Authors: James W. Jorgensen
Tags: #Speculative Fiction Suspense, #9781629290072, #supernatural, #Suspense, #paranormal, #thriller, #James W Jorgensen, #Eternal Press, #gentle, #Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, #CFS, #fatigue, #exhaustion, #headaches, #migraines, #magic, #detective, #evil, #good, #Celtic, #depression, #grief, #loss, #suicide, #nightmare
Do Not Go Gentle (53 page)
No one said anything for a long time. Brigid and Caitlin stumbled blearily downstairs and joined them. Finally, Jamie drained his last cup of coffee and said, “Well, I'm going to call Louie and see if he'd like to join me in visiting Darcelle at the hospital.”
“I think that's a
grand
idea,” Eileen said with a tiny smile on her face.
“Hush, woman. I know you'll take all the credit for this idea if it comes to pass, but you don't have to gloat about it. It's unladylike.”
Jamie retreated from the shouts and abuse as quickly as he could and went upstairs to get ready to head into Boston.
* * * *
As they made their way to Darcelle Lopes' room at Mass General, Jamie turned to Louie Lombardi and stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. “Listen, Louie, I'm not sure what we're walking into here.”
“Whaddya mean, Mick?”
“I mean Daphné said her sister was doing better physically, but you've seen guys hurt bad like this before. You never know how they're going to take it.”
“True,” Louie said as they resumed walking.
They had already stopped talking just before they had found Darcelle's room, but after they entered, Jamie and Louie stared in dumbfounded silence. “Hey, Unc,” Darcelle called out in a cheery voice. “Hey, Big Ugly.”
It wasn't Darcelle's tone of voice that stopped the two men dead in their tracks. Nor was it entirely the happy expression on Darcelle's face, sporting a black eye patch with a skull and crossbones over her right eye. It was more the happy expression and identical black eye patch over Daphné's right eye that left them speechless. “Well, hello,” Jamie finally managed.
“You
still
can't tell us apart, Unc.” Darcelle said with a loud laugh.
“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Daphné said, switching her eye patch to her left eye.
Darcelle stuck out her tongue. Daphné switched the patch back to her right eye.
“Good you're taking this so well,” Louie said. “I seen guys destroyed by injuries like yours.”
“Yeah, well, then they were just wimps,” Darcelle insisted.
“Apparently.” Louie wasn't sure what to say next.
Jamie came to his rescue. “Your mother tells me they were able to save part of your eye?”
“Yeah,” Darcelle said, growing serious. “I guess I actually got lucky, if you can call it that. They tell me there are two surgical procedures in cases like thisâenucleation and evisceration.”
“Ouch,” Louie said.
“I know, right,” Daphné agreed. “Turns out, evisceration is the better of the two procedures.”
“Doesn't sound like it,” Jamie said.
“Nah, it doesn't,” Darcelle continued, “but enucleation removes the entire eye, while evisceration just removes the stuff inside the eye, leaving the sclera, muscles, and optic nerve.”
“Um, dat prolly comes under the category of too much information,” Louie said.
“Aw, is the big, bad gansta man queasy?” Louie glared at Darcelle, but did not say anything as she continued. “So after they get done scooping out the damaged crap, they put in something called an orbital implant.”
“Yeah, Dar-dar's got coral in her head now.”
Darcelle threw a plastic cup at her twin, who easily ducked out of the way. “It's
made from
sea coral, dumb-butt. Anyway, after about six to eight weeks, I'll get an artificial eye and because they were able to eviscerate, they say that I'll be able to move my artificial eye just like my real eye.”
“Unless she winds up with some wild tiger-eye or cats-eye, the artificial eye will look just like her real eye.”
“Tiger eye?” Louie asked. “Do I want to know?”
“No,” Darcelle glared at her sister. “Daff keeps insisting they're going to make a mistake and put in some tiger or cat eye.”
Daphné shrugged. “Who knows? If I bribe the right peopleâ”
They stared at each other for several seconds, and then Darcelle shook her head. “And so, I have to wear an eye patch until then, and Daffy Duck there insisted on two eye patches, which she immediately decorated for us.”
“Hey. I didn't hear any complaints from you.”
A moment of silent affection passed between the two, and then Darcelle looked back at Jamie and Louie. “So, thank you for coming, gentlemen. I'm really doing fine.”
“Good,” Jamie said, “but this isn't just a social visit.” He sat heavily in a visitor's chair. Daphné jumped up out of the other chair so Louie could sit.
“It isn't?”
“No, young lady, it isn't.” The twins looked at each other, but kept further questions to themselves. “I have two items of business to discuss with you.”
“Yeah, and the second is a real fucking
strano
item, lemme tell you.”
“As I was saying,” Jamie continued. “Item the first is the reward money.”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that,” Darcelle said.
“Cal's family has contacted me and presented me with a check in the amount of $50,000.”
“Woo-hoo,” Daphné shouted.
“Alright.” Then Darcelle got a sly look on her face. “How much does that leave the rest of you after I get compensated for my eye?”
Louie growled, but Jamie just reached into his jacket pocket and brought out three checks. “As we agreed,” he said, emphasizing each word, “everyone's share is $12,500.” He handed each of them a check. “Not bad, eh?”
Darcelle waved her check at her eye patch. “Coulda been better, Unc.”
Jamie winced. “Understand. I'm sorry, honey.”
Reaching out, Darcelle grabbed Jamie's hand. “Hey. I knew what I was getting myself into. The way I look at it, I got off okayâbetter than Riordan.”
After squeezing her hand for a moment, Jamie nodded. “Okay, then. That leads me to my second item of business.”
“
Pazzesco
,” Louie muttered.
“Keep your damned opinions to yourself,” Jamie retorted.
“Okay, let's have it,” Daphné said, “before Chuckles there ruins the surprise.”
“Well, your Aunt Eileen's as much to blame for this idea as me,” Jamie continued. “I wanted to talk to the three of you about maybe working together again in the future.”
“Working together again?” Darcelle asked, carefully sounding out each word.
“Yeah, well, it didn't work too badly this time and since neither Louie nor I have jobsâ”
“You leave me outta this, Mick” Louie protested. “This is all
his
big idea.”
Daphné and Darcelle looked at each other for several seconds without speaking. Then Daphné looked at Jamie and asked, “You mean like some kind of detectives?”
“No,” Jamie said with a wince. “Detectives are police officers. I mean like some kind of private investigators.”
“Out-fucking-standing idea,” Louie snorted. “I don't think anyone's gonna be lining up to give me a PI's license.”
“Well, you were never convicted of anything above a misdemeanor, right?” Jamie asked.
“
Convicted
, no, but I think they probably got standards that rule out guys like me.”
“Yeah,” Jamie admitted, “but not guys like me, and if I form my own agency, I can hire whomever I want.”
“Hire?” Darcelle asked.
“Well, Louie's rightâthe state limits applicants for a PI license to former cops or federal investigators and people who have certifications from three âreputable citizens of the commonwealth.'
“See? Let's me out on both counts,” Louie said.
“For a PI license, yes, but not for working for a licensed PI.”
“You'd become a private investigator?” Darcelle asked.
Jamie made a disgusted face. “Not my first career choice, but if I had three people like you to rely on, I could probably make a go of it. Louie could be the office manager, and the two of you could handle most of the field work.”
Darcelle laughed loud and long enough to cause a nurse to stick her head in to check on them. “Sorry. Sorry,” she gasped. “I can just see Louie taking shorthand and making coffee.” This got Daphné to laughing, and it was several minutes before the two subsided.
“Are you quite finished?” Jamie said. “I told Louie I could use him as an office manager, not an administrative assistant.”
“Yeah, and
office manager
means
I'd
be the boss.”
“As if,” Darcelle said with a chuckle.
“No one would be the boss but me,” Jamie interjected. “It would be
my
agencyâGriffin and Associates.”
“So we'd be
associates
?” Daphné asked with narrowed eyes.
“Unless you want to take some of that reward money and invest it, share the expenses as well as the profits,” Jamie replied evenly.
The twins looked at each other, and then they looked at Louie. Then all three looked at Jamie. No one said anything for a few minutes, so Jamie continued. “Well, no decisions need to be made right now. Especially,” he said, patting Darcelle on the leg as he stood, “since you still have some recovery time still ahead of you, young lady.”
“True,” Darcelle replied, “but I gotta admitâthere's a certain appeal to running around investigating shit. We'd get to use our guns, too, right?”
Jamie laughed. “Sometimes. More often, it'd be long hours spent cars on stakeouts and very few gunfights like we the one we just had.”
“Yeah, remember how much fun you had on our stakeouts?” Daphné asked innocently.
Darcelle scowled and stuck her tongue out at her twin.
Jamie laughed. “Well, we've got time. Plus, Alvise here isn't doing handstands about the idea.”
“Yeah, but I ain't done handstands since I was ten years old,” Louie replied. At Jamie's look of surprise, he went on. “I ain't sayin' yes, but I ain't sayin' no yet, either. Some days, I get tired of havin' nuthin' to talk to but my damned birds.”
“Boy, does
that
explain a lot,” Darcelle said in a loud stage whisper.
Louie made a rude gesture as Jamie escorted him from the room. “Get well soon, Darcelle,” Jamie said, “and both of youâthink about it.”
After Jamie and Louie had left, the twins did more than think about itâthey talked about it long into the night.
“You're fulla shit, Griffin,” Louie growled. “You ain't got no goddamned straight.”
Jamie shrugged. “It'll cost you five bucks to find out, Lombardi.”
It was the following Friday. While it was actually the second Friday of January, the monthly poker game had been delayed one week due to the New Year's Day events and the immediate aftermath. Timmy and Cal were glaring absences, but Louie had joined the group. In addition to the three regular Griffin brothers, Frank Griffin played this month. In fact, he was hosting the game. Ruarc O'Riley, Bob Sullivan, and Eileen's father, Ed Kelly, rounded out the group, after dropping Ruth off at Jamie's house. Nuala had wisely escaped the stench of cigars and aroma of Jameson's that filled the house and fled to Jamie's house with Eileen and the two younger girls. Brigid was back at Notre Dame. Jamie had invited the twins to the game, but Daphné said that despite her brave front, Darcelle was still a little too self-conscious about the eye patch for playing poker, so they had joined the hen party at Jamie's house instead.
“Shit or get offa da pot, Louie.” Kelly, a retired engineer from the MTBA, was a New York born Irish-Catholic who could drink, smoke, and swear with the best of them.
“Keep your pants, on, Kelly,” Louie replied, slowly spreading his cards in his huge, gnarled hands.
Frank looked at his sons through the haze of the Stradivarius Churchills he sprung for in honor of the first game he hosted in years. Paddy, Jamie, Johnny, and Conán were carrying on an easy banter. Sully caught Frank's eye and nodded. While the shitstorm from the aftermath of the Raisin Killer case was still in full force, it felt good to have the case wrapped up, even if the task force was likely to drag on for several months. Frank hadn't admitted it to anyone, not even himself, but it also felt good to be back on good terms with his second son. While the Griffin men often argued, it rarely lasted, and the discord of the past months had unsettled Frank. “Man, if organized crime took this long to do stuff, we'd have it made,” Frank said, piling on to the good-natured shit Louie was taking.
“Call, okay, you dumb Irish
testa di cazzos
?”
“Hey,” Ruarc shot back. “Who you callin' a dickhead, you stupid Wop?”
Louie looked back in surprise. “Sumbitch. I didn't think any of you Micks knew God's language.”
“Whaddya mean?” Paddy Griffin said with a smirk. “Several of us speak Gaelic.”
 Jamie looked around the room and felt warm satisfaction flood through him. The evening had been great so far, spending time with his Da, his father-in-law, his brothers, and friends.
Before coming to the game, Louie and the twins had arrived at Jamie's house for a brief conference before the “menfolk” walked to Frank Griffin's house. It might still be January, but the weather had taken a patented unpredictable New England U-turn into unseasonably warm weather, melting all the snow and ice and making for comfortable days. Consequently, the four had held their meeting on the front porch, with the fading warmth of the setting sun streaming to their sides, the shadow of the porch casting a preview of the evening cold over them.
“So, Mick,” Louie had begun. “The three of us been talkin' over your proposition.”
“Yeah?” Jamie had replied.
“Yeah,” Darcelle replied. “You apparently think quite a lot of yourself for your name to be the only one on the masthead.”
“Nope,” Jamie replied. “I put that name out there as an idea, especially if I'm the only investor.”
“Who says you're gonna be the only investor?” Louie asked.
“Yeah, what if
we
want a piece of the action?” Daphné demanded.
“Then I guess we'd have to come up with another name,” Jamie said. “Any ideas?”
“Well, we arm-wrestled on our way over and I wonâ” Louie began.
“In your dreams, old man,” Darcelle interrupted.
“As we
discussed
on the way over,” Daphné continued. “If we're going to be equal partners in this venture, then the name has to reflect that.”
“Who said anything about equal partners?” Jamie objected. “I'm the only one qualified to be a licensed private investigator.”
“Maybe so, but like you said,” Louie replied, “you can't do this by yourself.”
Jamie looked at them and nodded. “Okay. What name did you come up with?”
“How does âGriffin, Lombardi & Lopes' sound?” Darcelle asked.
Jamie rolled it around in his head for a moment, and then said, “Well, more like a law firm than an investigative agency, but that might not be all bad. How did Louie rate second billing?”
“He didn't,” Daphné said, “but we all agreed that Griffin would come first, and he correctly pointed out that after that, alphabetically made the most sense.”
“Meh,” Darcelle, waving a hand side-to-side. “I'm not sold.”
Louie and Daphné blew raspberries at her. While Daphné was definitely watching out for her twin, she wasn't about to coddle her either. After a moment, Daphné asked, “So, whaddya think, Unc?”
Jamie had looked at the three with a newfound feeling of affection and respect. “I think it sounds great.” He reached out and shook the hand of his new partners. Now, several hours, two cigars, and several glasses of Jameson's later, Jamie felt even better about the outcome than he had when standing on his porch. He was down at least $20, but he felt as if he was way ahead of the game. The friendly banter and betting receded as Jamie took another slug of his Jameson's and drew deeply on the last of his cigar.
“You know, Jamie,” Sully said in a slightly slurred voice. “Even Lenny is warming up to you since you've been helping the task force wade through the mountain of shit O'Neill dumped in our laps.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jamie replied, in a voice only slightly less slurred than Sully's.
“Yeah. I know, I know,” Sully said, making a shushing gesture with his hand toward Frank, who had started to object. “Departmental affairs, blah, blah, blah. I think we can probably trust Kelly, Ruarc, and your other boys with this muchâLen's been eatin' a lotta crow about how much grief he gave Jamie over stickin' with this case. There's a bunch of guys down at District C-11 who think they owe you an apology, Jamie.”
“Nah, no apologies needed,” Jamie said. “Except maybe from Lenny.” Everyone laughed at that, especially the cops. “What I had was pretty thin to start with. Even Cal argued with me about it.” At the mention of Cal, everyone grew somber, and Jamie raised his glass. “To Cal Cushingâthe best partner I ever had,” Jamie said, and everyone joined him in downing the rest of their drinks.
Frank Griffin refilled his glass and passed the bottle around the table. Of the group, only Johnny passed. “I have an early morning meeting tomorrow, courtesy of Monsignor McMahon.”
“Ah, a parochial vicar's work is never done, eh, Johnny,” Frank said without any real sympathy.
“Be that as it may,” Jamie said, pouring a small amount into his younger brother's glass. “You need a touch more for one, final toast.” Johnny looked at his brother with suspicion. Jamie wasn't above trying to slip extra drinks to his younger brother. When everyone's glasses were filled, Jamie held up his glass again. “I just want to tell everyone how much I appreciate your support.” He grew serious. “I've come through dark times. While I know I'm not completely through them, I also know I've got people who love and support me. I know I don't have to do this alone. I realize I can be a stubborn arseholeâ”
“Hear, hear,” Paddy began, before silenced by a stern look from his father.
“Eventually, I
do
learn.” Jamie raised his glass even higher. “To family and friendsâespecially those who are no longer here with us.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone said, draining their glasses.
The game went on for another hour, and by the time Jamie staggered back to his house with Louie, he knew he had managed to overtax himself yet another day. He had been good about resting earlier in the week, but he'd probably balance the weekend by staying in bed or on the sectional with Finn MacCool and letting Eileen, Caitlin, and Riona mother him. Maybe some planning with Louie and the twins once their heads returned somewhere close to normal size.
It's not the life I imagined,
Jamie thought, sobering up a miniscule amount in the early morning cold.
It can be a good life nonetheless. Get busy living, or get busy dying. Guess it's time I get busy living.
Jamie prepared himself for lectures as they reached the door to his house and realized that with, all things considered, he was a very lucky man.
James W. Jorgensen has years of professional writing experience including technical and training documents, newsletters, user manuals and articles in industry magazines. He has also written fiction, including five unpublished novels and numerous short stories. He has also done paid freelance writing, mostly financial and technical projects.Â
In 2008, mister Jorgensen fell victim to a mysterious illness that was eventually diagnosed as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). The disease not only threatened to destroy his entire life, he also began to endure the stigma associated with CFS, which medical professionals as well as family and friends often refuse to believe is real. An estimated one million Americans have been diagnosed with CFS, with many more cases undiagnosed: more than 80% of people identified in community studies of CFS have not been diagnosed and are not receiving appropriate medical care. Researchers at DePaul University estimate that every year CFS costs the U.S. economy $17-24 billion.
Mister Jorgensen began
Do Not Go Gentle
as personal therapy. The idea came to him in early 2010 and he spent the next a year and a half developing the protagonist, who endures the same process of loss, grief and rebuilding a life as he did, then another year and a half writing and editing the novel.
Do Not Go Gentle
is the first in a series of novels featuring Jamie Griffin.
Visit him online at:
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