the top of his voice as he did so.
Hollar, upon hearing the commotion jumped from the car to subdue him. The other man also leapt from the car to help. In a few moments, Ed found himself face down on the sidewalk, with Hollar’s foot on the back of his neck.
Mercer had straightened up now and weakly addressed him in an angered voice.
“There’s other people in this with you. Try some more shit like that and we’ll get a warrant to search your girlfriend, only we won’t be as gentle as we are with you.”
He walked over and picked up the still lit cigar from the street. Hollar had stood Ed up against the car now.
“Do you understand me, Shithead?” asked Mercer as he blew a cloud of smoke directly into Ed’s face.
“Make sure the dash is clean” he shouted. Hollar walked back to the clinic and returned with the wrecking bar.
In minutes, the dash was lying on what was left of the front seats.
Ed was relatively calm now. He spent all his anger in the one violent burst and he was drained.
He knew Mercer meant