Double Reverse
Published by Blake Reed at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011
He couldn’t deal with the pain much longer; his broken nose was throbbing and the gunshot womb to his arm hand his limb really like it was on fire. To make matters worse, he was now starting to believe that he was losing too much blood from his arm too fast. At some point in the very near future, he was going to have to get some medical attention.
“Where to?” said the cab driver, as he looked out the window at Stormy.
“Just start driving south,” said Stormy as he jumped into the cab.
As the yellow car pulled away, he began to ponder events from earlier in the day. He felt like shit but was happy that everything hadn’t turned up a complete loss. On the plus side, he was able to leave a trunk load of money for his brother Cole to help him pay for his son’s liver transplant, he took care of the two hit men sent by his bookie to kill him and he finally gained some leverage on Captain Skaggs.
Even though he had killed a man and stole his money, Stormy rationalized that he was the cop and Ortiz Ramirez was the low life drug dealer who had gotten what he deserved. At least the blood money would be used for something positive, he thought. Plus, Ramirez was the reason that Cheryl was dead. So for the last time, fuck him, Stormy said to himself.
“Hello, Dakoda, yeah, this is Stormy. Is that doctor friend of yours still located near Crystal City? Yeah, I need some help. Nah, I’m fine and it shouldn’t take that long. Thanks, I’ll call him right now,” said Stormy as he talked to an old friend.
Dakoda Sterling was actually a cousin of one of Stormy’s boyhood friends, Davis Beaumonte III. Somehow, someway, Dakoda had become a secret agent for who knew what branch of the US government. Stormy and Davis always joked that Dakoda really didn’t have a job and that he was secretly on permanent government assistance.
Regardless, the three men retained a close relationship and continued to get together each year at a location determined by the spy.
“Hey bub, do you know where you want to go or are we going to drive around all night?” said the driver of the taxi.
“Vanderbilt Estates,” said Stormy.
Visibly surprised by the location Stormy told him, that taxi driver gave him a funny look. “Are you sure about that, sir?”
“Just drive the freaking cab, man,” said Stormy.
After more than twenty minutes of a silent ride the cab pulled into a majestic looking gated community.
“Are you sure this is the right place, bub?” he said. “Are you an athlete or something?”
“Don’t worry about it pal. Just drop me off at this corner. I’ll be fine,” said Stormy, as he exited the car and winced slightly due to the excruciating pain coming from his face and his arm. Making matters worse for Stormy, the swelling from the broken nose was beginning to affect his vision and the cuts on his face as well as his arm were still bleeding.
“I hope you’ll be fine but don’t stay on the street too long. These people will call the cops on you,” said the cab driver. “You know the cops don’t mind beating on you black guys.”
Stormy paid the man and passed him a few bills as a tip while winking at him. “Cops…now that’d be fun, wouldn’t it?” He watched the taxi drive away and then got his bearings straight before walking towards three really large homes on his way to 1013 Gator Court. He could tell that the house behind the solid stone wall was immense despite his inability to see it completely. Motion sensitive lights came alive and opened the gate before Stormy had a chance to ring the bell.
“Come in and follow the cobble stone path, Mister Brooks,” said a stately sounding voice that emanated from an intercom embedded in the stone.
Stormy watched the gate close behind him and shrugged his shoulders. He figured that it was probably normal for any friend of Dakoda to have a house full of gadgets. The path to the house stretched along much farther than Stormy had initially anticipated. Shrouded on either side by tall juniper trees, the path wound a good way from one direction to the next. Thinking that the path would never end, Stormy was afraid that he’d bleed to death before getting a chance to see the good doctor.
The closer he got to the front door the faster the motion activated lights lit his path until he reached the front porch. Two large cream colored doors opened and a tall man with thinning grey hair appeared.
“Mister Brooks, I presume,” said the tall elderly man that was dressed in a house coat.
“Yeah, I’m Mister Brooks,” said Stormy.
“Come this way, sir, and follow me,” said the tall elderly man as he let Stormy into the house.
They walked into a foyer that Stormy figured was the size of the first floor of the building that housed Precinct 187. Stormy was further enthralled with the size of the chandelier that lit the area. He figured that the old man was the doctor’s butler or something like that. “I’m Stormy, sir, what is your name?”
The man said nothing so Stormy realized fast that the he probably had zero personality but he as he continued to look at him he noticed his blank expressions as he finally responded to the question by barely moving his thin lips. “If it matters to you Mister Brooks, just call me Louis.”
“Okay, Louis, what now?” said Stormy.
“Have a seat here. The doctor will be with you shortly,” said the tall older man with thinning grey hair.
After a few minutes he stood up and walked down an obscenely large hallway. He was fascinated with all of the nicely framed photos from different places around the world. Based on what it looked like from the pictures, Stormy could tell that the doctor was an adventurer and probably did a lot more than simply practice medicine. Another telling sign that Stormy noted was regardless of the age of the doctor in the several pictures, he looked like the perfect image of health. He didn’t look overly muscular but he wasn’t overweight either.
There was one from what looked like a tribal village where the doctor was surrounded by a boat load of African Bushmen and conversely another in which the doctor was in an obvious base camp of an extremely tall mountain range because he and his friends were in large coats and covered with snow.
Stormy heard the squeak of the door down the hall and he hurried back to the sofa. The doctor walked out into the foyer with his lab coat over his pajamas and a stethoscope around his neck. “Ah, Mister Brooks, I’m so glad you made it. I’m Doctor Hammermill. So nice to meet you….please come in my son so I can take a look you.”
Stormy woke up in what he could only guess was still the doctor’s study because he was lying in the same comfortable recliner. He hadn’t remembered a thing that had happened. His leather jacket had been removed and his sight was still blurry. He felt the bandage across the bridge of his nose, the thin wire on what were once gashes in his eyebrow and the tightness of the dressing on his arm.
He knew what had happened to him before entering the doctor’s house but couldn’t remember what happened right after the doctor grabbed his nose and created sharp jolts of extreme pain to his nasal region. The tough ass cop figured that he had passed out. When he heard the door open, he struggled to wake himself completely.
“How are we doing, my friend?” said the doctor.
Stormy was still a little woozy, but he was coherent. “I’m doing okay I guess, sir. My nose, my face and my arm still hurt like hell, but other than that I feel all right.”
“You’ll have to excuse “Mister Skye told me that you were a police officer. Is that true son?” said the doctor as he took Stormy’s temperature and looked at his pupils.
For a quick minute Stormy was wondering what the hell the doctor was talking about then he remembered that Dakoda Sterling, his friend’s cousin, went by the code name Dakota Skye; different spelling for the first name but same sound. “That Mister Skye, he just tells everybody’s business doesn’t he,” said Stormy while attempting to smile.
“You had some serious wombs son. I was able to remove the bullet in its entirety but your arm will still be sore for the next few days. Lucky for you none of your bones were hit so you’ll be able to use your arm in no time and won’t need a sling. That deep cut that was over your eye is fine but your face is going to swell up like a blowfish inside of an hour. You broke your nasal bone and severely tore all of your lateral cartilage.”
“Thanks Doc, but what does all of that mean?” said Stormy.
Doctor Hammermill stepped back and folded his arms. “All of this means that you’re going to be in a lot of pain for the next few days, son. You should try to lay low and avoid strenuous activity.” The doctor walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a clear hard plastic face mask. “I suggest you use this for at least the next few days,” he said, while handing the mask to Stormy.
Stormy felt he had to at least hold the mask. He looked at the faceguard in disgust. “With all due respect, Doc, you’ve been great, but I can’t where this thing. Do I look like I play professional basketball?”
“I’m just trying to look out for you, Stormy. Your face is going to be hyper sensitive to the slightest touch or movement for the next few days, so the choice is yours.”
“I really appreciate it Doc, but I’ll take my chances.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, Stormy, whatever you say,” he said as walked toward a cabinet behind him. He turned back around and looked at Stormy. “By the way, I understand that you came here by taxi. Can I at least offer you a ride?”
The tough ass cop who was wearing blue jeans started to get out of the recliner. He was looking for his jacket. “Thanks for the offer Doc, but I’m used to taking care of my own problems.”
“Mister Skye told me that you’d probably say that.” The doctor reached into his pocket and handed Stormy a set of keys. “He also told me that you had an affinity for muscle cars. Will a vintage 1967 Pontiac GTO be appropriate for you?”
Stormy tried to smile but the pain in the bridge of his nose was beginning to make itself known. “Doc, are you sure about this?” he said, trying to talk in a way that didn’t hurt his nose.
“It’s not a problem son. Any friend of Mister Skye is a friend of mine. Just promise me that you’ll bring her back exactly how you find her.”
“Do I have to promise?” said Stormy.
“Try, son…try really hard. Louis will show you to the garage and let you out.”
Stormy was grateful for what had just happened but he wasn’t going to do anything other than give the doctor a stiff hand shake and maybe a man hug; but that was it. Louis appeared in the room and after a quick discussion with the doctor he led Stormy to the garage. Stormy felt like a young boy in a candy shop once he laid eyes on the collection of cars, old and new, that the doctor had seemingly collected for fun. No wonder he was going to part with the sweet candy apple red GTO that was in mint condition.
“See you around, Louis,” said the tough ass cop as he patted the butler on the shoulder and jumped in the car. He fired up the heavy engine and sped out of the garage. Stormy thought he was a super hero for a second because the gate leading to the streets opened as soon as he reached it. Usually he tried not to use his cell phone while driving but he had to text Dakoda to thank him. He pulled to the side of the road and parked the car. He let it idle because he loved the sound of the engine.
While he was texting Dakoda, Stormy’s phone rang. What does this asshole want? He thought. It was Captain Skaggs. Stormy finished his text to Dakoda and answered his Captain. “This is Stormy, what’s up Captain Robert T. Skaggs? Fuck you too…that’s interesting and I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
He wanted to sound tough and defiant but he could tell that Captain Skaggs knew everything. Could this be it? Had he finally crossed the line once too many times? Was he going to get fired? Convicted? Whatever his fate, Stormy reluctantly decided to listen to what the Captain had to say.
To his surprise, the Captain congratulated him for taking down Ortiz Ramirez and told him to forget about filing the report. He also revealed to Stormy that he needed him on the force and wanted him back to work as soon as possible.
“Bob, thank you for the compliments. Believe me I really appreciate it…sincerely, but I’m burned out and need some time off,” said Stormy. “We’re good; I really mean it, but I need to get away. Where am I going? I don’t know but I need to get away. I’ll call you when I get back.” He ended the call and started driving away from the gated community.
Once he hit Interstate 95, Stormy headed south. He didn’t know where to go but knew that it needed to be far away from Crystal City. It was about two o’clock in the morning and Stormy was wide awake but he knew all too well that it was more than enough night driving left on the clock for the bewitching hours.
A few hours into his trip, he felt his eyes getting heavy and even had to roll down the windows and slap himself a few times. Each slap to his face felt like twenty pound dumbbells hitting his jaw. The swelling was beginning to make everything feel tight and it was starting to affect his sight as well. Still, he didn’t think his fatigue or poor vision was a problem until he heard the dribbling sound of his tires hit the raised reflectors of the highway lane dividers.
Before Stormy knew it, he had broken his promise to Doctor Hammermill because he heard the smash and felt the muscle car slam into the guard rails. He recovered nicely but knew without a doubt that a few more inches would have seen his tired ass sail to the bottom of the ravine and become a mangled corpse. Stormy was fully awake now; sweating profusely and gripping the steering wheel for all it was worth.
The near missed forced the cop to pull into the next rest stop and let the seat back. He didn’t wake until eight o’clock in the morning. The brightness of scant warmth of the sun interrupted his slumber. He knew that wherever he was going he still had a lot of driving to do, so he promptly started the car and got back onto the interstate.
It was close to five o’clock in the afternoon and Stormy was getting tired again. He had stopped a few times; once to freshen up and another to eat and gas up the car. Fortunately, he was close to the South Carolina state line and decided to spend the night at the South of the Border complex.
At midnight, he woke up and knew he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep so he checked out of the hotel and in no time was back on the road. It was pitch black again but his general mood was improved because he noticed that his vision was a little better and his face felt less tight.
His mind was still racing however, and he thought about the other things that happened during his slumber. He had dreamed like a baby and for some reason, decided that he needed to go to Duncanville, Alabama, population 180,000. Ironically, Duncanville was the home of the Crimson State Pachyderms; Pacs for short.