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The Chevelle was no longer parked in the driveway. Relieved to find that the cement underneath was completely dry I called Smitty.
“Sorry I didn’t call earlier kid, running a little behind.”
“Nothing major?”
“Distributor cap and wires is all. You want it back or storing it?”
“Putting it in the garage. How much?”
“For you about ten times more than the average customer. I kept a lot of your racing exploits on what’s the phrase these days. The low low?”
“So...?”
“$100 and we will meet you at the garage say Noon tomorrow?”
“Kidding about charging you more.”
“I know.”
“You were very good at it. If football hadn’t been your sport you would have done well.”
I quickly showered and dressed. I located Monica’s address in our earlier text messages and backed out of the driveway.
Monica had moved into a new townhome development on the city’s south side. A few corporate apartment buildings were on an adjacent parcel of land. Upon entering the driveway, I was stopped at a gate. A security guard emerged from his small brick structure. I rolled down the window. He was in his twenties with a medium frame.
“Good Evening. Someone expecting you?”
“Monica Spencer.”
He scrolled through the directory of the complex on his Tablet. He double tapped her address on the screen and sent a message. A reply instantly appeared.
“You’re all set.
Following the winding drive to the back of the property I parked in front of her building. She opened the door before I could even knock. Wearing a form fitting black dinner dress her long wavy blonde hair shimmered under the porch light. Her almond shaped blue eyes with long lashes now batting at me. Speechless, the left hemisphere of my brain now lay dormant. I found it difficult to form a single hello. Awkward silence continued for a moment.
“Roman, do you want to come in for a moment? I’m almost ready.”
“Almost?”
Uttering that single word, I captured the ability of speech again.
“I think I may need a jacket. Do you want to step in for a moment?”
“Sure.”
Waiting in the living room I noticed her place did not resemble someone who had recently moved. She appeared to be completely organized. A picture of her family rested on a table next to a bronze lamp. Monica had her mother’s features. Her father although smiling in the picture appeared to be a serious man. Her brother the same.
“Ready?”
Arriving at Fieldstone’s the line extended outside the foyer. It was one of Kirkwood’s five star restaurants. Popularity had been driven by inviting up and coming Chef’s to prepare their favorite dishes during the weekends. Food critics were eager to get seating so they could post their reviews before a Monday deadline. Getting a reservation was often difficult.
Walking to the front of the line I displayed my reservation number from my email confirmation.
We were seated next to a window with a view. Outside dining was an option weather permitting. A brick walkway lined with marble statues. Ground lighting illuminated their features against the moonless night.
Peering over my menu I caught her eyes looking back at me. A radiant smile followed. This had the promise of a great night.
Tiffany Leblanc waited in the lot of her apartment complex. Having responded to the automatic confirmation at 7:30PM the Udrive service arrived to collect her at 7:45PM. Buttons was inconsolable. Sticking his tiny paws through the cage baring and retracting his transparent claws. He had already urinated on the towel that had been placed in the cage. Tiffany drifted off in thought for a moment. The morning’s activities had been stressful enough. She was now completely out of money having raided every stash of change in her apartment to purchase groceries and food for Buttons. This opportunity to earn some real money was to carry her the rest of the semester.
The driver pulled into a parking lot behind what looked like a medical building. Ned Harris stood under the light of its entrance. Wearing a professional looking monogrammed white lab coat holding a clipboard. He had purchased the coat online. Tiffany exited the car. The driver leaving her at the agreed destination.
“You must be Tiffany.” Ned Harris extended his right hand briefly freeing what was in his pocket.
Shaking his hand, she noticed his youthful features in the light.
“No offense but you look younger than I anticipated.”
“Too young to run a research lab you mean. I get that a lot no offense taken.”
A fleeting moment of apprehension occupied her thoughts. “Are there more subjects or am I the only one?”
“They are inside already. I do need to see your identification for security as well as a signature on the release form.”
She placed the cage on the ground. Buttons had not stopped with his vocal protest. He handed her the clipboard.
“If you would please sign at the bottom.”
“The page is blank.”
“I’m sorry the document is on the second page. Go ahead and flip the page over.”
Tiffany Leblanc noticed that the next page was also blank.
“I thought you said.” She looked up staring in the eyes of a lifeless demon now sneering at her. Ned Harris grabbed the back of her hair pulling it. Blood rushed throughout her body. The carotid artery in her neck looking as though it might explode. He had kept the syringe in his front pocket waiting for the prime opportunity to deliver its contents. A quick stab of the needle penetrated an exposed vein. Succinylcholine entered her bloodstream circulating rapidly with the assistance of adrenaline.
Tiffany Leblanc tried to fight back against her attacker. She stomped on his foot with the heel of her shoe as she had practiced a few times in her night self -defense class. The struggle only seemed to excite him. He spun her around pushing her backwards. Stumbling she tripped over the cage containing her new kitten. She hit her head on a piece of loose stone opening a cut. Trying to get back up she fell again. Her own body willfully resisting any attempts to escape. The drugs full effects had exercised their complete control. Completely motionless she stared up into the night sky.
Walking to the side of the building Ned Harris retrieved his car. Parking it in front of her body to block it from any potential witness he opened the trunk. He placed her inside the empty space. The lid closed with a thump jarring the vehicle slightly. Total darkness enveloped Tiffany Leblanc helpless form. The only source of light was the glowing emergency trunk release that danced teasingly in front of her eyes. She felt the car move from the parking lot listening as it merged into the night traffic.
I surprised Monica after dinner. We went downtown to a new music club that had recently opened. What was once an abandoned theater building, had been renovated into a unique venue. Different musical themed acts played each night to a sold- out house. Tonight, a jazz group from New Orleans performed just a few rows away. A small lamp placed at each table gave it an intimate touch. You could carry on a conversation between sets. I was more interested in talking then listening to the music. Our drink orders were placed on the table. She had ordered a white zinfandel. My whisky sour sat at across from it.
Monica talked about family. Her father was a prosecutor in Shelby County Tennessee. Currently he held the county record for the most convictions in its history. Her brother did indeed work for the Federal Government. As a member of the Secret Service he had guarded both the President and Vice President on occasion. She seldom heard from him unless it was a holiday as he was always gone. Monica was a cheerleader for the University of Tennessee her freshman year until she turned serious regarding her field of study. She later went on to receive a graduate degree in Forensic Science from Austin Pea State University.
“What about you Roman? You played football professionally in London am I right?”
“I did, but briefly.”
My phone vibrated inside my pocket. It was Lonnie. He would never call unless something was pressing.
“Give me a sec, it’s Lonnie.”
“Ok.”
“Roman, do you have internet access where you’re at right now?”
“Let me check, give me a minute.”
I held up the phone. I barely had a signal inside the dense structure. Lucky to have one bar let alone enough to get on the internet. The building did not have a Wi-Fi signal either.
“I don’t Lonnie why?”
“Blake posted his story tonight. All the major outlets are carrying it. Check the cable channels it’s all over the news.”
“We knew it was a matter of time.”
“Right, but that’s not the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sending you the link. See for yourself. There’s a picture of you talking to him with your finger in Blake’s chest. Another shows the feet of the victim suspended under the bridge.”
“Must have been the one I chased on the other side of the river bank.”
“I can see us getting a call Roman the way the article is written. Cyrus as well as Braddock are not going to be pleased. Don’t be surprised if we get called in tomorrow.”
I tapped the screen and ended the call. The link to the article appeared.
“Everything ok Roman?”
“Looks like our city along with the department just got thrust into the national spotlight.”
“How?”
“Joel Blake that’s how. I need a signal to get on the internet to read what Lonnie just sent me.”
“You want to go back to my place?” You can read it there I have some work I need to finish anyways.”
Sitting on the couch Monica walked out with a laptop. Powering it on, she placed it on the glass coffee table. I copied the link I had been sent into the search field. Hearing a familiar sound in the kitchen Monica appeared with a couple beers.
Our local news website populated on the screen in front of us. The headlines quoted from the Brick Street Bureau.com read “Serial Killer grips Kirkwood.” For all intents and purposes Joel Blake had now become an expert in criminal profiling calling the perpetrator of the two killings as a serial killer. The picture showed me standing in front of Blake with my finger pointed in his direction. From the pictures angle it looked as though I was putting it in his chest. The caption at the bottom read Detective Roman Lee lashes out in frustration as media seeks answers.
The next picture showed a pair of feet dangling underneath the bridge from a short distance away. The article detailed the subsequent discovery of two bodies along with their dismemberment. A serial killer was suspected in their deaths. Further down he included statistics from the last 10 years on unsolved homicides. One of those he knew was personal. Quickly the article went on to point out that the department did not have any viable leads. Frustrated with the situation the Mayor was contemplating help from the FBI.
“Not exactly a compliment, is it?” Her chin had been resting on my shoulder the entire time as I read. Her perfume had made quite an impression on my olfactory senses. She had excellent taste in fragrances. I didn’t want to move.
“You could say that. He likes to embellish often. There must be a leak somewhere. I don’t know where or how he is getting his information.”
“He certainly doesn’t have a favorable opinion of you.”
“Feeling is mutual.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Another time maybe.”
Monica walked back to the kitchen returning with another beer.
“This might be a deal breaker for me.”
“The beer?”
“No, the article. The way it’s written.”
I told her about the meeting with Cyrus. My concern about what information should be shared with the media until we knew exactly what we were dealing with. By withholding some information, we might gain an advantage to draw the killer out.
Our conversation carried on into the night. The number of drinks had also accumulated. I was beginning to feel the effects of both. Standing for a second to stretch I stumbled a bit. Monica could sense that I had a little too much retreating upstairs. She returned with a pillow and blanket. She was dressed in some running shorts and an orange Tennessee Vols tee-shirt.
“May want to sleep that off Roman. If your Chief is anything like you say, driving in your condition might not be such a good idea.”
She made the couch as comfortable as possible. I laid back the room slightly spinning clockwise. At least that’s the direction I perceived it to be going. Monica leaned over and kissed my cheek. I pulled her towards me. Her lips were perfectly soft with each exchange. My hands wandered down to her shorts over her toned backside. She gently slid them up to the small of her back.
“Easy there, we’ve both had a little too much tonight. Let’s not rush things. See you in the morning.”
She turned off the lights and the lamp. I watched her walk out of the living room toward the stairs. She had a body that most women would kill for.
A message appeared on the small screen from Cyrus. A meeting was set for early Monday morning in his office. Nothing like getting your balls busted after they were already blue. It wasn’t long before I was fast asleep dreaming once again.
London had been granted an expansion franchise by the league. Their first regular season game was livestreamed on every available platform on the planet. The city had literally rolled out the red carpet. A press conference had been held the day prior. If you were a fan you would have mistaken it for the championship. The media was everywhere as press passes were readily available.
The commissioner’s legacy now etched in stone. He had expanded the game overseas. The London team was jointly owned by a few holding companies and a few rap stars. The team’s inaugural schedule had been carefully planned. A new jet had come to market that could make a trip from London to New York in 2 hours.
I was named the starting middle linebacker as Bobbie Blades had torn his ACL three days before the game. He had just signed a five- year contract. After a highly-contested training camp, I found myself anchoring the defense. My father’s words, prophetic. Surrender every part of your being to your craft and you will have the opportunity to display it at the highest level.
I had played that running play perfectly. We had practiced all week against it. No stone left unturned, we grinded all week, some of us vomiting in pure exhaustion. Human beings are unpredictable at times. Regardless of the hours you spend in meetings and watching film. A team forms its game plan on down and distance, injury reports and play calling tendencies.
That humid night in London reinforced it. New York running back Eddie Gabriel had taken the ball trying to bounce to the outside. The edge had been set. He must have sensed it right away. He stopped on a dime to change direction. His cleats must have been caught somehow because for a moment it appeared he was frozen. Diving over the second block that would have taken my knee out I hit Gabriel like a loaded missile. The payload delivered he was entirely flattened. Playing defense one could ever hope of a scenario that led to the perfect tackle. The ball bounced on the turf. Ryan Walters our safety had picked it up and sprinted into the end zone.
My ears were ringing for some reason. I later found out the cause. Eddie Gabriel lay motionless on the field. I staggered to my feet trying to get their training staffs attention. The entire place went silent. I spit out my mouth-guard and tried moving my jaw around to alleviate the ringing sensation in my ear. I removed my helmet noticing my facemask had bent. Gabriel’s helmet now laying on the ground beside him fractured near the side where his chinstrap button had been crushed.
I was nauseous. The ringing had grown worse and my head felt like it got smashed with a brick. They allowed an ambulance on the field right away. Eddie Gabriel was loaded in and rushed to the hospital. He would never be the same.
One of our trainers walked me back through the tunnel and into the locker room. He told me to wait for the doctor. I argued that I was fine. Protocol was a curse word. The trainer kept repeating it. Reaching for a cup near a cooler I tried drinking some water. It immediately reached the top of my esophagus bringing with it caustic acid.
After a preliminary examination, they sent me to a neurologist that night. The collective agreement had been ratified by the player’s association over the summer months, mandating that any player exhibiting signs of a concussion be examined immediately by a neurologist.
A battery of tests ensued including a sophisticated CAT scan. I was given some ibuprofen after blood had been drawn. The ringing and dull ache now replaced with sharp stinging pain. I will never forget the words.
“Mr. Roman Lee?”
“Yes”
“I’m Dr. Orlandi. Mr. Lee I must be honest with you. How you have played this long without exhibiting signs is a statistical anomaly.”
“What signs? What do you mean exactly?”
“Mr. Lee, I’m sorry to inform you that you are in the infant stages of CTE or Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy.”
He turned on the monitor. My brain filled the screen from various cross sectional views. One image had been circled in red with an area highlighted in yellow.
“The area we are most concerned with is here. Can you see where I am pointing to Mr. Lee? These small spots in a cluster.”
They looked like tiny divots in a golf ball. I could hardly believe we were talking about my health. Aside from the stinging pain I felt fine.
“Why now? I never had any problems. My head stings a little. It will be gone tomorrow morning.”
“Your headaches will subside somewhat agreed. However, the microtrauma that you have experienced over the years have now manifested to the point where you won’t be able to pass a physical to play any longer. I’m sorry Mr. Lee.”
He handed me a prescription bottle. Twisting the cap off finding tiny blue round pills resting on the bottom. The directions were to take one daily and not to skip a dose. If I missed I was to call the doctor right away.
“What the hell is this?”
“The FDA just approved the drug. This will keep most if not all the effects of CTE at bay while more research continues in the field of study. Hopefully one day we will be able to eliminate it all together.”
“Why can’t I just take these and still play?”
“Mr. Lee let me be clear. You’re very lucky not to be in an assisted living center right now. Nature for some reason has given you a second chance to do something else. Please make the most of it.”
I went back to my apartment overlooking the Thames River. I poured a drink but set it down for a moment. Walking over to the glass windows that lined my living room I looked across the water. My phone rang. Looking at the time it was early in the morning. I recognized the voice at once. It was my brother Micah.
“Dad’s gone Roman.”
“They have a fight or something?” My parent’s arguments were sometimes awful with one party leaving the house for hours at a time.
“Someone killed him.”
“Micah, this is not the time or place.”
“You need to get here as quick as you can.”
I texted player personnel and the coaching staff. The ownership flew me on their private jet to Kirkwood International. My brother was waiting for me when I arrived. The turbulence combined with the change in altitude did a number on my headache.
“What happened?”
“He was on his way home from work. We had plans to watch the game together. When he didn’t show up after the first quarter we knew something was wrong. He was never late for anything. There was a knock at the door. Two uniforms were on the porch holding their hats. Our father had been shot in a robbery at a local store and died at the scene. Mom collapsed and Jordan won’t leave her room. Everyone’s at the house now.”
We glanced up at the screen in the airport replaying the top ten plays of the day.
“You really lit that poor bastard up didn’t you?”
“I’m fine thanks for asking though.”
He lit a cigarette on the way out to the parking lot
“When did you start that?
“A few months ago, I guess.”
Family and friends were at the house. Cars lined both sides of the street for blocks. My mother sat in her chair with tears not saying much. Jordan finally emerged from her room when she heard my voice. She was a wreck. I assured her everything was going to be ok.
“We watched some of the game. How is your head?”
“I’m good Sis.”
Micah had joined some of our family at the kitchen table. Alcohol and small talk flowed for a few hours. A bottle of whisky recently opened accompanied a glass. I poured one and knocked it back. Momentarily it burned my throat physically. Cognitively it was a welcomed diversion from my life being flipped upside down in a matter of twenty- four hours.
After the funeral, my Mother slipped into a deep depression. She became addicted to prescription medication. Unfortunately, Micah shared the same genetic predisposition except much more intense. He began skimming off the top of her prescription refills. Doubling back to the pharmacy insisting they had miscounted. Arguing with the pharmacist along with the technicians it wasn’t very long he had to drive across the city to get a refill having burned all his bridges. He also tried photocopying the handwritten Class C prescription and attempted to get it filled at two different locations on the same day.
My Mother began hoarding her pills stashing them in the bedroom where Micah could not find them. Jordan was spending less time at home electing to run the streets with her new friends.
Micah finally hit rock bottom months later. He figured out an easier way to feed his addiction. Making friends easily he found work at a Skilled Care Facility. Soon he was dispensing medication to the residents during his nightly shift. He continued skimming off the top of each of the resident’s nightly regiments replacing them with plain aspirin. It finally caught up to him after a few of the residents complained that their medications weren’t working. The Facilities management conducted a pharmacy audit that eventually led to Micah. Found guilty of possession without a prescription he was sentenced to four years in the State’s toughest penitentiary. He served two and a half years finally being paroled for good behavior.
Micah met Vladi and Alex Razin shortly after getting out. He had walked into their family store to purchase a pint of whisky. Seeing that their father Viktor was struggling with a box of shipment he offered help and was given a job on the spot. Vladi and Alex took Micah everywhere including sporting events and nightclubs. They were thick as thieves.
My Mother ultimately committed suicide a couple years after the loss of my Father. It was shortly after I had moved back from London. I had held a small press conference announcing my retirement. I moved out of my apartment on the Thames River. I purchased a modest home near my parent’s neighborhood. There were still no leads into my father’s murder. I joined the police academy and in a short while was promoted to detective.
Jordan had found her. No note no goodbyes. It tore her apart. I still remember the back of the ambulance door shutting. It slammed with such a loud bang!