When I regained consciousness my arms were handcuffed behind my back. I was in a pine forest in a small clearing, laying face down
in a bed of leaves. It was still light, but the sun was starting to set over the horizon. My head was throbbing and my vision slightly
blurry, but I managed to make it to my knees. Two men entered the clearing, neither of whom I recognized. Both were roughly six feet
tall and looked tough. One had red hair cut very short and lots of freckles, and the other had medium black hair with a goatee. They
wore leather jackets and work boots, and I could tell both were carrying by the bulges on their hips.
“How’s the head, buddy?” Red asked.
I struggled up to my feet and as he came into range, I launched a sidekick into his ribs. He staggered backwards, crashing into a tree.
Goatee came at me, fists ready.
“You little son of a bitch!” he yelled.
He threw a roundhouse punch that narrowly missed my head, and I kicked out his knee, dropping him to the forest floor. Meanwhile,
Red had recovered and tackled me. I’ve told people I could kick their ass with both hands tied behind my back, but I never actually
hoped to try it, especially against two guys bigger than me.
Red grabbed me by my jacket and pulled me back to my feet. Goatee slammed a fist into my ribs and gave me a backhander across
the face. I could feel a gash open over my eye and the blood began to drip.
“What were you doing in that apartment?” Red asked.
“She was my girlfriend,” I said.
Red threw his own punch into my gut, and I fell back to my knees. I struggled to catch my breath.
“He asked what you were doing there, not your life fucking story,” Goatee said.
“I was conducting a lingerie inspection.” That probably wasn’t the answer they were looking for.
“You’re a funny fucking guy, Ronan Marino,” Red said.
Goatee took a 9mm pistol out from under his jacket and put it to my head. If there was an afterlife, I was damn close to joining Karen
there. I could end up in hell, though, which some would say was where I deserved to go.
“This will be your one and only warning, buddy,” Red said. “Do yourself a favor and keep your nose out of things it doesn’t belong in.”
“You understand?” Goatee barked.
I mustered up the only retort I felt was appropriate. “Fuck you.”
They laughed, and Red landed another punch into my ribs. Not exactly the response I was hoping for.
“You just hope you don’t see us again,” Goatee said.
“Yeah, because we know where you live, motherfucker,” Red added.
He threw my wallet on the ground in front of me and nodded to his partner. Goatee pulled the gun away, turned it around and
smacked me across the back of the head. As I faded back to unconsciousness, I could feel one of them taking off the handcuffs. He
didn’t struggle with the key and slipped them off like a pro. The last thing I remembered before everything went dark was the sound of
their car pulling away.
* * * *
When I woke up, it was night. My head hurt so much I could barely open my eyes. Getting whacked twice in the keppi had a way of
doing that. Every breath I took was an effort; it felt like they might have cracked a few ribs. I touched my face and found a layer of
dried blood caked all down my face, below where I’d been cut. My eye was swollen and tender, too.
To my relief, I still had my cellphone. I sat up and fumbled in the darkness, managing to dial my brother’s house. It sounded like I’d
woken him up from a nap.
“Where the hell are you?” he asked.
“I have no idea. Somewhere in a forest.”
“Can you walk out?”
“I can try.”
I stood up and the pain in my ribs intensified. I groaned out loud.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m alive, bro. That’s about all I know at this point.”
“Okay, stay on the line and try to find your way out to a road.”
I looked at the power indicator on my phone. I was down to one bar, not good.
“I need to hang up. My battery is low, and I don’t want to lose the phone.”
“Okay, call me right back when you find out where you’re at.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and started walking towards a light off in the distance. After twenty laborious minutes, I came upon a dirt road. Ten minutes
later, I found a sign that said Warren Manning State Forest, which told me I was on the outskirts of Chelmsford. I dialed Marc, and he
said he would send a Chelmsford cop to pick me up.
I sat on a big rock and looked up at the stars. It was hard to focus, but I managed to form at least one coherent thought; the two
goons left no doubt that Karen’s death was not an accident. Why else would they have been in her apartment if they didn’t have some
connection to her death? Things were about to get very complicated.
I waited roughly five minutes, when a young patrolman pulled up in a blue and white. Another young guy cut from the same mold as
the two I’d met the night before.
“You Ronan Marino?”
I slowly nodded. My Jell-O-like brain wanted to answer that I was Batman, but a nod was all the answer I could muster. This was no
time to be a smart-ass; the kid was here to help me. There would be plenty of time for comedy later.
“I’m Officer Hardy from Chelmsford PD. Do you need medical attention, sir?
“Not just yet.”
“Okay, I’m supposed to bring you to our station.”
I forced myself to stand. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I just had my ass kicked.”
He didn’t laugh. I must have looked really bad.
The Chelmsford Police Station occupies a single-story, nondescript brick building just down from the Drum Hill Rotary, a few miles up
Route 3 from Lowell. It was once acceptable for the small bedroom community that Chelmsford had been back in the sixties, but time
had long since passed it by. They were building a new modern station nearby, like most of the surrounding towns had upgraded to.
Last time I drove by, it looked almost ready to move into.
Hardy helped me into the station, and I went to the bathroom to clean up. I didn’t like the image looking back at me in the mirror. I’d
taken worst beatings in my day, but the older I got the worse it always felt. On the back of my head there was a tender egg-sized lump
where I’d been whacked. I cleaned the blood off my face and took a drink from the spout. When I came out, Marc was waiting.
“Holy shit,” he blurted out.
“Nice to see you too, bro.”
“So what happened?”
“A couple of guys got the drop on me at Karen’s apartment”
“You’re slipping. That would never have happened a year ago. That band shit is making you soft.”
He was right, well not about the band, but I’d been careless and almost got killed as a result. It wouldn’t happen again. Officer Hardy
handed me an ice pack, and I put it on my swollen eye.
“Sir, I need to take a report,” he said.
I wasn’t in the mood to recap what had happened, especially the part about me breaking into Karen’s apartment.
“Can I come back another time?”
“You were assaulted, sir. I need to file a report.”
I looked at my brother and he nodded.
“He needs medical attention, Officer Hardy. I’ll make sure he comes back and files a report when he’s up to it.”
Hardy looked like he was going to say something but just nodded. The kid wanted to get some kind of report and search for the
suspects just like they teach them at the police academy. Red and Goatee weren’t going to be found anywhere near Chelmsford
tonight, so it was a waste of his time.
“Okay, when will you come back?” Hardy asked.
“Uh, I’ll get right back to you,” I said. That was the cop equivalent of telling a one-night stand that you’d call her in the morning.
Marc shook his hand. “Tell your chief that Marc Marino from Westford said hi. I’ll give him a call in the morning and tell him about the
good job you’re doing.”
Hardy stood up a little straighter, puffing out his chest a bit more. Kind words from a superior officer have a way of doing that,
especially to the young and impressionable.
“Thanks, Chief.”
I slipped out the door and didn’t look back.
“You have no intention of ever returning, do you?”
“Of course not.”
We got into his car, a late model Volvo, and I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. Nausea started to creep in.
“You think this had anything to do with Karen’s death?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Marc shrugged. “What were you doing in her apartment anyway?”
“I was looking for drugs.”
“I thought you were going to leave the investigating to us professionals?”
“I am.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me. Did you find anything interesting?”
“She had a nice collection of nude photos that I didn’t know about.”
“Of her?”
“Yeah, like the stuff you’d see in Playboy.”
“Angelina doesn’t let me read Playboy,” he said in a wispy little boy voice.
It must be hell being married to a woman who stored your balls in a jar under lock and key, though Marc rarely complained. He loved
his wife and in the big picture of life, that’s all that really matters. I should be so lucky.
“You should have called me to go with you. Then you might not have got jumped.”
“And you would have gotten to see the pictures.”
“I guess.”
Marc had met Karen a couple of times, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t fantasize about her. Like many men, he married a
blonde who later turned into a brunette.
“Let’s head back over there,” I said.
“No. We need to get you seen at the hospital first.”
“That can wait. I found a business card in her portfolio with just a 1-800 number. I need it to find out what it is.”
“Why does it matter? It’s probably the modeling agency she worked for.”
“It would have had the agency’s name on the card, don’t you think?”
He just shrugged. Having worked in sleepy Westford his entire career, Marc hadn’t seen very much in the way of serious crime. I had
once used similar cards to snare military members stealing government property, except mine weren’t printed on pink linen. We set
up a bogus military surplus company and left cards around town or went into clubs and handed them to GIs. Some would call the
phone number offering stolen goods and we’d set up a meeting, eventually popping them when they delivered.
It was a brilliant operation, and we bought everything from food to uniforms to various tools and equipment. One stupid bastard even
sold us a pair of F-16 engines, which made the national news. To this day, I’ve never figured out what that kid thought we were going
to do with engines from a fighter plane.
Marc’s idea of a big bust was nabbing a couple of kids stealing out the back of a florist shop. I’d have to clue him in.
“I also found a bank statement for thirty-two grand.”
“So.”
“So? Do most college students usually have that kind of money?”
“Maybe she earned it modeling. Did you consider that?”
“Yeah, and I doubt she could have made that much money short of posing for a major men’s magazine.”
“How about a website? I read some women are making tons of dough stripping on camera.”
“She only has a laptop.”
“Well, how else could she have gotten it?”
That second thought finally popped into my head, the one I’d never gotten to at the apartment. It would certainly explain the money,
but I couldn’t track it down unless I had the card. I didn’t even want to consider it, but like the drugs, it was something I’d have a hard
time overlooking.
Marc pulled into the parking lot of All Saints Hospital and found a slot near the front door.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“We really should go over to her apartment first.”
“And we will, once you get seen by a doctor. Come on, Ronan. Don’t make me embarrass you.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He looked at me like I was his child and pointed to the door. When Marc makes up his mind, there’s no changing it, and as bad as I
felt, he was right. I had no strength to argue, and anything I wanted in her apartment was probably long gone. If my suspicions were
correct, Red and Goatee had made sure of that.
I waited in an exam room for the doctor to come in and read my x-rays. Marc had gone up to the cafeteria to get something to eat,
leaving me to fend for myself. God forbid he neglect his ever-growing stomach.
My head was still throbbing, even with the drugs they’d given me to ease the pain. No drugs would ever dull the ache I felt from Karen’
s loss. I knew from experience only time would heal that hurt.
I’ve always hated hospitals. I spent far too much time in them during my years in the military, often in the middle of the night working a
case. Every time I set foot in one, the antiseptic smell brings back memories I’d like to forget.
This hospital went to the top of my most hated list soon after we arrived. I just wanted to see a doctor and be on my way. All they
wanted was to know how I planned to pay for my treatment. I handed the overweight Puerto Rican woman at in-processing my
American Express Platinum card, and she excitedly called over a coworker. They stared at it in admiration, jabbering in Spanish. I
guess they don’t see many of those in Lowell. Marc got pissed, whipped out his badge and started yelling to speed things along. The
next thing I knew, I was having my ribs x-rayed. Everything after that was pretty much a blur.
The curtain whipped open and a female doctor entered, my x-rays in her hand. She carried herself with an aura of elegance and an
energy that lit up the room, making the coldness of the sterile stainless steel space fade away. I was immediately reminded of a
woman I’d once seen on a Greek travel brochure–big brown eyes, flawless olive skin and full red lips. Her long, curly jet-black hair
was pulled up in a ponytail off her white lab coat. She was just a few inches shorter than me, making her about five-foot-seven.
“Mr. Marino, I’m Dr. Sadolovaki. The good news is your ribs aren’t broken, only bruised.” Her tone was very cold and professional; a
stark contrast to her physical features.
I just gazed at her, slowly nodding my head. I wanted to speak but between fatigue and getting whacked on the skull, I had become
the human equivalent of a bobblehead doll. I wiped my mouth to make sure I wasn’t drooling.
“Why don’t you have a seat on the exam table?” She helped me up, and I had a hard time finding the edge. That was not a good sign.
“Let’s take a look at you.”
I slipped off the Johnny they’d given me in X-ray and just stared at her. She made eye contact, but then quickly looked away.
“You keep yourself in pretty good shape,” she said. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five going on fifty-two.”
She nodded and listened to my chest. The steel from the stethoscope was absolutely frigid, contrasting the warmth of her hands.
Standing that close, I could smell her perfume. It was a very mild scent but pleasant.
“Your lungs are clear,” she said without a hint of emotion.
I decided my doctor had to be a Vulcan. Other than a lack of pointy ears, she appeared to have all the other traits.
“Do you smoke?” she asked.
“Should I say something humorous, like only in bed?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Okay. No, I don’t.”
“Good.”
She took a penlight out of her pocket and shined it in my eyes. “Follow the beam.” I tried, but it was harder than it sounded. My eyes
rolled back in my head, and I must have looked like a zombie.
“It looks like you have a minor concussion. Have you ever had one before?”
“No, not that I can remember.”
“Was that a joke?”
“No, why?”
“Lift your head up.” She looked at the cut under my eye. “Keep applying ice on that until the swelling subsides. May I ask what
happened to you?”
“I had an elephant training mishap.”
“I wasn’t aware that the circus was in town.”
“We’re wintering here in Lowell.”
“Shouldn’t you be wintering in Florida?”
“That’s what most people think, but the elephants really like the snow. You should see the snowmen we build.”
She smiled. It was big and full of kindness. The ice in her voice melted, and her tone suddenly became warm and throaty.
“Elephants, I never would have guessed. I thought maybe you got beat up.”
“By elephants?”
“I’ll give you something for your head and ribs. Do you have anyone who can keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours?”
She wrote the prescription from a pad she kept in her lab coat.
“Maybe my brother or father.”
“Good, they’ll need to wake you every hour. It’s just a standard precaution with concussion victims. You’ll need to take it easy for a
while and give your ribs a chance to heal.”
I nodded my understanding. She finished writing the script and handed it to me. Either her handwriting was terrible or my vision was
blurry, because I couldn’t read it. I guessed that it was a combination of the two.
“If the headaches persist, you might want to see your personal physician or the circus sawbones.”
“He’s in Florida. Doesn’t like the snow at all.”
“You’ll have to find another doctor then.”
“Do you have an office here in town?”
She smirked and tossed her hair. “I’m in the book. Try to keep those elephants under control, will you? The last thing this city needs
is another rampage.”
“I didn’t catch your first name.”
“I didn’t give it to you.”
"Two Redheads & A Dead Blonde"
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