The seventh chapter of my new novel. Thanks for reading, and all comments are
welcome.
FREESTATE CALIFORNIA
By
Wayne C. Grantham
CHAPTER 7
The first thing that entered his very
fuzzy consciousness was the smell he could only describe as “clean.” The bed Mars
lay in was very comfortable, making him delay opening his eyes for a few
moments. When he did open his eyes, he found himself in a room bathed in a
soothing light. After a few moments of self-orientation, began to focus on the
place in which he found himself. It was a hospital room, different from others
he’d seen. A nurse, a short, somewhat stout middle-aged woman, wearing a white
dress, stood at a computer with her back to him, checking readouts on a four-foot
wide computer screen. Several graphic displays were spread across the wall
screen; a heart monitor was the only one he was able to recognize.
He raised his head slightly and looked himself over. His left leg,
immobilized, was in a sleeve that seemed to grow out of the mattress. It was
slightly elevated and felt warm to his skin. His right arm was in another, tight
at the wrist and elbow and shoulder, fully immobilized, but not uncomfortable. The
sleeves over his leg and arm had tubes and wires attached. He also noticed several
bandages and dressings on other parts of his body. The nurse, seeing increased activity
on the monitors, turned. She was a matronly, fiftyish woman of Hispanic
descent.
A band inside the sleeve immobilizing his right arm, tightened. It felt like a blood pressure cuff.
A band inside the sleeve immobilizing his right arm, tightened. It felt like a blood pressure cuff.
“Bueno. You are awake,” she said. “My name
is Conchita. I am your physician. Please don't try to move too much. It will
hurt a lot and you might reinjure yourself. You have a broken collar bone, a
fractured forearm and a compound fracture in your left leg. You also have many
cuts, abrasions and bruises--some of them deep. You have a partially healed
bullet wound in your left forearm, which was reopened by your fall. The cuts
and the bullet wound have all been cleaned and glutured, but too much movement
could pull them open.”
“Where am I, Darlin’?” Mars, a big smile
on his face, voice slurring, asked.
“You are a patient in the Lopez y O’Flynn
Trauma Center in Tecate, Freestate California,”
Conchita replied, a note of pride in her voice. “Doctora Conchita O’Flynn, at
your service. You are under the influence of a pain killer and a sedative.”
“Good pain killer. I don’t feel any
pain....” Mars tried to sit up. “Oof! I found the pain!” He clenched his eyes
and screwed his face into a grimace.
“Lay back and relax, Mr. Marlowe,” the
doctor reached over and gently pushed him back into his pillow. “The pain
killer isn’t strong enough for that, and I don’t want you to re-injure
yourself.”
Conchita moved to Mars’ bedside. She held
a little cup containing a couple of pills to his mouth, and another with some
water.
“What’s this for?” He asked, turning his
head away from the cup.
“To help you relax and to help you heal
faster. Your earlier medications are expiring.”
“I have damn little choice but to relax,
in this rig.” He answered.
“You will mend faster if you are not
tense. You will be able to return to your normal activities sooner, senor.”
“Then, thank you, Doctor Conchita,” Mars
forced a smile, with an attempt to rise, followed by another grimace, showing
his pain. He allowed her to give him the medicine, and slugged it down with a
swallow of water.
“You have a visitor waiting to see you on a legal matter. I have
told her that you are recovering from severe trauma, and because of your
sedation, may not be at your mental best. Do you wish to delay her visit until
tomorrow?”
“A legal matter, eh?” Mars chuckled.
“Perhaps I’m an illegal alien?”
Conchita laughed. “It would not be that,” she said.
“Sure, I feel fine, if a little happier,
probably, than I should. Send her in.”
The doctor left and returned in a couple
of minutes with a fortyish woman, well dressed in what might pass as a business
suit—but not in California. It
looked like a blend between a business suit and a sun dress. Skirt just above
the knees, it was light, both in weight and in its pale turquoise color, with a
jacket over a white open-throat blouse.
“So,” she began as she entered the room and saw Mars lying in the
bed, “you are the gentleman who dropped in from the sky.”
“I’m Detective Lieutenant Eric Marlowe, at your service, Ma’am.
Sorry I can’t stand and shake your hand.”
“I understand, Lieutenant.” She bowed her head slightly as she
introduced herself. “I am Juanita Chen, owner and chief investigator for Dos
Rios Protective.”
Juanita Chen was a tallish woman, with very quick, perceptive
eyes and fine Asian features. She wore her bright black hair loose, but tied
away from her face.
“Charmed, Miss Chen.”
“You might not think so shortly. You are being held to determine
your responsibility for the destruction of a Cessna 180, belonging to one of my
clients, and the death of the other man in your aircraft.”
“Go easy, Senorita Chen.” The doctor
cautioned. “As I said before, he is under sedation.”
Mars tried to move; once again pain lanced
across his upper chest and shoulder. He tried to smile even more broadly at the
very attractive investigator, while trying to hide a shooting pain caused by
his movements. “Call me Mars. Feel like going dancing soon’s I get outa here?”
Miss Chen gave Mars a sour look. “This is
a serious situation.”
“Perhaps this should wait....,” the doctor
began.
“Where’s Horiuchi?” Mars looked around the
room.
“Horiuchi?” Chen asked.
“The copilot.”
“There were only two of you in the wreckage.
Well, you’d been thrown free of the helicopter.” Chen replied. “A search party scoured
the area and found no one else, though they did find tracks leading away to the
west. One of my men followed the tracks until they disappeared in a rocky area.
We had no reason to believe these tracks were relevant.
“We have your sidearm,” she continued, “and the pilot's. We'll
soon know if you shot him”
“Do you have the weapon belonging to the
pilot of the Cessna? He’s the one who killed our pilot,” Mars said.
“If that's true,” Juanita replied, “it'd
be a case of self defense. We'll soon know.”
“Not in California,
it isn't,” was Mars’ retort. “Eddie Yarborough was an officer in the California
Border Patrol.”
“You're not in California
now.” She said California as if
it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Our legal system makes sense. No one has any
rights not shared by all. Not you, not me, not even the governor. Being an
‘officer’ means nothing here, unless in the militia, and on duty. No one may
initiate the use of force against another.”
“Just a....” Mars started as he attempted
again to sit up again. He fell back in pain.
“Lie still!” commanded the doctor, gently
pressing his chest down on the bed. “Do you want to be here all week?”
“How long will I be here?” he asked.
“You could leave in a couple of days, with
portable meds and instructions on their use, except that you're being held by
Senorita Chen.”
Mars looked at the younger woman. “Your holding
me here is an initiation of force,” Mars pointed out.
“Very good, Gringo! You learn fast! Don’t
worry, if you are found innocent, you will be reimbursed for your loss. Having
observed the heart monitor as you speak,” Chen broke in, “I’m inclined to
believe you are telling the truth as you understand it.”
“You're involved,” she continued, “in the
destruction of an aircraft insured by Dos Rios Protective. You also owe this
establishment for its services. If the scenario you describe proves to be true
by means of the physical evidence, this is what we have: Your pilot initiated
an attack against the Cessna, destroying it.
“The Cessna's pilot returned fire from his parachute, killing his
attacker. You crashed in Freestate California.
The dead pilot is responsible for the destroyed Cessna, therefore the wreckage
of the helicopter will go to Senor Alvarez, for whatever it's worth. He’ll be
happy to learn that it didn’t burn. Dos Rios will cover the difference. It looks
like you'll only be responsible for your debt to this medical facility.”
“Well,” Mars smiled. “I’m sure I can handle that! Let me call my
bank.”
Both women laughed.
“California
money?” Juanita snorted.
“This hospital does not accept or even
recognize California currency as
a value.” Conchita said. “I don't know anyone who does. If you have any California
silver or gold, we can deal.”
“What's wrong with California
money?”
Juanita stood and slapped the back of her
one hand into the palm of the other, in the pose of a lecturer. “If they didn't
get ink all over it, one could write a grocery list on it.”
“I have some US minted gold and silver
coins up in San Diego.” Mars said.
“That would work. You might even be able
to get a premium for them, for their numismatic value, but.....they are not
here.” Juanita Chen replied.
“Then, how can I pay?”
“You get a job” Juanita said. “What can
you do?”
“I'm a homicide detective. I'm working on
a murder in San Diego. My partner
was killed. I need to get back there and finish the investigation.”
*
The next morning found Mars reading a
bedside monitor, finishing his breakfast with some difficulty, holding his fork
with his left hand, which had become somewhat usable, for all the fact that he
was right-handed. His muscles were very stiff and sore, he guessed that he was
now off the painkillers.
He was wondering when he’d be able to get out of bed, if for no
other reason than to use a real toilet in privacy, when Conchita came in and
began looking over his readouts.
Moments later, Juanita entered.
“Good morning, Marlowe,” she said, pulling
a chair toward the hospital bed and seating herself. “Good news. You're cleared
of the murder of the helicopter pilot. It turns out that he wasn’t actually
shot at all. Apparently Senor Alvarez’ bullets merely smashed the helicopter’s
wind screen and the flying shards cut him up badly. He was killed in the crash,
of a broken neck.
”I can release you from custody, but you can't leave the country
for a time. I'll want you to tell me what you know about this Horiuchi fellow.”
“....Which leaves your responsibility to
this hospital,” Conchita interrupted. “I'll get you a detailed tally when you’re
ready to leave tomorrow, but it'll be between a half and one rand.”
“How much in dollars?” Mars said while
trying to load some beans on a tortilla.
“A rand is a troy ounce of pure gold,”
Juanita said. “I suppose that’s about ten thousand of your dollars....this week.”
He held the clumsily-filled tortilla up,
about to take a bite. “But you treated me, even though I have no money....that’s
any good here.”
“Of course,” Conchita laughed lightly. “We
treat stray dogs too, Mr. Marlowe. I'll get you into a set of portable electrosplints
in the morning, and you'll be free to go.”
“And the bill?”
“You will pay us when you can.”
*
The next afternoon, after Mars had his new
portable splints installed, Juanita Chen showed up. After she spoke for a few
minutes with the hospital administrator, she met Mars in the lobby.
“I’ve paid your hospital bill. I’d rather
have you owe me than owe the hospital. What Dos Rios will owe you in
reparations will lower your debt to us. I
have a proposal to offer you,” she said. “First, we have to get you some
clothing that’s in better repair, as well as more fashionable.”
They walked to a nearby men's clothing store. Inside, the
clothing was colorful, with Spanish, Mexican and Indian styles. Mars was
wearing what was left of his business suit, damaged by his fall from the
helicopter, and torn open at the leg and shoulder areas to accommodate his
splints. An apparatus applied his weight above his knee on his broken leg. He stood
in front of a triple mirror and was being measured up by a clothing salesman.
“Don’t you have any American clothes?” Mars asked, looking at the
racks dubiously.
Juanita laughed.
The salesman dropped his eyes to Mars’ groin.
“Aren’t you getting tired of sweaty balls all day, and that...that belly cinch
of yours?”
“Point taken,” Mars chuckled. “But it’ll take
a while before I’ll get used to looking like a peacock.”
“Peacocks look that way to attract pea
hens, Mr. Marlowe,” she reminded him with a coy smile.
It was while Mars was changing from his
tattered suit into his new clothing that he found the envelope into which he’d
placed Miss MacDougal’s Freestate money he’s found at the crime scene and at
her San Diego loft. He showed them
to Juanita.
“Hold on to them,” she said as she counted
up the amount. “We need to talk at my office.”
Juanita walked along a sidewalk with Mars
limping alongside. Mars was wearing a dark green kilt that fit over and partly concealed
his leg apparatus and an Irish tartan poncho that covered a t-shirt and his
handgun. It was all topped off with a fedora with a bald eagle’s flight feather
tucked into the band.
They entered a building and crossed a
large lobby, filled with coin-operated video gaming stations and with a
knick-knack stand on one side. They walked to an elevator.
The Dos Rios offices were on the tenth floor. They stepped out of
the elevator and into the foyer of Dos Rios, they entered the office which had Juanita
Chen’s name on the door. Juanita sat at her desk and offered Mars a chair.
“I’m prepared to make you an offer, Mr.
Marlowe”
“Forget the offer, Miss Chen. I want to
get back to San Diego. I’ll find a
way to pay my damned hospital bill.”
“It's your Wall.”
“But you can get through it.”
Juanita tapped away on her desk surface
while they talked. Mars couldn’t see the computer screen which has risen from
the desk surface when she started it. He briefly wondered what she was doing.
“Off the record, of course we can.” Juanita
looked up from the monitor. “The Kennedy Border Wall was as foolish a plan as
any hatched by the Gringos in this century, but you won't learn any secrets
until you've become committed to Freestate.”
“I'm a prisoner?”
“You’re not a prisoner. Well, you are, in
a way.” She eyed him through a businesswoman’s eyes. “I believe you are an
honest and intelligent man. I have a couple of reasons to want you to stay--at
least for a while. Hear me out, and if you reject my requests, and find another
way to pay your bills, then you’ll be able to leave.”
“Reasons? What are your reasons?”
Juanita continued talking while working at the
computer. She pauses for a moment to read the screen.
“Says here you're well thought of by your
peers in San Diego PD, but you're regarded as a kind of a renegade by your
superiors....”
Mars shifted forward in his chair. “You
can get my service records?’
“....You'll need employment. You can learn
to investigate claims.”
“Me? An insurance dick? No....Where's the
police department. I'll apply....”
“Other than local security patrols and our
competitors, we are the police. We don't have jack-booted civil servants
sucking money out of people's pockets. We don't go harassing joy girls like you....”
Mars stood. “....I don't roust hookers.
That's vice....”
“Of course you don’t,” Juanita commented
sarcastically, with mock patience. “At Dos Rios, we protect our clients' persons
and property. We recover losses caused by criminals, accidents or natural
occurrences. Any claims we can't recover, we pay off. We try very hard not to
have to pay off, and that brings us to the reason I brought you to my office.”
“I'm investigating two murders--my partner
and I were working on the murder of one Valerie MacDougal, a Free Stater who
worked in California.” Mars sat
down, splaying his hands over his knees. “My partner was killed, I think as a result
of this investigation.”
“Come to work for Dos Rios,” she continued,
“and your first assignment will be the MacDougal murder. She was a client, and
we don't like our clients murdered. As a bonus, you might find the solution of
this case may contain clues to help you solve your partner’s murder. Does this
interest you?”
Mars only paused for a few seconds. “You
have a deal.”
Juanita extended her hand, which Mars
shook with his left hand. “Then the money in your pocket will be your first two
months’ pay.”
