Authors Profile

Beginning in the early 1970’s while partly-employed within a downtown desk-top publishing company and thus having much spare time, I’d taken upon myself to research what was then the start of what would soon become known as ‘The Massage Parlor Era’. Having casually-befriended a Columnist of the Toronto Sun Newspaper, Paul Rimstead (with whom I’d raised several glasses in the Old Colonial Tavern on Yonge Street); since the arrival of the first Massage Parlor in the Downtown Core in April 1971 and had thus rapidly spread within the city’s core, and had become a major topic of the day. While also a subject that had become front and center within the Media in general, such events had also been featured by Mr. Rimstead in his column. From our ‘tavern-get-togethers’ we had discussed how and why such had so-readily been tolerated within what had generally been known as ‘a lack-lust city core’. Such commentary especially to be noted when-comparing the ‘Downtown Yonge Street Strip’ to other City-Centers within the U.S. - and elsewhere; a social setting often defined by visitor and locals as ‘somewhat staid and unexciting’ - certainly not a City-Core having had any relatively-known ‘cosmopolitan atmosphere’.

Paul Rimstead, well known locally as ‘The Rimmer,’ had throughout the bulk of '70s and '80s - been The Toronto Sun’s ‘Resident Character’; he mostly-featured as a ‘Page 5 Columnist’; as such he’d lived out [portrayed] what are called ‘his home-spun adventures and opinions to a loyal family of readers…’ this writer among them. A confessed ‘alcoholic’ born in 1935, he died of this self-affliction in 1987.

Having been initially influenced by ‘The Rimmer’ during some purposefully-regular ‘dinking-buddy associations...’ also having had personal first-hand knowledge/understanding of the City-Core during the 1950’s and 60’s, such backgounding also gave me additional insight; thus it was in or about mid 1971 - having had time to spare - I’d set-out to more indepthly research what had been happening to a City-Core which - during my youth - had mostly been so ‘Sunday-Go-To-Church-Conservative City’; whereupon on a Saturday-Night - at the stoke of mid-night all ‘licensed places of entertainment’ had - by local ordinance- to close; and unless one knew where to go - and there were many such underground sources where one could ‘swing’ well into the ‘wee-hours of morning’ - the ‘sidewalks may be empty but this was no deterrent for those seeking excitement. And so it was - for one thus familiar with the ‘in-general routine’ relative to the 50’s and 60’s , to then learn that such ‘Massage-Parlors’ were active and operating - one’s impression of such ‘open defiance’ might just seem to be something that had suddenly arrived from ‘Outer-Space’ - then had proceeded to nestle into City’s Downtown Core.

With a renewed interest in the ‘Rise’ of the now [infamous] ‘Massage Parlor Era’ further-being aroused by conversing with and listening to ‘The Rimmer’; yet all-in-all not truly having any notions to indepthly focus upon the issues at that time. However, having been born and raised in nearby Cabbagetown - not really inclined to become ‘literate’, per se (my educational standing then being mostly ‘street-wise and self-directed’), I’d nonetheless decided to focus upon what had then become ‘renewed interests’ - these issues/matters subsequently carrying on throughout the bulk of the 70’s.

By July of 1977, I’d acquired sufficient in-depth data concerning on-going activities in and about ‘The Strip’ (much of it garnered from personalized interviews with those involved) to be able to put together a ‘first draft’ of a book I’d then intended to write.

Then, very early on Monday, August 1st ,1977’ of what would otherwise have been a ‘seasonally-summery holiday’, media sources virtually-exploded with an announcement best defined as ‘devastatingly-mood-destroying’ and which, thereafter, would thus make that [particular] ‘Civic Holiday’ ultra-notorious throughout Metro Toronto - as the following morning newspaper headline well-denotes:

‘While the city slept, a team of Metro Police converged on Charlie’s Angels Massage Parlor located at 245 Yonge Street. Forcing an entrance through the plate-glass-doorway leading to an upper-level stairway, they proceeded up and out onto a roof-deck snugged between the walls of two adjacent buildings. In the lead, a scruffy, denim-clad, man, casually stepped over to a pile of rubble. Pointing to a bulky green garbage bag hidden beneath; he stood aside. Police moved in; shifted the debris; then inspected the bag’s contents... they were outraged.’

Police ‘outrage’ had been due to what had been the consequences of what they’d described as ‘asexually-deviant-orgy’ thus exposing what had been a horrific murder of a ‘12 year old Immigrant Boy’; he thereafter given the distinction as a ‘Shoeshine Boy’; a colloquial-expression with which we chose to differ - due to extenuating circumstances never fully revealed - data now stored within my personal literary-limbo.

To make a long story short, since I’d then ‘off and on’ spent nearly 7 years researching the ‘Why’s and Wherefores’ of the ‘Rise and Progression’ of the ‘Massage Parlor Era’ - which did not entirely-fall as some had said - rather - had simply gone underground - (details which I well-indicate in my now ‘still shelved book’).

Stuck with a box-full of acquired data obtained from personal interviews with those involved with the so-called ‘Sex-Industry’ - this also including relative-data obtained from ‘law-enforcement officers’ and other such participants even ‘politicians’ - whom I prefer to call ‘ploticians’, I had to seriously reassess my options; especially-so inasmuch as the book I’d intended to title ‘Decade of Dissent’ had also contained data that few (if any) had known nor truly-understood had they had some insight; since what I'd acquired seemed 'too-hot-to-reveal' specifically because public outrage had also swiftly-turned against [any] so-called ‘Sex-Industry’; thus anyone ‘daring to write’ what would unquestionably be an [exposé] featuring a succession of political-blunders leading up to what had happened.

Within my proposed book I'd intended to show - based upon much acquired data - that what had happened could have been prevented. However, since I'd lacked ‘credential’, per se, any such data being thus revealed was not destined to be popular by an in-general enraged public - and most certainly not by the three levels of government that had, indeed, lain behind all that was. Subsequently, aside from seemingly-wasted effort, it soon became something that I could not ever hope to successfully-self-publish... moreover ever find a publishing facility so-willing.

In the months that followed and the consistent ‘outrage’ that such an atrociously-horrible event had suddenly-incited - it further compounded with public-oriented disgust - much also focused upon Civic and Provincial authorities then becoming aware that such ‘Officialdom’ had mostly-ignored their role leading up to that ‘tragedy’ for all-along it had been was well-within their jurisdictions for reasons mostly unbeknownst to the public in-general. Once the proverbial “crap” came to the forefront; be it Civic, Provincial and even Federal all tried to place the blame elsewhere - seemingly-ignoring the very fact that ‘all along’ the ‘Massage Parlors’ had also helped keep the City’s economy-thriving... and would do so until the Eaton-Center Complex was fully-completed.

When the unexpected happened, in some regards - all three government levels began to act like ‘rats fleeing a sinking ship’ and - in so doing - shifted blame for that ‘tragedy’ upon one-another. In the meantime and in-between time ‘Big-Business-Venturism’ ever-laying-in-wait behind all that had been current for the better part of that ‘Decade’ - simply sat upon their ‘rear-ends’ in their ‘High-Rise Boardrooms’ - virtually ‘twiddling their thumbs’ - seemingly-content that ‘then on-going socio-political-conflict’ was among three levels of government - and not themselves.

Since circumstances then and even had they not been so, my book purposefully geared to feature the Rise - and subsequent escalation - of the Massage Parlors; and - as such - might never have been anything of particular relevance beyond Toronto - thus also meant I’d have to self-publish it if only for my own satisfaction (something which I would later do with another effort in the mid 1980’s... as I further feature below). However, that intent due to some extenuating circumstances of the Shoeshine Boy’s Murder, was not to be. Instead it yet a “shelved book” stored in my files. A decision I’d made because I had become aware that that which I’d researched would have ‘invariably’ incited dissention from both a general public and the ruling élitists - even if I’d chosen to re-edited and ‘downplay’ that which I had placed into my ‘Draft’.

Having ultimately-decided to sit back and wait with the expectation that just perhaps time might tend to ‘soothe the more emotional aspects’; and thus-revealing what had once been might simply-appear to be ‘water-under the bridge’. therefore, the best thing for me to do was to put my work aside - and by waiting-out the brunt of the prior public outrage - and proceed to assess the ‘social climate’ at a much later time.

This time never came.

***

During proceeding decades; now and again check on-line to determine some [hint] that perhaps I might yet self-publish my book, I found that a somewhat negative-opinion prevailed; some even asserting that I should simply ‘Let Sleeping Dogs Rest’ - or words to that effect. I have so-far done so.

Back in 1981, while employed in a Desk-Top-Publishing Business called ‘Jarvis Publications’ - another part-time occupation - my interests had then mostly-focused upon religio-political and legal issues; such effort also necessitated relative in-depth research; this of course meant I’d need to access some otherwise ‘Rare Books’; the best place to carry-out such personal-pursuits was in the ‘U. of T. Robarts Library’. Since I’d not been part of the ‘University Alumni’ I’d then purchased a ‘Research-Reader’s Authorization’ allowing entrance into ‘The Stacks’ - anyone familiar with such a ‘term’ will know that such permits one to read therein stored ‘Rare Books’ - many such works centuries old.

It was during this Library Research that I’d also begun to take an interest in a then-current event in Winnipeg, Manitoba; it featuring the ‘Murder of a 16 year old Donut-Shop Waitress’. Periodically-following the history of this ‘Horrible Crime’ - in which there had been a subsequent arrest soon thereafter - would eventually result in what might best be termed ‘Four Trial and Error Law and Disorder Episodes’ - all of this - including ‘Police Stratagem replete with purposeful deception’. Since the victim had been a popular High School Student from a local affluent family - thus making the tragedy somewhat ‘politically-explosive’. This meant that the suspect - thus-charged - must not only be ‘publically-tried’; and ‘since the arresting detectives had unequivocally announced that the evidence they’d possessed was air-tight’, this particular ‘Murder’ - to all intents and purposes relative to this police-information-gathering - would be subsequently convicted ASAP; the objective being to ease the ‘ire’ of an otherwise ‘outraged general public’.

However, it is said that ‘even best-laid plans of men and mice will oftimes go astray’, the essential-essence of this [maxim] would come to be reality. And while intending to ease what had been a continuously-outraged general-public; after some four years of ‘trial’; ‘retrial after re-trial’ and an eventual ‘acquittal’; what had truly come about within the ‘Winnipeg Court System’ was what I’d thus-defined as a ‘... holier-than-thou-inquisition...’ having - as its main objective - a dedication - via several nefarious ‘tricks of the trade thus employed’ for the person accused to be ‘convicted of the crime and therefore given an appropriate ‘life-incarceration sentence’.

It was, in retrospect, a ‘sinister-police-orchestrated scenario’ sparing neither cost nor illicit-methodology -as would soon become apparent.

Since the Winnipeg public-in-general had all-along been vociferously-enraged over this senseless murder, for the judiciary such public outrage meant that ‘the accused person’s conviction must come about’; the theory being that ‘... police-officers will not - and do not - arrest a suspect without just Cause’.

Amidst my other interests - yet having also regularly-followed the entire case in the Winnipeg Sun Daily (to which I’d subscribed) - my interest into what more and more appeared to be some ‘all-too-obvious police-oriented miscarriage of justice’ grew. Somewhat - as a force of habit per se - I’d also proceeded to ‘create a personal-file of relative details including newspaper clippings’ leading myself and others to arrive at a belief that - just perhaps - the person thusly-charged might also be ‘another’ of many such seemingly-innocent-persons ‘then serving time for crimes they did not commit’. Many contributing to the Winnipeg Sun’s personal column also express this opinion.

Also happening in the 1980’s, several police-arrested-dupes thusly-convicted of crimes they did not commit; had had their convictions re-examined; found ‘innocent’; ‘pardoned’; then ‘compensated’ - all of this effort by virtue of what is called the ‘Association In Defense Of The Wrongfully-Convicted’ - also known as ‘AIDWYC’. Seldom, if ever, did the arresting officers involved in such ‘affronts-to-justice’ receive more than a so-called ‘slap-on-wrist’ and whom - often as not after a subtle tongue-lashing by their superiors - had subtly gone back to work; their reputations generally-intact.

The case of the ‘Donut-Shop Murder’ and its trials having, as indicated, been carried out over some four years of ‘convictions & convictions-over-turned’ each trial had subsequently been supplemented with ‘police-ingenuity’ by setting-up and creating ‘additional evidence’ designed specifically to re-convict. All the while, the accused person had been ordered to remain in jail without ‘Bail’ - confined within ‘Protective Custody’. All-in-all, as it would turn out, such police-criminality (notably-common in Canada as it was in the U.S.) truly represented some explicit prime-examples of what can only be called ‘justice gone-crazy’.

In 1985, the case against ‘Thomas Sophonow’ - the man thus charged and continuously kept incarcerated - eventually came to a conclusion when Sophonow - upon an ‘Appeal to the Manitoba Supreme Court’ - was ‘Acquitted’. For his time ‘all the while under the stress and strain of years of confinement being kept in isolation due to the very nature of the crime with which he’d been charged’, had been thusly-denied [any] Compensation; this because being ‘Acquitted’ did [not] represent his ‘Innocence’ - that - he would have to ‘prove beyond any doubt before any compensation would be granted’.

Once released from confinement; even though I had taken a special interest in what had been a ‘miscarriage of justice’, I’d also been under the impression that sooner or later ‘The Sophonow Story’ - it having been followed by several ‘potential authors/writers’ (including columnists), I’d presumed that the entire story would soon become a ‘Book’; this especially-so when a ‘Public Affairs Television Program’ called ‘W-5’ soon thereafter featured a half-hour segment highlighting the overall-account leading up to Thomas Sophonow’s arrest and trials - including results of a ‘Polygraph Examination’ - it clearly showing that Thomas Sophonow was thusly-determined as ‘innocent of the charge’.

As the summer of 1985 passed - and yet there appeared to be no indication that anyone was in the process of writing about this sordid affair - I decided to look-up the ‘Acquitted Man’ in Vancouver (his home Province) whereupon I found that the major reason why no one had been granted permission to write his ‘Story’ was because of ‘a political dimension’; all potential writers wanted - due to their own positions in society - to ‘downgrade the Story’; and, in so-doing, not publish the names and ranks of the Detectives - including a belligerent self-centered Chief of Police who’d fully-sanctioned the laying of the charges and had also been ‘in the background of a case continually-being built-up against Sophonow’; all of whom had been well-aware that ‘the evidence used to convict Sophonow was entirely-fraudulent’.

Subsequently, Mr. Sophonow decided to write his own book and as such reveal the entire ‘Story’ - not as some ‘abridged account’ eliminating what he knew had been an all-too-evident ‘Winnipeg Police-Conspiracy’.

Via my initial contact - thusly-learning of the man’s emotional-plight, I explained to Mr. Sophonow that ‘... if I was to write the Story for him...’ everything - within reason - that he wanted the general-public to know about this Episode would be ‘included’; simply because I did not fear any subsequent reprisal (albeit some did occur).

I met Thomas Sophonow in Winnipeg in mid-January 1986; subsequently wrote a book (much of it garnered from previously saved data; much additionally given to me by Mr. Sophonow) titled ‘Guilty Till Proven Innocent’ subtitled ‘The Case of the Cowboy Killer - the Untold Story of Thomas Sophonow’. Unable to get sponsorship in Toronto - nor could I find any in Winnipeg - I put out the funds to have some 2000 copies of the book printed in Montreal; it being a self-published book inclusive with all the sordid details others had been reluctant to publish; it was released in February 1987; and which had also been listed in some of the ‘Major Manitoba Book Stores’.

Many years later Mr. Sophonow would be able to have his ‘Innocent Proven’ - whereupon the Manitoba Government had been thusly-ordered to pay him $2.6 million. I do not take[ any] particular credit for this award; the credit entirely goes to ‘Association In Defense Of The Wrongfully-Convicted’ - even though my book nearly sold out in both Winnipeg and Vancouver - it was as expected -ignored in Toronto.

***

Having retired from a self-operated Desk-Top Publishing Business in 1995 (this due to financial issues) I’d thereafter continued to write. And, while my interests were/are somewhat-varied much of my material is ‘Secular’ and - as such - is ‘Anti-Theism-Oriented’. Moreover, since much of my work, I believe, is well-researched with data and detail therein documented; thusly, due to my selective-personal-interests - my work - in general - is not relative to the ‘current-trend of continually-promoting SuperNaturalisms’. Into what I call my ‘Third Millennium Project’ I had also placed several non-fiction books; among these is also a fictional drama titled ‘Wait Till Tomorrow’; a story of crime and punishment featuring a fictional ‘International Jewel Thief’; an ‘Eccentric Multi-Millionaire’; a ‘Special Rehabilitation Force of Metro Detectives’; and an ‘Exclusive Private Detective Agency’ - also featuring a multi-million $ theft and recovery of a highly-insured Private Jewelry Collection - among several pertinent-issues also relative to criminology.

Introduction

This story centers within Toronto’s more central downtown core several years after the infamous ‘Massage Parlor Era’ of the 1970’s - an ‘Era’ I define as a ‘Decade of Decent’; which - as noted in my Profile - is an unpublished book featuring the events leading-up to a horrible homosexual murder of a 12-year-old so-called ‘Shoeshine Boy’ named Emmanuel Jacques.

In this fictional story titled ‘The Yonge Street Strip’, due to a sudden outbreak and equally-sudden deaths seemingly without any definable source - sets the stage. Improbable as is any such fiction - events in this novel are nonetheless drawn from a then current state of affairs and similarly-related conditions; some such features also being relative to major cities in both Canada and the U.S. Whatever be the source - be it “endemic” and/or “drug-related” - in this narrative the advents appear complexly-characteristic; particularly-so as they occur among the like-minded notably-having culturally-related mutual activities. Having initially affected several young persons’ - their bodies awaiting identification within the City Morgue.

Rapidly rising so close upon an ‘Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome’ and other similar/associated sexually-transmitted diseases; these more and more affecting an in-general footloose and fancy segment of society. By the time this new [unidentifiable] ‘Sudden Death Syndrome’ is noticed; by whatever means necessary - it must be contained before ‘News’ is released to the media -and once more further-cause additional panic among the general public that just-perhaps another social plague has surfaced.

To create this ‘fictional disease’ - one bearing a [degree] of credibility - several diseases had to be studied; from which there emerged a [premise] of what might be a ‘consequential outbreak’... given a precise set of circumstances.

Known as ‘The Strip’, as 1986 edges into Spring; when this series of mysterious deaths suddenly breaks out, authorities - thusly-concerned over the consequence of yet another potential [epidemic] so close upon the heels of both the ‘Herpes and Aids’ scares - therefore decide to temporarily-suppress the news.

Intending only to withhold incidents until some ‘Cause’ is learned an undesired effect sets in when the Media is alerted.

There are several sub-plots.

Acts of pure vengeance escalate into a sequence of murders in which violent confrontation among various ‘Constabulary’ levels erupt.

Weaved into the intrigue is a major drug investigation whereby RCMP under-cover agents - acting independent of Metro cops - become both hindrance and help.

While many feature-characters are built into this drama, ‘Arnie Fuller’ and ‘Dr. Carl Sylinski’ both share center stage as the book’s main characters. As the plot thickens, Fuller appears to have become a disgruntled member of “Metro’s Finest”. And... when pitted against arch-foes, Detective-Sergeant Joseph Mancuso and his partner Detective Bruno Ferrani… Arnie often fares 2nd best.

Mancuso and his tag-along-partner Ferrani thus-represent senior Homicide Police Officers.

As a consequence of an inadvertent act of conscience, a string of circumstances propels Fuller from an otherwise “dead-ended post of cruiser-patrol” into the realm of a “Special Investigator”. As he progresses in his assignment he encounters moments of “high-elation and deep-depression” - much stemming from the opposition he receives from his two rivals Mancuso and Ferrani - both of whom have taken a [dislike] to this “Patrol-Cop” - especially so when he is given a plain-clothes assignment they feel he does not deserve; thus creating a sense of frustration inasmuch as Fuller had been [mostly] downplayed and ignored by those who make decisions of police-advancements.

Long before an Epidemiologist Medical Detective, Carl Sylinski, can arrive at a solution to the mysterious deaths - the “Yonge Street Strip” is gradually destined to become “Stripped” of patrons - the result of declining business due to “Street Avoidance”. The disease - one that will be given a “Title, Cause and Cure” as the story ends has by then become endemically-epidemic; an outbreak - Dr. Sylinski and his colleagues discover - that is continuously present within the human population… and which can become ‘viral’, per se, under certain conditions because behind this then-current-affliction, he discovers; there is a non-human reservoir for producing an affecting/infecting microbe able to transmigrate to humans - and if not unveiled and stopped - could be devastating to humankind in general”.

From a dedicated perseverance, Dr. Sylinski - assisted by many equally-dedicated medical researchers across the U.S. and Canada - eventually discovers an elusive-microbe - which he defines as a ‘chameleon virus’. His elaborate explanation places this ‘Bug’ into a unique category; as ‘the offspring of a microscopic marriage between two distinctly different viruses and species’.

Adding a touch of substance, is a taste of ‘romance and tragedy’; and this mixed within a ‘wisp of philosophy’ insofar as it is a rendering of what might occur on the ‘Strip’ - or on any other place of similar composition - at any time the correct formula marries.

As the story ends, the reader is left to decide if Arnie Fuller might live happily ever after or... goes on to find other adventure amidst the concrete and steel of that “Asphalt Jungle” once known as “Toronto the Good.”

Chapter 1 - In The Beginning

Beyond the lab, life went on as usual. For Resident Epidemiologist Carl Sylinski - whose vocation is dedicated to studying ‘patterns of diseases and/or similar health risks’ - recently called into service at the request of the City Coroner - life had suddenly become anything but usual. Of late - night after night while the city slept - he would be found peering into the lens of the laboratory’s ultra modern optical device; his mission ‘microscopic exploration’; his goal - to find the source of a recent and rapidly-spreading menacing and deadly emergence of what might very- well be some new viral strain - a ‘Sudden- Death Syndrome’ per se - or, in more explicit terms, relative to a ‘microscopic universe into which he once more further explored’ - his effort to find some microbic species was not to where the eyes of mankind had never before searched - but rather - into an inner-galaxy of silence - a world from which ‘all life evolves’ - to find what might well-be another elusive and extremely-deadly alienation. Occasionally, he’d pause; massage a numbness building around the socket of his eye; then resume his search.

‘Somewhere behind all the current mystery,’ he thought, ‘there may reside a vicious life-stealing microbe - perhaps another secondary-generation drawing its elusiveness from a prior medically-enslaved progenitor’.

Whatever its nature… even with the high- intense, extremely sensitive Electron Gun Microscope... if such an elusive ‘bug’ be the source it so-far appeared undetectable.

His affection for research had often made Sylinski appear extremist; he, however, was anything but; simply dedicated to whatever might be lurking about in silence. This latest mysterious and deadly outbreak had however further strained his resolve. Unless most important - to his staff his instruction was ‘not to be disturbed unless extremely urgent’.

Within the City- Morgue, a recently-arrived 6th body now lay; again - the exact cause of death also indefinable. A simple explanation had been hoped; yet - this hope was fast-fading as a series of similar unexplained deaths - now being stored - had already begun to incite fears of [perhaps], a new ‘epidemic’ was in the process of a major outbreak? As for the victims, death appeared to have struck rapidly; this phase most-inconsistent with notable internal symptoms. ‘The cause,’ he’d begun to speculate ‘... was either a new microbe...’ or failing that ‘perhaps it was due to some new drug-induced substance thus having had a rapid and deadly reaction?’ Since any such substance now appeared not to be easily detected nor isolated, Sylinski’s focus continued to center upon the likelihood of some newly- evolved ‘micro- organism’ - it perhaps drug-induced?

The half- dozen deceased - all young - hadn’t shown any apparent lengthy suffering; further-suggesting that otherwise at least one would have sought prior medical attention. Albeit somewhat symptomless prior to death; such a sudden- death syndrome - notably relative to all - was somewhat extraordinary; yet - that being said such ‘illusiveness’ made it evident that a similar and sudden stoke of fate had been responsible among all; each thusly-struck down in their paths - as if hit by ‘some selective steak of lightning’.

‘Youth’ - that appeared a mitigating factor. All victims to date were late teens or early 20’s - further suggesting lifestyle-characteristics. If such were, indeed, the case, then just perhaps some gone-astray narcotic inducement might well have lead to a sudden death. Youth and even adults were often mixing various drugs to get a better “high” per se; fact being that the victim’s blood samples did tend to confirm sizable intakes of both barbiturates and amphetamines - among other such ingested narcotics.’

‘Young people today,’ he further speculated - again massaging sensitivity once more building around his eyes, ‘mainly because of psychological factors, act with little regard to consequence.’ The old adage ‘Young and Foolish’ was also- is also paradoxical - often as not a condition of inexperience thus displays a subsequent lack of foresight’. Symptoms leading to ‘Drug Addiction’ while usually such will progress in stages; in some cases, he well-understood, since addiction is progressive - most of the time once such sets in as a craving, treatment is usually required; seldom does the urge go away and can rapidly occur if the former addicted person does not realize the consequence especially-so within a social setting with friends and colleagues that thus leads to private personal encounters as the craving appears to escalate.

Because one can initially enjoy the experience of participating in such a temporary ‘high’, they do so without truly understanding that such casualness can also become addictive thus requiring an internal mental-need to repeat it ‘just to feel relatively normal’. Not always does any such casual participation id drug-intake always mean that that one will necessarily become addicted; however - as Sylinski well-understood for his position as a doctor well-qualified to  judge - here is also where the expression ‘young and foolish’ is epitomized; simply because young people often lack foresight - thus can often be predictable.

Substance abusers are often the last ones to recognize their own signs that can be and are relative to ‘symptoms of abuse’, and - as such - fail to realize their own potential dependence leading to an addiction. Even when they do know they, indeed, have a problem; such drug abusers will often try to downplay their drug use and - as such - will try to conceal their symptoms. In fact, those who take prescription pain medications - and even powerful opiates just to make themselves feel somewhat normal - will more often than not put themselves in jeopardy of developing an addiction.

Moreover, albeit many people who tend to rely upon their so-called ‘daily-dose’ do not think of themselves as in the category of ‘drug abusers’ yet since they have a daily requirement - and often do not realize their addiction - they become dependent upon chemical substances - whether legal or illegal.

While the ‘common thread’ that  appears to run through most drug abusers is loss of control of their senses; and - in the case of those now interred within the City Morgue - they not only lost their sense of direction - they suffered the ultimate fate - death.

And while those who ‘knowingly-suffer from symptoms of drug withdrawal will thus have a choice to seek help; whatever had caused the apparent ‘sudden-deaths’ of the Morgues six recent arrivals - they appeared to have dropped dead in their tracks and as such did not experience any warning symptoms that would generally-appear when it was some ‘drug-intake’ that appears to have caused a syndrome seemingly-relative to all.

‘Today,’ he further thought, ‘domestically- manufactured narcotics - with little or no prior history - taken to get momentary ‘highs’ can and does allow one to both temporarily and permanently escape from reality’. But, are these ‘experimenters’ actually tampering with Nature itself? If so, could it be that the molecular structure of life - one that has evolved over millions upon millions of years - now being seriously- altered?

Since life is a process defined as ‘evolutionary-reconditioning’; into this ‘Naturalization’ have come the introduction of ‘Hallucinogens’ - these mind-alterations now seemingly common-place; such also fitting into a general grouping of ‘specialized pharmacological agents’ - among which are ‘Hashish’ - a cannabis-preparation made from the flower of the female cannabis plant; plus various “Opiates” derived from both Opium and Cocaine... and many, many others; ‘some of which’, he realized, ‘have - in their more natural netting - been around for uncountable centuries. When such is inter-mixed with (LSD) a hallucinogenic drug made from lysergic acid initially-used experimentally as a medicine; but is now ingested as an illegal drug, and other such pharmaceuticals, all such abuses might very well cause one’s natural-genetic instructions to become drastically altered? These conditions - plus tranquilizers, powerful pain-reducing stimulants/sedatives; all of these when ingested in excess as they are today; such may very well have a potential to create an ‘internal calamity’ whereby some internal ‘chemotherapeutic molecular explosion’ might well occur? ‘Such matters’, he could now sadly reflect-upon, ‘meant that despite all the effort to achieve advancements in treating disease within the 20th century’ when such intake is abused - as it now more and more appears - of the potential effects little is actually known to predict ‘the long-term effects that certain drugs carelessly consumed’ might well-have upon human tissue’; another serious concern being that such abuse can well be transmitted to offspring.

‘If,’ as he more and more suspected, ‘the latest outbreak proves to have rooted from some induced micro-organism to mutate...’ it would be far more complex than was its progenitor. It might also be a chameleon - ever- changing to whatever suits its environment. And so, whatever its sourcing; whether a form consistent with inconsistency - like the unicellular microbic protozoan common to stagnant water called an ‘amoeba’ - it would also have some inconsistent pattern. ‘Such parasitical creatures as these may very-well be basic to life as we know it’ he well knew, since they also ‘have an ability to change their shape as a means of locomotion...’ such typological inconsistency is also frustrating to one’s search for otherwise lesser traceable non- transient alienated forms.

Again centering his thoughts consistently-focused upon the recent rash of unidentified victims, he’d further- puzzled at their ‘apparent passiveness’s. For some reason - most contrary to outward appearances - while their overall conditions indeed indicate a prior lack of concern; as regards their ‘sudden-death status’; this seemed simply too-incredible. ‘Yet - it must have been so’, he thought, ‘for it seems as if, indeed, neither of the victims appears to have sought help previous to their deaths.’

Furthermore, in all cases, internal decay appeared massive. Portions of intestinal walls were perforated; abscesses had rapidly-formed on lung and liver tissue - and each victim had experienced a mild form of ‘amoebic dysentery’. As well, each had classic symptoms relative of ‘serum hepatitis’ - a disease recognized only since World War Two; a disease transmitted by injection. ‘All victims’ he’d further discerned ‘were also heavy smokers,’. ‘In fact,’ he mused, ‘as the evidence grew it appeared to be a total breakdown of the body’s immune system even more instantaneously-deadly than had been AIDS.’

Deciding to ‘call it a day’, thus stretching his arms over his head to restore circulation into his tiring body; whatever was the ultimate cause; he nonetheless tended to believe that - when isolated - the death-dealing-agent would ‘most likely be another microscopic mutation.’

With his vision somewhat fogged from the evening’s strain of concentration, he closed-up shop; expressed a few customary ‘good-nights’ to his staff, then climbed behind the wheel of his fire- engine- red, sports car. Twenty minutes later, he was parked in the two car garage beneath his two- story North York home. He frequently arrived late; and since his wife Tanya and son Robbie would be fast asleep; he - as was common - soft- footed into the den; read a few notes, then drifted off to sleep without undressing; all too-soon the morning - and a previously-scheduled meeting of minds would arrive.

***

Taunted by an inspiration of the new day’s warming sun, the blast of cool air, soaring over the crest of his car’s windshield as he headed toward the Princess Rose Hospital, signaled that it had been yet too-early in the season to have removed the top. Nonetheless - having deliberately-advanced the season within his mind - the cooling swipe of morning breeze was well- received for it would increase his alertness. Today he must be aggressively in-tune with conditions to avoid any hint of some failing optimism.

Perhaps others at the meeting - there’d be five in all; each a specialist in his/her own field - each dedicated to discovering the ‘Cause’ of this mysterious outbreak - just perchance they might have some better news to relate?

His timing had been excellent. Precisely at 11:00 a.m., his pace lively, he entered the conference room. Already, the others had congregated. Stepping to the dais, he called their attention. “Good Morning”, he began, “Pleased you were able to attend on such short notice; let us, therefore, not waste any more of your time than is necessary.”

Today, he spoke as a person impatient to get on with things; however, most associates knew that rushing into matters was ‘not’ his true style; generally- speaking… he was - they had well known - a methodical, pains-taking researcher who catered to ‘the’ most minute detail.

“As you are aware”, he resumed, “we have a situation becoming more critical by the minute. It now appears no longer a question of ‘do we have some form of disease;’ but rather - ‘do we have an epidemic?’ And”, he sighed, “if this be the case - ‘what kind of epidemic’? On the table in front of you - you will find Teletypes from New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Miami; additionally, are reports from the Disease Control Center in Atlanta; and - there are others yet to come. But, having thus indicted, if the same pattern holds true, I believe it’s safe to conclude we might very-well be dealing with a previously unknown cause.”

“If you will ‘bear with me a few minutes...” he’d added as he shuffled some papers he brought with him, “I’ll briefly try to give you a rundown on what I’ve found; but before I do so, please allow me to review a position from which I now draw my perspective. As you know, I’ve been involved with - and have written papers upon many subjects - cancer included. And - as you will also likely know - I’ve been most critical of present methods of many disease treatments - especially diagnostics. Endemic peculiarities - likened to those of certain cancers are, I might emphasize - my pet peeve. I’m sure many of you have looked upon me as though I was becoming a ‘Crank’. Frankly... can’t say as I blame you. But, please, Doctors,” he stressed, “I assure you... I don’t stand alone. Again, from my personal perspective, it seems that more and more physicians are also arriving at similar conclusions. I believe, therefore… that it’s just a matter of time before ‘… we of the medical profession…’ will be forced to change our concept of certain standardized cancer treatments. In this case… one methodology does ‘not’ fit all similar cases.”

“Contrary to most beliefs, my friends,” he’d then added, “certain cancers, for example, are the results of a bacterial infection; this, of course, has been known for more than ‘fifty years’. It can - and has been - established that the culprit - in some cases is, indeed, a bacterium; a germ similar to that found in leprosy; a ‘Progenitor Cryptocide’ if you will - and - it often transmitted from one form of life to another. Now, before you jump on me for this early-on assertion... please allow me explain. As you know, research into a primary cause of cancer has been conducted throughout the world; just for a moment, my friends - stop and think of my statement. The greatest medical minds - combined with incredible sums of money - have been poured into the search for some ‘mysterious virus’, yet, to date, none has been found. Does this not tell us something?”

“But Carl,” Doctor Tackashimi, a top Cardio- Vascular specialist, argued, “do you not agree, that in the last few years more and more success has resulted from all the research?”

“Yes, Sir… I do,” he returned, “but the results have been very limited. Some lives have, undeniably been prolonged; while certain types of cancers have gone into remission; but - all in all - there has not been one ‘absolute’ cure. And… with all due respect to the many who have dedicated themselves to the search; no- one can state ‘positively’ that either the massive doses of radiation - and/or the incredible amount of surgery - has ever ‘cured’ any cancer. And - as far as the highly experimental chemotherapy goes - it, too, has had limited results; but all the same ‘no positive cures’.”

“For that matter… Doctors,” Sylinski resumed addressing all in attendance, “nor has any combination of treatments affected a cure of this dreaded life- destroying disease. At the risk of invoking the ire of the Canadian Medical Association, I must voice my disapproval. It was not my original intent to become so radical. Originally, I wished only to believe in its concepts; my private investigations have, however, proven otherwise. Mark my words, authorities - in time - will change their focus. Till then… they’re determined to carry on with the three accepted methods - methods so-far proven as failures in the long run.”

Concerned the discussion appeared to be drifting into tangential-regions, Doctor Dave Brandt, also an expert ‘Epidemiologist’ interrupted. “Your opinion on cancer, Carl, is well known in our circles - and though we respect your stand without agreeing in all of your principles - what has it to do with the problem we now face? Are you telling us that you believe an advanced strain of cancer virus is responsible?”

“Your point’s well-taken, Dave… suppose my monologue is dragged out - but the point I’m trying to make is that; since all orthodox methods have failed in isolating the Cause of the recent deaths in my city, perhaps, we’d better aim our sights in other areas.”

“Don’t tell us you’re leaning toward the ‘Quacks’, Carl?” Doctor Rosen, co- virologist, smiled.

“Not really, Sylvia”, he returned, “but... as we’ve argued in past... I’m totally against spending billions chasing non- existent viruses. As you well- know, there are more people employed to research cancer… than have the disease - itself; seems the whole effort’s become ‘Big Business’.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Carl”, Doctor Silverman inserted. “Still, we must be tolerant... as well as persistent. Many times, the threshold of discovery is the time of greatest frustration… is it not?” Benjamin Silverman spoke from a position where persistence and patience were a way of life. His specialty was ‘Organ- Transplants’ and the related ‘Rejection Syndrome’.

“That’s right Ben; yet… don’t you agree there are times when we must re- evaluate; reorganize; and - stop throwing good money after bad? That’s part of the purpose of gathering here today - to ‘reevaluate’. Each will have conducted his/her own investigations into this new problem and each will have something distinct to report. If nothing comes close to approximating a Cause… then your contributions would have saved a lot of unnecessary research for me.”

“Nevertheless, my fellow physicians… on with the business at hand,” he resumed. “My mention of cancer research was to prime you for the direction I shall be taking; for I tend to believe this outbreak might very well be ‘a new strain of microbe’. And... while I’m not going to rule out any possibility of a unique form of drug- poisoning... however, I think we’ll discover - because of its concentration so far - it more-likely has a life-style affliction - perhaps even similar to AIDS. Yet, because of its sudden-death-peculiarities, it’s likely - a separate - even more advanced microbe. For instance, some of the more common AIDS symptoms are not present in this outbreak. I’ve found no significant evidence of Herpes lesions, Tuberculosis… or any other serious gradual lung degeneration. Have any of you?”

Silence settled while curious glances cast among them indicated similar findings; he thus resumed. “My probe to date has shown me that in all victims their livers seemed to have ceased to function - such a rapid deterioration that would normally indicate some major discomfort prior to death and that this contributed to their skin discoloration contributing the cause of death. I - and my staff - have proceeded independently to discover some definite cause; yet like us, it appears as if you too have not isolated any such definable Cause. Whatever this is - I’m certain we can all agree - it is a ‘top- priority- endeavor’. Since I’ve been granted all the means of the University labs to carry my searches… it’ll be my job now to devote my full-attention to whatever be the Cause. Your assistance… I assure you... is most appreciated; and I hope to call upon you from time to time until a solution is found.”

“The Media, Carl?” Dr. Silverman queried. “What’s our stand? How long can we keep this under wraps?”

“Again Ben… it’s to be hoped that when this occurs, we’ll have some answers. With all the media scares lately… we don’t need to have the Press going off - shall we say - ‘Half- Pressed’?”

“What about the bodies?” Doctor Rosen added, pointedly. “Relatives are going to demand information; can’t believe they’ll continue to accept ‘Unknown Circumstances’ as an explanation. If the numbers of deaths do increase… they’ll be demanding answers... that’s certain to notify the Press... don’t you think?”

“Yes... yes I do, Sylvia. But - one thing’s in our favor - most deaths to-date seem to have been among transient drug-addicted persons. Only two bodies have so far been claimed - and… next of kin were not too surprised that death had struck. Their life-styles had dictated some calamity sooner or later; my only fear is that one or more may be from more affluent families; but… I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. In the meantime and in-between time, I’m seeking co- operation from the Metro Police Department - I’ll feel more confident with their involvement.”

“If we’ve completed the meeting, Carl,” Dave Brandt interjected, “then I must leave. I’ve appointments this afternoon - have a return flight scheduled this afternoon. In my report you’ll find summations concerning the thyroid and pituitary glands and - of the male and female reproductive organs and other relative details. In essence, Carl - I too have confirmed your findings. According to the samples provided, prior to death, it appears as if mucous membranes of the small intestines had failed to produce digestive enzymes. Within the tissue itself… I found a lack of vitamin ‘A’ - in fact - the vitamin was almost non-existent. Was unable to determine a cause of this deficiency, however, in comparison to other tissue samples… some bizarre abnormality - yet most indeterminate - is all- too- evident. Some samples of the victims appeared to be vitamin ‘C’ enthusiasts; found much evidence of intestinal ascorbic acid; while my report is detailed… it does [not] point to any death-cause; certainly, something unusual occurred prior to death; but…what is was/is... it’s anyone’s guess at this point.”

The meeting adjourned at 1:15. At its conclusion, Carl’s previous deduction of a new, more sophisticated disease-causing germ was somewhat fortified. Now - lying dormant within the bodies of the deceased - a deadly ‘microbic monster lay silent’. It appeared to have been born within the boundaries of this Metropolis and - as it stood at this time - the field was narrowed to the confines of ‘The Yonge Street Strip’.

***

For some time after the others had left Carl Sylinski stood warming himself in bright sunlight filtering through the meeting room’s main window reverently studying his next approach. Suddenly, breaking the lull… a female voice boomed from the intercom, “Doctor Carl Sylinski... please report to the Emergency Department...”

Hastening into the emergency room, he noted an anxious nurse waiting by the reception counter. “Sir...” she said as he neared, “you’d asked us to inform you if any patient was admitted with signs of jaundice...”

“Yes... yes, I did,” he returned, “what’s up?”

“We’ve isolated a woman, Sir; she’s in the middle cubicle. Came into ‘Emergency’ bout a half hour ago; passed out in the waiting room. Receptionist said she was jaundiced… complained about a migraine headache.”

“Has she received any medication?”

“No, Doctor... complying with your instructions, we called you immediately. However… she appears to be under some drug influence.”

“Well done, nurse... I’ll see her now. Is she awake?”

“Yes Sir.”

Chapter 2 - Prelude To Romance

Nurse Elizabeth Temple, stationed at the emergency department’s reception counter, again glanced up at the hospital clock; things were unusually calm... only a trickle of patients’ awaited attention. Earlier, there’d been a flurry of activity - but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Once more returning her attention to a time-biding magazine, she continued thumbing pages - cursorily glancing at titles of stories to be read at another time.

While anticipation made the minutes seem to lag - as if the hands of the big round-faced wall clock had been running slow thus delaying her scheduled lunch-break; tonight, was to be a special occasion; she’d arranged to meet a new acquaintance. Normally, 3:00 a.m. would be an inopportune time to set up a ‘first date’, however, since her intended companion - also worked nights… it was a mutual convenience.

Meantime her attention became drawn to the Horoscope Section where a prognostication concerning her specific astrological sign sparked a spur-of-the-moment-interest. Aware there were as many different versions as there were different so-called ‘divination experts’ - thus not generally inclined to follow such commercial foretelling - still she knew that even the most skeptical at one time or another has had an urge to find out if ‘the proverbial heavenly bodies are favorable to one so deep-set is this ancient practice’.

Under the heading “Taurus” her sparkling, hazelnut-brown, eyes became locked… as if the column’s words were directed ‘only’ to her. The message teased her fancy “... a routine-loving ‘Taurus’ prefers something more chancy. Perhaps a job with a caterer, or a decorator.” Though most times she was content with her profession, there were indeed times when she would become unsettled - often daydreaming of a more daring occupation; but - of course - as a mature person she realized that such fancy is often simply fantasy.

Continuing to absorb the message, she mused over the last sentence reading the words over and over… as if they were revolving upon an endless tape; ‘When the moon beams in adventurous Sagittarius (22nd and 23rd) single Taurus may team up with a new man - very sexy - and very suave.’ Her eyes beamed in on the page in amazement. The dates mentioned suddenly stood out like bold headlines 22nd and 23rd - one glance at the desk calendar revealed the reason - these were her days off. Her mind flashed to her new casual acquaintance, ‘Was this an omen... could some mysterious force be manipulating her destiny...’ she knew better… still…

This thought forced a slight grin. By nature, she’d generally been Conservative - a non-denominational, God-believing woman - so to speak. Since coming to the city, however - even this modest faith had waned. Now, at the point of being somewhat ‘Agnostic’ she’d come to believe that no-one could be anything more than that and be modern. Assigned to a ‘Big City Hospital’s Emergency Department’ had exposed to her an entire new world; one filled with questions quite beyond her scope of understanding. Having attended many persons of varying faiths... learning that each had had his or her own challenging reasons for their beliefs... the question for her was not so much ‘who was right’, or even ‘who was wrong’, but rather, ‘were we all wrong’?

Forcing her focus away from the enticing and suggestive page, her thoughts then shifted to her newly-found-acquaintance. His name - one he’d self-introduced - was ‘Arnie’. Albeit boldacious - and notably-assuming - his forwardness had nonetheless been somewhat pleasing; this especially so since she’d also been romantically-unattached; perhaps even prime for some interest beyond her regular day-to-day routine since recently coming to the ‘Big City’. Albeit she’d been employed with the hospital for the better part of a year, her employment schedule had made exterior activities almost nil; thus sociably-isolated from anything other than her work-a-day midnight-shift-schedule somewhat keeping her singularly-associated; and as such mostly-making her non-employment life mostly work-related and generally centered-around others similarly-associated.

On the night they’d met - albeit his pretentious demeanor had been all-too-evident, she’d nonetheless been impressed with this police-officer’s audacity; and... the unexpected phone call earlier this night... with a mention of some trip to Buffalo in which he’d like company; this - while somewhat entertaining - for her more conservative-demeanor it was just a little ‘too-forward’. He’d spoken of a favorite restaurant, ‘Salvatore’s Italian Gardens’... and the ‘Playboy Club’; he’d suggested that afterwards, perhaps, dancing at the ‘Seven-Forty-Seven’ - a ‘Playboy Club affiliate’. Such sudden proposals might not always be an indignity to her more restrained nature; but since they’d only crossed paths on one brief occasion… and this during hospital working hours... such proposals might be well-intended but would still necessitate some previous association. Had such have been... then any such a prospect might have been more-readily-acceptable; after all, a trip like that definitely-suggested a more intimate relationship. This, ‘Mister Fuller’ she’d further assessed - no matter that he was a Metro Police Officer - seemed to be a ‘fast-worker’; likely used to having his own way, thus not discouraged easily - especially when one is ‘compromisingly-distanced from home’. This most certainly not a sufficient period of time to make the kind of decision he’d thus proposed... no matter how appealing was her suitor! ‘First impressions’, she knew, ‘were not always the right impressions’. Still… there was some intrigue… especially noting the ‘astrology lure’.

Reviewing the events of that night tended to redirect her attention from reading; it hadn’t been a particularly unusual night. As she’d recalled, there’d been the frequent - but accustomed - shrill of sirens ever-growing in pitch as the distance to the hospital narrowed and growing louder as they neared the hospital. as common advents, such would not be of particular notice to hospital emergency-staff - they ever-prepared for in-coming arrivals. Her position at that time - as it was again this night - was more inclined to be one of ‘administration’ rather than of participation. It hadn’t been until after the stretcher had been whisked into one of the cubicles that she’d paid any independent notice.

Albeit somewhat 'blasé to what was common-place' she’d nonetheless been alerted to this particular commotion; and - while much conversation between ambulance men and the intern in charge had been rather obscured and not truly interesting, she did recall partially-overhearing some commentary; it thus concerning a 'Para-Medic named Steve…' he the taller of the two ambulance attendants... stating; “She’s dead - no vital signs all the way over… her face...appears more yellowish in this light than it was in the back of the wagon?”

“Yeh - really…” the more stocky driver called Vince remarked stating that his partner had kept a ‘Resuscitator’ on her during the trip just in case, adding “...was no use... seems she’d just dropped dead in her tracks - right on the street.”

“That’s right...” Steve agreed, we got to her within minutes; she was still warm... feverish... didn’t want to take too many chances… Doc,” Steve continued “... she coulda’ had somethin’ contagious? Never know what’s out in the streets nowadays.”

As their mission of mercy ended, the Paramedics packed up; then moved into the reception area.

‘It had been then,’ Elizabeth recalled, ‘that they’d been approached by the pursuing policemen.’ She further recalled that the Cop named ‘Arnie’ (though at that time she hadn’t known his name), had paused by her desk to chat; his initial questions related to the Emergency - however... he did seem somewhat flirtatious. She recalled that his partner - whom she would also learn was named Gary - had waved over the exiting-paramedics and then having heard him say, “can you spare a few minutes... guys - need to fill in a Report?”

Arnie, then replacing his hat - but promising to return for more chit-chat - joined his partner and the ambulance men whose conversation had also been audible. “Must’ve had your ‘Wagon’ in super-drive… had the ‘pedal to the metal…’ but couldn’t keep up with you.”

“Yeh - yeh… Arnie,” Vince returned - indicating previous acquaintance, “had plenty of pedal left... think maybe the city’s put governors on the ‘buckets-of-bolts’ you guys drive… how many horses you got under the under the hood?”

“Six... Vince… called ‘austerity’. One of these days, we’re gonna’ be asked to buy our own gas.”

Interrupting the small talk, Gary, said “all joking aside... understand the woman you brought in is ‘D.O.A.’ - she have any vitals’ when you put her in the ambulance...”

“Nope...” Steve shrugged, “she was ‘gonzo’ when we picked her up. You guys had ‘Back-up on the Strip’... didn’t you? Better check with them... beats me how she even made it to the street.”

“She have a purse… or any I. D., Vince?”

“Didn’t see none Arn... maybe someone in the crowd went ‘South’ with it... she’d’ve been an easy ‘rip off’ - just lying there; far as we know, nobody’d touched her... still, we didn’t have time to bother about belongings... just in case there was hope... so we rushed her here ‘on the double’... but maybe your ‘back-up’ found something… for sure, she ain’t talking.”

“Guess... until we get a ‘make’ on her... she’s a ‘Jane Doe’.” Indicating he hadn’t any other questions, Elizabeth recalled how Arnie had pocketed his notebook, again removed his hat, and then made a casual comment easily overheard from the Reception Desk. “Don’t you guys leave town... might need you to act as my best man... think I’m gonna’ fall in love again...” then returned to Reception Counter.

***

Those who best knew Arnie Fuller generally portrayed him as gregarious; thus comfortably-confident around others; also being ‘somewhat extroverted’ - which in his case - was generally meant as a compliment! Mixed amidst such a sociable-perspective, Arnie’s disposition had also given him a flirtatious demeanor when it came to the opposite sex! And, while this characteristic could not be known during her initial recall of this first meeting; this detail was something Elizabeth would later learn - for it had also been a conversational-highlight of common gossip by other hospital nurses! While some might consider his demeanor as arrogant and outspoken... those who best knew him generally-agreed he was ‘a person of his own making’ and not easily intimidated; meaning that ‘he knew what he liked and disliked! Since he was a man comfortable within his own distinction - when it came to his role as ‘Uniformed-Patrol-Cop’; albeit he fit well into his role - this being his ‘duty’ and one to which he would give his ‘all’- it was mostly an occupation! and so it was thus among his close associates he often bragged that ‘never’ had this been considered as anything more than ‘a means to an end’ - his aspirations leaning more toward once-again become a ‘Private Eye’ - so to speak - something he’d once tried but had run into problems he did not expect! In the meantime and in-between time he would faithfully-carry-out his policing duties as best and sincerely as he could! With his duties as a means leading to a separate career; since his return to the force after a few years of employment with a Metro Private Detective Agency called Starlight - since his overall-ambition had been placed elsewhere, he’d not truly sought to become part of any long-term upper-level- police-hierarchy.’

While he generally seemed well-suited his constabulary-uniform-persona among those with whom he associated - whether on-duty, casual and/or sociably - he was never- known as one ‘to be abusive to his position of authority’; such compatibility, however, had been too-causal an option for some within the Constabulary to ever-understand. Off duty - he was well-known to relax in his ‘accustomed-casual-denim’ in which the more natural characteristic he’d mostly-enjoyed was par-for-the course as most relative to his displayed-ultra-sophistry. As Arnie’s friends would often say about him... out of his occupational uniform - it was, indeed, ‘the less-complicated side of life’ that he preferred to portray; this being a status-symbol with which he appeared to be more at ease’. Accordingly - such a preference often frowned-upon by those ‘more dedicated to their profession...’ his partner Gary known as a hierarchical Police-Oriented Career Man - did not generally criticize!

Most who knew him upon a personal level would generally-agree that within his over-all-profile, ‘Arnold Fuller having liked to do his own thing’; his philosophy being ‘… find a job that one likes to do... and, one will never have to work a day in one’s life’? Policework, for him, did not truly-present any such potential; thus never once opting to write any application to improve his lot.

Decked-out in what he would often call a ‘Monkey-suit’ - a term he used when referring to his ‘uniform’ - but only to some of his more intimate associates - his well-toned body had nonetheless awarded his uniform charm and grace. Still when all was said and done; his Uniform - no matter how prestigious it might seem to others - it could never fare-well in comparison with a more relaxed mode of his denim.

At forty-four... though still a ‘Constable’; this was not too-unusual for a man with an overall ‘eight years membership in the league’; however - aside from his more personal occupational prospectus his particular stagnation he’d well known - had also been partly due to an initial consequence relative to an ‘on-the-job conflict’; he having become disillusioned with the traffic division to which he’d been initially assigned; from which he’d  thus-resigned to go into business with Private Detective Agency; three years later… the company then closed down and prosecuted for ‘Illegal Bugging’; Arnold Fuller - hat-in-hand so to speak - had then reluctantly returned to the Force.

He hated the traffic-division to which he’d been formerly assigned; and one of the stipulations when re-joining the Metro Force was that he be given some other activity and as such was given an afternoon shift encompassing Downtown Cruiser Patrol Duties; a somewhat tedious endeavor - but which - had nonetheless been more to his own liking!

His partner for the preceding two years upon his renewed-reassignment had been, Gary McLean; he a suburban-family-man and far-more-conventionally- traditional. Though some ten years younger, as a family man - wife and two kids with a home dog in north-east of the city; one could easily determine his ‘WASP’ origin. Having shed some of the so-called ‘traditional cultural snobbishness’ notably-prevalent within his basic ancestry, Gary was viewed as ‘a cut above some of the more seasoned police officers’. Unlike some with whom he’d worked, Gary was known as a ‘Sunday-Go-To-Church’ person and - unless duty prevented - each Sabbath would see a family togetherness. The McLean’s - most on the Force would further acknowledge - were viewed as an ‘ideal family within their neighborhood’. Soon, however, his partnership with Arnie Fuller was destined to break up; he’d been selected for ‘Promotion’; and - in a matter of months - just as soon as he completed a Special Course sponsored by the Department - he’d closet the ‘Precinct Blue’ and join the ranks of Plain Clothes!

***

Elizabeth - further recalling the advent that had first brought Arnie and Gary into the Emergency Ward - noted that in completing his notes, Arnie’s partner had then come over to the reception counter bearing a message of haste, thus saying; “Hate to be bearer of bad news, pal…” offering an apologetic smile, “but... if we don’t get going, we’ll be deeper into overtime. Sorry to drag this big lug away Miss,” he further apologized - catching the sparkle in the nurse’s eye, “but I’ve got a marriage to salvage?”

She recalled that for ‘the brief time she and Arnie had been talking’ - although he’d seemed pleasingly-entertaining - as Gary intervened, however, his commentary had sparked a twinge of curiosity... one trimmed with a subtle message... ‘Were they both married men?’

Adopting an air of disappointment; Arnie, having received the silent signal she’d subtly-dispatched, said, “See what happens when you’re teamed up with an old married man, Sweetheart... not only has he lost all sense of Romance - he wants to drag me back to the ‘pokey.’ But... guess he’s right...” then adding, “by the way, lovely lady - don’t even know your name... what time do you finish... maybe I could come around and pick you up later.”

“My name’s Temple,” she smiled, “Elizabeth Temple... but...” she’d cautioned, adding a subtle note of humor, “I warn you... don’t you dare call me ‘Shirley’?”

“Elizabeth,” Arnie’d repeated, cupping a smile behind his palmed chin... “like... ah... Elizabeth Taylor; but no... have to place you in a separate category; how’s about after work... can 1 pick you up.”

“But... what about my husband...” she’d teased - extending a coquettish pout, “what shall I tell him...”

She recalled how his expression had suddenly become sullen; to offset the obvious twinge of disappointment his look suggested, she raised her hand. “Look... no rings”, she’d grinned. “I’m on duty till 7:00 a.m. after that; I’m too ‘pooped.’ Just want to drag my weary bones home and sleep… have a couple of off-days coming up... but don’t call me - I’ll call you. ‘Central Division’... Right.”

***

As they settled back in their cruiser, a casual conversation - one not having any particular direction other than mere commentary - more of an observation than criticism - evolved.

“You know something Arn...” Gary began, “one of these days you’re going to get roped... then partner - then we’ll see who the ‘Old Married Man’ is.”

“What the hell, Gar… guess maybe I do envy you... in a way; I mean, you don’t have to pour on the charm all the time; half the time I’m just mouthin’ off to hear myself talk. Christ... Almighty - don’t know what I’d do if I was more action than talk; probably, waste away to a ‘friggin’ shadow. Meantime though… whadaya’ think about that nurse; prime stuff - or what? I could dig her action anytime... whadaya’ think.”

Gary studied his partner’s reply. Unable to resist a quip, added, “Arn... sometimes you amaze me. Here you are... your one-tracked mind focused upon romance… not 20 feet away... some poor woman’s lying dead. Stop and think about it for a minute; really wonder sometimes how your mind works; talk about being ‘conditioned’. One thing about it, Pal… never going let myself get that insensitive. This may not be an easy business were in - my friend - admit you have to be ‘tough to be Cop’ - but I still have some sensitivity… and that’s the way it’s going to stay?”

“Com’on Gar...” he replied, “I’m not insensitive! You don’t hav’ta be such a ‘stuffed shirt’ all the time. There’s nothing we can do to change things. Sure… I feel bad about that deceased woman - but we never had a good look at her; she’s likely another street-person who’d overdosed... happens all the time - you and I know that; what makes her so different from some other ‘Jane Does’ we’ve seen... can’t lose no sleep over that. What’s eatin’ you - you’ve seen plenty of stiffs before.”

“What the hell Arn,” he sighed concessively “... guess you’re right; guess I’m keyed-up for nothing… sometimes this job really gets to me. Tell you one thing - taking a long vacation this year… that’s for damn sure!”

“Hey Guy... don’t let it get to you... wanna’ know what I think; I think it’s a case of ‘married life’ that’s getting to you - not the job. Maybe - just maybe - you’re a little bit envious of Old Arnie, here... Right? Bet you’re thinking about me gettin’ into that nurse’s pants... eh? Whadaya’ think - ever consider getting some strange stuff?”

“Sick - O!” he replied.

***

Central precinct - in the core of the city - had been in its usual state of organized-confusion when Arnie and Gary arrived. Central was - notably - one of the busiest Precincts in the downtown; action in and out was generally as consistent as with a ‘beehive’. Aware they’d over-stayed their shift and, knowing Gary’s desire to leave, Arnie volunteered to complete the paperwork; then, to satisfy a last-minute curiosity, decided to consult with the on-duty front desk admitting officer, John Blake.

Staff Sergeant John Blake - more the station’s mascot than an in-house Duty Sergeant - was then seated behind the Front Counter pointing out the ‘exit-door’ to a drunk who wanted to be booked in for the night.

“Any news from our back-up tonight, John...” Arnie inquired... siding up to his commander’s perch.

“File’s on my damned desk…” he snapped - waving over some assistance to remove the drunk. “Do me a favor, will ya’, Arn - look after things - been trying to get to the ‘crapper’ for an hour… this place’s been like a goddamned madhouse tonight.”

John Blake was not the usual Precinct Sergeant; for one thing... he seemed also to be found on duty day and/or night; some said that he was ‘married to the station’; and - perhaps - there was some basic reason to the contention; for example, whenever the station was short-handed, ‘Blakey’ - as he preferred to be called - could be expected to fill in.

‘Blakey’ was a ‘bitcher’; nothing was to be ‘right-enough’ for him. On the rare occasion when things did flow smoothly - or if the traffic in and out became too slow - he suffered from boredom. Often - if all else failed to create a stir - Blakey was not above invention; therefore, when one settled back to welcome a lull - or threatened to become complacent with the calm - Blakey’s intervention stirred the dusts; most, however, had learned to ‘ignore his characteristic peculiarities’.

“Thanks’ Arn,” Blake said, returning to his Front-Counter-Post, adding, “gonna’ put in a complaint about the goddamned washroom cleaners…” he cursed, “it’s a bloody pigsty”! Then changing the subject, asked, “What was all that commotion about on the Strip tonight Arn - report from your back-up didn’t really contain anything significant... the dead girl one of the regulars - or what?”

“Don’t know yet John... coulda’ been. Right now... got her down as a ‘Jane Doe’. Didn’t get much of a look at her... don’t think she coulda’ been more than in her early 20s... kind of curious about her Blakey; she didn’t fit the kind of ‘Street Person’ we usually deal with”.

“Forget it Arn… that’ll be someone else’s turf,” Blake returned. “Finish up your paperwork - and, your job’s done till tomorrow.”

Chapter 3 - Man On A Mission

When one’s source of employment embraces a motto ‘To Serve and Protect’... a vow dedicated to the fight against the element of crime and the protection of society in general... one’s work-week does not always begin on a Monday and end on a Friday. Today thus would be just another day of Arnie Fuller’s “Serve and Protect Patrol” his shift not scheduled to begin until 4:00 p.m. Since he was an habitual early-riser, an early start to occasion the sun-filled spring morning was an event worth doing - regardless of need.

In the apartment garage, his well-maintained ‘79 Lincoln Versailles sat idle - as it had on most days; weather permitting, he preferred to walk. Occasionally he’d use his ‘wheels,’ but mostly the vehicle would be parked; five days of rump-squashing cruiser-patrol detracted much pleasure from any casual off-time driving; an out-and-about stroll became his preferred mode of travel when the distance intended was not too-distant.

The hospital to which the deceased girl of the previous night had been taken was near to where he lived - and since it was in the general direction in which he’d chose as a leisurely walk… a casual-meander into the ‘Emergency Ward’ - and a seemingly casual inquiry - did not seem too incongruous... ‘and besides,’ he thought, ‘he could ask about the attractive nurse he’d met - even though he knew she’d not be on duty.’

Glancing across the hospital’s main lobby he aimed for the reception counter; “Good morning... looking for Nurse Temple… Elizabeth Temple… like to speak with her if possible?”

“Elizabeth Temple... oh yes…Shirley! Sorry Sir... she won’t be on duty till 11:00 p.m.; would you like to leave a message?”

“No… not really; I’m a police officer… just following up on a deceased woman brought into Emergency last night... wonder if I might speak with someone who could fill me in with a few details?”

Dressed in his casual denim, the claim of being a ‘Police Officer’ seemed to arouse the receptionist’s curiosity. “May I ask your name Sir - and - what your interest might be?”

“Fuller,” he replied, displaying his Badge “Arnie Fuller… as mentioned I was on duty last night when a deceased girl was found on the Strip… backing up his claim he flipped the pages of his notebook, then said, “At 12:05 this morning; I, accompanied by my partner Gary McLean, attended the admittance of a young girl; she was D.O.A. - have her listed as a Jane Doe - would like to speak with someone who can give me a follow-up to complete my report.”

“Yes Sir,” she returned, “If you’d care to wait a few minutes - I’ll try to locate one of the doctors...”

Moving back in the adjacent entrance lobby to await his ‘stated off-duty follow-up’, he suddenly developed second thoughts; however, before he could exercise a change his mind... from behind came the response, “Officer Fuller… may I help you...”

The slender white-robed man - whom he presumed was a doctor - having caught him just as he’d decided to back-out and thus could not do so without seeming to be suspicious, replied! “Yes Sir... reason why I’m here is to enquire about a deceased woman whom my partner and I accompanied into the hospital last night... just as a follow-up... thought perhaps I might learn some missing details in my report; for instance, can you tell me the ‘Cause of her death’ - or perhaps inform me if she’s been identified… still have her listed as a Jane Doe”? Because he was then out-and-about in his casual attire - and not in a uniform; thus sensing the doctor might be doubtful, he then produced his badge.

Without changing his doubtful expression, the man who’d appeared as a doctor then said; “Officer Fuller... earlier this morning, I submitted my report to the Coroner; I also gave my report to two of your colleagues...  anything further than that you will need to get this from them…”

Surprised that already someone had been assigned... he could not simply ‘back off’ - that might tend to make his enquiry seem suspicious! “Yes... yes of course, Sir... and I will indeed do that… but now that I’m here...what can you tell me about the deceased, Doctor… do you have an ID?”

“I’m sorry Officer… not really at liberty to give out any information… that too you’ll have to obtain from your Department! And now”, he stressed, “if you don’t mind... I have a busy day... therefore, I’ll bid you ‘Good-Day’”! He about-turned... then exited back into the hospital’s interior.

***

Having felt this ‘to-the-point-put-down’ stab his pride; but also realizing he did not have a ‘Right’ to probe the matter, he then resumed his trek toward the ‘Strip’. Though the doctor had given him a ‘blunt cold shoulder’ per se - there wasn’t any reason to blame him. What was puzzling however was that ‘already’ police officers had been assigned! ‘The best thing to do,’ he conceded, ‘was to simply forget the matter and carry on with his off-duty day… whomever was the deceased girl... it was for others to identify... she likely as not just another statistic added to the list of such happenings that occur in the streets each year?’

Approaching Yonge Street it - as per custom - ‘alive with an accustomed early morning interchange of vehicle and people’; although pre-noon and prior to when ‘pedestrianity’ - especially on a bright and favorably-climatic workday - would bear witness to an even more patio-lunch gathering… had consistently flowed in both directions. At the stop lights intersecting the Strip, he waited for the north-south traffic to pass; but when the east-westerly flow began, he’d, momentarily, lagged behind… pausing to cast an approving glance toward the posterior of an attractive brunette strutting south. Albeit otherwise seemingly-unintentional, instead of heading north toward the ‘Village’ - as was his more general route during leisure off-duty hours; this morning -his attention somewhat drawn by the attractive gait of the woman who’d caught his roving eye - it being a distracting-moment he’d somewhat instinctively begun to walk south. Almost instantly noting that inadvertent ‘direction-changing-distraction’, rather than make an about turn he’d decided to carry on; there was - after all - no particular rush to be anywhere at any time prior to his regular on-duty 4.00 p.m. shift; today, thus, he would, for a change, ‘brunch’ in a downtown restaurant... ‘simple as that…’

Not having any particular goal in mind at the time and his attention now shifting focus, he’d then realized that ‘just a few blocks ahead’ lay the core of Yonge Street - the very ‘heart of the ‘Entertainment Strip’; this also being the site of the previous night’s advent and often referred to as part of the proverbial ‘Tenderloin’.

Nearing the site where the deceased girl about whom he’d casually-evolved a sense of curiosity had - for some unreasoned sense of prior wonder - again sparked his curiosity; especially since he’d learned that ‘already’ a team of officers had been so-soon assigned to investigate! She’d been found on the sidewalk adjacent what was a somewhat infamously-notorious all-night convenience store called ‘Freedman’s Drugs’; it having been situated at the same site for as long as anyone could recall; its infamy came-about because it was more than a ‘Drug-Store’; it was, in essence, a ‘Haberdashery’ per se, one that not only catered to the special-needs of many ‘street people’; it was also a ‘Mini-Mart’ inasmuch as almost everything ‘from aspirin to appliances could therein be purchased; even some illicit narcotics... so he been told... a store that had had off-and-on police-dealings over the years! Reason it was allowed to operate was that it was a ‘good source of otherwise clandestine activities that might not been observed’.

Last night, upon being dispatched to the scene, his partner Gary McLean had made inquiries of those who’d stood around to ogle; and while he - with a ‘back-up team’ - had held back any who’d wanted a closer look at the body… no-one had stepped forward to ‘ID’ her; on the Strip this was ‘par for the course’; street-people avoided involvement - even if they had pertinent information!

Today, activity around the death site was a state of ‘business as usual...’ the advent of that otherwise uneventful night long forgotten as, indeed, ‘nothing unusual’ had ever happened! Having inadvertently ventured into the setting that had not been intended, since he was there, his thoughts of the night still active - as his hospital inquiry might also tend to confirm; thus again finding himself once more re-focused upon the prior night’s scene, he’d then - just as suddenly - evolved a pressing curiosity about this store; thereby thinking… ‘just by chance might any of the clerks have noticed that girl?’ Perhaps she’d been a customer; perhaps also she may have been heading toward it... or just leaving it? If she had, indeed, been one of the proverbial ‘ladies-of-the-evening’ - which then seemed very likely - since they were often in and out of this place; then too she may have bought condoms; such purchases were also sold in this store.

‘Strange,’ he again thought, ‘while the deceased did not appear to have been carrying a purse’ - this too was something that would not be ‘out-of-place’ - particularly if she was a ‘working-girl’; such a ‘worker’ being without condoms in today’s ‘flesh-peddling marketplace’ would be most-unlikely! Found minus a purse, thusly, was not to say she hadn’t had one; but likened to that which Para-Medic, Vince’d had remarked at the hospital ‘... when she fell... anyone in the crowd could have ripped her off!’

Without actually relegating his next move to any ‘pre-directed purpose’, he casually-entered Freedman’s Drugs! Inexpectant of anything other than a casual overview of the premises; he’d more or less been acting upon curiosity inasmuch as he’d never had any particular prior reason to do so! Pausing for the right moment, he approached a behind-the-counter-clerk standing idle; in a rather casual in-direct manner had decided to add accent to his presence. Directing his words to the sales-clerk, he said, “Police Department… inquiring into an incident that occurred outside the store last night…”

Casting a curious glance over his glasses, the clerk pressed an intercom terminal; whereby the store manager immediately responded.

“May I help you, Sir?”

“I’m with Metro Police, Sir... wonder if I might have a few words about last night’s incident?”

“Well - yes, but...”

Assuming the hesitation was because the man doubted his authority being attired in off-duty civvies - as he’d done at the hospital - he quickly produced his badge, “Fuller... Central Division.”

Accepting the rapid emblem -flash as proof, the manager continued. “Yes... yes of course, but... like I was about to tell you - the same as I told the others earlier... I’d never seen the girl before… the picture they had wasn’t the best… but I’m sure I’ve never seen her before.”

Again... he’d been seconded; that other team’d had had similar thoughts. Again... because he’d initiated an inquiry... he pressed-on. “Were you on duty last night, Sir?”

“Like I told the others, Officer; I was on duty... but I’d never seen that woman.”

“But… can’t you be a little more specific; I mean... it was near midnight; the deceased was well dressed... good-looking… can you think hard? Maybe she did come in… we wouldn’t ‘again’ pester you, Sir… if it wasn’t extremely important. ‘She’s still unidentified...’ we suspect, however, she may have been a local working girl?”

Since the manager hadn’t expressed any particular annoyance, he’d suspected the man might be ‘Street-Wise’ - not wishing to be involved with any police investigation! Exercising a bluff, said, “Better still - like you to come with me to the Morgue... it’s just a few minutes away... won’t take much of your time - this way you can be absolutely positive?”

The man paled... he then knew he’d hit a nerve.

“Listen officer... I... I don’t want to be involved. Why is it you’re pushing me so hard... the other Detectives - they weren’t nearly so pushy… all they wanted was her name... I didn’t know that... and that’s the truth!”

“But... you have seen her around… Right?”

“Well… yeh… seen her once or twice - maybe! But I didn’t know her name! I mean, she was a good-lookin’ chick... sure I’d noticed her! That’s all I know… so there’s no need t’go lookin’ at no stiff… eh?”

“Okay Fella... just a couple more questions! Did she come in alone, or, was she accompanied?”

“Once or twice she’d come in with a guy - seen him around lotsa’ times; but her - only a few times... did wonder why she was with him… seemed like such ‘an unlikely pair’.”

“Why is that?”

“I mean like he was ‘Gay’... anyone could tell that.”

Having produced his note book, he began to note some data, then asked! “Well then... then you’d recognize him if he came in again?”

“Listen ‘Man...’ it’s like I said - I don’t wanta’ become involved.”

“Sure you did... sure you did... but you are involved; not to worry though… all we want to know is... who she was… just a simple preliminary investigation... that’s all!”

“Okay, okay, ‘but... this is off the record… ‘cause, if it means I’m gonna’ get involved with some Homicide Investigation - my memory’s gonna’ quickly-fail! I’ll do what I can behind the scenes - but I ain’t stickin’ my neck out in no courtroom!”

“Right… you got my word! Just help me identify the girl… that’s it! Now… what’d this guy she came in with look like? Was he young... old... tall... short... or what?”

“Like I said he was ‘Gay’ - kinda’ had the feeling he’d feel more comfortable wearin’ a dress... no offense officer - but he dressed somethin’ like you… I mean, he was in denim... and his hair… styled like some punk-rocker’s... or whatever it is you call them; blonde and fuzzy - best way I can describe it; about five-seven or so... skinny... that’s about all I can tell you.”

“Great... great... then you would recognize him again; Right?”

“Like I told you, ‘Man’… don’t want no involvement... what I told you is strictly off the record - you Promised.”

“No sweat… my word’s good... just let me ask one more favor; if you see this guy again - will you please give me a call at Central… if you do me this one favor - I guarantee you won’t see me around again... do we have a deal?”

For some unsettling reason as he left the store, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Once he learned the identity of the girl… if the investigating officers hadn’t discovered anything solid… he could fill in the gap! While it appeared an insignificant challenge; yet - deep within he knew this ‘unauthorized effort’ had further revived his latent desire to once more perform in the capacity of ‘Private Investigator’ - an effort that had become badly-messed-up in days gone by.

***

At 3:30 - a full half hour before his scheduled shift - Arnie strutted into Central’s main lobby; Old Blakey again stationed at his ‘up-front post’.

John Blake, most knew - having been a patron of action - his office may have afforded more privacy; but since it was away from the ‘out-front activity’ - he preferred to be out where he could not only feel the ‘pulse’ of the Division… but also see it ‘beat’ in both action and in person! Perched out front, as per custom, he nursed a steaming styrofoam coffee cup. As Arnie moved across the vestibule, Blakey watching his approach smirked and said “Well... well... well... look what the Devil’s sent in... ‘Detective Fuller...’ no less”.

“Hi ya’ doing... you Old ‘Fart...’” unconcerned at what was an obvious pun! “What’s the matter Blakey… the old woman toss you out... or’s... it true you really do rent a room in the rear?”

Cussing the hot beverage as it singed his lips, Blakey snapped, the accustomed note of sarcasm more ‘snarky’ than usual. “Tell me... ‘Mr. Fuller’… what might bring such a ‘busy man’ into this humble abode so early… couldn’t you find some other ‘shit’ to get into?”

“Bucking for promotion Blakey,” he winked good-naturedly. “What’s wrong about being a few minutes early... you’d damn-well ‘bitch’ if I was late… eh.”

“You’re bucking for something alright, ‘Mister’... but, promotion’s not the right word - unless you mean a promotion ‘out the fucken’ door’? Come into my office ‘Mister Arnold Fuller’… like to have a word or two with you.”

If John Blake’s intention had been a mere feigned sarcasm - he wasn’t acting according to Norm. Usually, his outbursts were a thing to ignore; however - as he paced behind his mentor - thus entering the smoked-glass partition door… a sense of concern evolved. “What’s up Doc?”

“That’s precisely the question I want to ask you, ‘Mr. Fuller’,” he’d snapped while shuffling some papers cluttering his desk. “At 10:13 this morning...” he resumed… reading a penned notation on his note pad, “Corporal D’Angelo received a call from a Doctor Sylinski; he’d called to inquire if a certain ‘Officer Fuller’ might be assigned to investigate the death of a ‘certain’ deceased woman on the Strip last night... claimed he became suspicious of your manner… thus decided to check with Central. Now, ‘Mister Fuller’, what might you to tell me about this… this… ‘ah... misunderstanding’?”

“Com’on Blakey... what’s the big deal, eh... why’s this guy trying to make a Federal Case out of a little curiosity?”

“That’s not the point, Mr. Arnold Fuller... you know what I’ve repeatedly told you; don’t go messing in someone else’s turf! Why the hell did you go back to the hospital... you were off-duty… you had no friggin’ Right to go back nosin’ around in something that’s none of your ‘goddamned business’”?

“Sure as hell did, Blakey… had a right to see if the Nurse I met the night before when I was on duty was there... didn’t I? She’s a doll… Blakey - blonde and beautiful... just ask Gary.”

“But… why the semi-interrogation, Arn; you had no ‘Fucken-Right’ to do that”?

“Com’on Serg… don’t lay a ‘Heavy’ on me! When I found out my ‘woman-friend’ wasn’t on duty... just figured I’d ask around - I only live a block or so away… was slightly curious about that deceased… just natural curiosity… that’s all! What the hell’s wrong with that? I didn’t lie to the man… I was one of the accompanying officers... told him I was following up... which is ‘exactly’ what I was doing... why all the shit, anyways? That’s all there was to it.”

“But, you flashed your Badge, Arn… you were off-duty… you got no fucken’ right to do that; you ain’t no ‘goddamned detective’ my friend - so what’s with you?”

“Look Blakey… you know me... was all ‘dollied-up’ in my so-called ‘cowboy suit’ - just wanted to show him I was for real… that’s all; always carry my Badge... the way he first looked at me… I figured he thought I was a ‘phony’... so I showed him my ID.”

“Well… ‘phony you are’… and... ‘Constable’ - if it happens again I’ll be forced to drag your ass up on the Carpet... do you understand ‘Mister-Fuller’... do I make myself pur-r-r-fectly clear?”

“Okay, okay, okay John… got the friggin’ message… stand corrected… won’t happen again; but can you tell me... like honestly… what’s wrong with a policeman’s curiosity, eh? That’s all it was; and - by the way... who’s assigned to the investigation?”

“That’s not important Arn... just be thankful the complaint came into this station - not Headquarters. I’m gonna’ let this pass… but, only because you’re my best ‘bowler’ - the team would miss you... don’t overstep... I’m not always a nice guy.”

“Com’on Blakey...” he pressed. “fill me in… who’s the team assigned... I’m gonna’ find out sooner or later - you damn-well know that.”

“Okay, okay… Mr. Wise Ass, you asked for it; Mancuso and Ferrani... now just may-be you can see why I tell you to especially keep your fucken’ nose out of things that are none of your business?”

“The Italian Stallions... those Assholes… but they’re Homicide… they’d screw up the Lord’s Prayer; was there foul play”?

“That’s all I’m saying, Arn... just worry about your patrol - and - leave things what don’t concern you - t’those what have the authority...”

***

The names Joseph Mancuso and Bruno Ferrani were both in Arnie’s personal perspective -and also noted among others who’d shared such an opinion - ‘Icons of Disgust’! As regards any potential relative to Arnie’s personal pursuits; the ‘word was’ that they’d been on his back for years ready and waiting to oppose any elevation in ‘Rank’ - should he ever make the effort! Such animosity - it mostly due to trial details relative of the ‘Starlight Detective Agency’ with whom Arnie’d once been associated - not being made public! Those most principal in the illicit bugging having been allowed to enter guilty pleas;  thereby expediting the cause of justice; this was not something Mancuso - in particular - had been at all satisfied! Such ‘plea-bargaining’ meant many details had been ‘hushed-up’; Mancuso... thus-construing that a more-open-to-the-public Media-Trial would inevitably ‘propel his name into the annals Police-Hierarchy-Recognition’! His subsequent Promotion had - however - quelled any dissent of fame - at least it had for the time! ‘Still and all’ he’d mostly-despised the very fact that one person in his personal opinion - a person which whom he’d come to more and more dislike - had been ‘negotiated’ out of the picture; Arnold Fuller had been that very person.

After Arnie’s hat-in-hand return to the Metro Police Force, Mancuso’s scornful demeanor further-excelled - especially so when the name of Arnie Fuller or any other such reminder of the ‘Starlight Detective Agency’ - was mentioned! This personal despise, however, actually went deeper than ‘Starlight’; it was also ‘a carryover scorn’ from the days when Joseph Mancuso had been in charge of traffic control’ - to which Fuller had been assigned at the time! In those days, Mancuso - then a uniformed sergeant - seemed to dislike [all] other ‘uniforms’ - especially the non-commissioned. Such an attitude had - quite expectantly - also attracted a notable-dislike from most of his subordinates.

Mancuso had very well known the extent of ridicule applied to him behind his back; yet… he chose not to even try to correct such slander; his motto being ‘just as long as someone is talking about him… no matter the talk being good or bad’ - he was noticed! Well-circulated by those assigned to his traffic-department, a favorite theme was; ‘What rhymes with Wop’? They’d all get a good laugh out of the return… it in the form of a gesture; i.e., ‘first they’d cup their hands, then - indicating their palms were filled with excrement - they’d slam them together producing a hollow clap’.

While Mancuso and Ferrani mostly-worked from Headquarters; they’d often had occasion to stop in at the Downtown Central Division from which Arnie Fuller had been deployed; it was a centralized ‘hustle and bustle’ within and about the city’s core that might even be equated to irregular grumblings of a human heart! Into this domain came every conceivable offense - including its share of homicides. Meetings between the Homicide adversaries and Constable Fuller would occur now and then; but seldom was any salutation extended. Hidden behind this pretended ‘non-notice snub’, a continuous seething simmered - this ‘Uniform’ was one he’d mostly disliked and this most particularly due to their history - and such further by Mancuso’s all-too-notable bias.

***

As Arnie’s shift began this night’s patrol had been generally routine. In the life of a Cruiser Patrol Cop, however… one never knew! It seemed that weekends would always add a certain ‘steaminess’ even to a mid-week often less patron-intense; thus, until people-presence-pressure would again ease as the weekend neared - a ‘simmering-peace’ mostly hung over an otherwise in-general ‘Yonge Street Strip’.

Hour after hour they’d cruised the maze of one way streets; up and down back alleys - and along the less active side routes; both mostly-silent as if entranced with the mono-toned female radio dispatcher; yet, their eyes keenly tuned to the street scene - quite ‘readied’ for any emergency that might crop up - or to which they might be directed.

This night, Gary had noticed his partner seemed to be more distant - as far as conversing was concerned; he’d offered a few quips - now and then - just to inspire some conversation flow; however, for the most part , silence prevailed.

About mid-way into their patrol - as if he’d felt some need to break the mood - Arnie’d, half-heartedly, said, “Got shit from Blakey before shift, Gar... guess you didn’t hear, eh?”

“Nope! Whadja’ do... stomp on his corns, or something?”

“Guess I musta’ riled his feathers… don’know! Anyways... wasn’t too serious. Remember that nurse... Shirley Temple”? Gary nodded. “Well… stopped by the hospital this morning to see if I could get a line on her - and while I was there - asked about that ‘deceased girl’... you know... the one you got so up-tight about! Couldn’t see no harm in that… but... by the time I got into work ‘… all hell broke out… my ass was on the fryer.”

“You musta’ raised some shit at the hospital, Arn... what did you do… make a pass at some other nurse... maybe a married one?”

“Com’on Gar...” he snorted - ignoring the pun! “Inspita’ what you and the others think… I’m no ‘goddamned sex-fiend’. Besides… I’m now thinking about chasing one special ‘white-skirt’! No... Siree… didn’t do anything except talk to some doctor... Blakey said his name was ‘Slinsky’ or ‘Sylinski’ - something like that! the guy clammed up on me... wouldn’t tell me anything. You wanta’ know the truth, Gar… think there’s something fishy goin’ on... more than a bit suspicious… just don’t make any sense why this doctor-guy’d try to make a mountain out of a molehill?”

“Small wonder, Arn… you go parading around in your denims all the time... he probably figured you were nosin’ in something that was none of your damned business - and that - my friend is likely what had made him suspicious of you... that’s not so hard to figure out, is it?”

“Identified myself Gar - otherwise - he wouldn’t have talked to me at all. What more could he want?”

“Who knows? Maybe he already talked with someone about the gir... you know if there might be someone assigned to investigate”?

“Yeh... sure as hell is”! Pausing to swallow gave him a moment to consider if he should relate all the day’s happenings. Deciding to resume, he said, “Listen to this... Gar - whatever the intents and purposes - I think that that girl was murdered - and - I think for some reason they’re trying to hush it all up! I mean... just look at what’s happened! All of a sudden it’s like a ‘Frigin’ Federal Case’ - or something! Now… considering it happened on our turf… who’d you figure’d be put on it?”

“For sure - not you and me, Arn… maybe someone from Homicide; depends... I don’know… what’re you saying?”

“Would you believe, ‘Mancuso, and Ferrani’?”

“You mean the...

“That’s right, Partner... none-other ‘the Stallions’.”

“Yes… makes sense... they are Homicide... if that what going on?”

“They’re ‘Homicide’ - all right - if anyone can screw up a case… it’s them”.

“Then... there must have been some kinda’ foul play, Arn... it’s no wonder you were hauled in… you know how they feel about you! I’m sure if you were ever to meet with some ‘mysterious accident’ - it’d be my bet... they’d be behind it! No wonder…”

“You’re right… but; they’re ‘not’ the ones who’d complained; like I told you… it was the Doctor! When I explained things to Blakey he said he’d hush things up this time… guess the ‘Banditos’ don’t know about it”.

“Yet… you mean ‘...they don’t know about it - yet’ - sure as hell they’ll find out though; and - when they do... then you watch your ass ‘fry’! If I were you Arn… I’d make myself scarce for a few days.”

“Might consider that Gar; tell you what though... if it’s a case that requires an investigation... those ‘Spaghetti Benders’ll’ find a way to botch it up - that’s for fucken-sure! Homicide… eh… would a’ thought it would be more in the line of ‘Morality’ - this is more-likened to their class.”

Though he was generally well-liked around Central - among those who knew the whole story of the long-term dispute between Fuller and Mancuso, - it was not any secret that both Mancuso, Ferrani and Fuller - had become bitter foes over the years; moreover -

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Ronald Alexander Malloy
Bildmaterialien: Ronald Alexander Malloy
Lektorat: Ronald Alexander Malloy
Übersetzung: Ronald Alexander Malloy
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.09.2013
ISBN: 978-3-7309-4836-1

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Widmung:
While employed within a downtown desk-top publishing company, the incentive to write ‘The Yonge Street Strip’ - a fictional drama - began in the early-1980s after having spent some 7 years - between 1971 and 1977 - relative to the ‘Rise and Fall of Toronto’s Massage Parlor Era’. Due to extenuating circumstances - having in-depthly-researched ‘both pro and con data’ to include in a ‘non-fiction book titled Decade of Dissent’ - I’d then found it ‘prudent to shelve’ my work due to to extenuating circumstances and much subsequent public outrage; this after the ‘homo-sexual-murder of a young immigrant lad’ he thereafter given the distinction as a ‘Shoeshine Boy’ that had been shockingly- announced on August 1st, 1977! In 1987 I’d also written and published a book titled ‘Guilty Till Proven Innocent’ a true account of a man Thomas Sophonow - thus charged with the murder of a Donut-Shop waitress - and whom years later would be acquitted and eventually compensated!