Discoveries

When Randy Dawkins told Sheriff Nick Scarpelli that Johnny Duncan had been his drug connection to Ned Beasley, Nick’s first instinct was to go right back to Randy’s bedside in the hospital and resume his interrogation, but Police Chief Ben Carter persuaded Nick that Randy had been through enough for one day and that the questioning could wait.

The next day, Nick headed back to the hospital, only to learn that Randy Dawkins had been discharged and sent home, but the trip was not wasted.

“Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff,” said Dr. Singh. “The preliminary lab results on Randy Dawkins’ blood sample have come back. There was definitely something in his blood besides marijuana…a barbiturate.”

“A barbiturate, huh? And that would explain his lack of consciousness and his short-term memory loss?”

“Most definitely.”

“Exactly what barbiturate did you find, Doc?”

“Well, that’s the strange thing. The results don’t quite match the profile of the most common barbiturates, so I’ve ordered a more detailed analysis.”

“So, Randy was lying about only smoking pot that night,” said the Sheriff.

“Or someone slipped him the barbiturate without his knowing it.”

Before Nick could ask the doctor any further questions, the announcement came over the  hospital speaker system: “Dr. Singh to ER, STAT.” With the doctor now on his way to the emergency room, Nick, deep in thought over the new information, shuffled slowly toward the elevator. His concentration was broken by a female voice.

“You can’t go in there,” she demanded, drawing Nick’s attention in the opposite direction. “If you don’t leave right this minute, I will be forced to call security.”

“What seems to be the problem here?” Nick asked in his official sheriff’s voice.

“They won’t let me see my partner,” complained the man jousting with the nurse.

“I’ve tried to tell him,” explained the nurse. “Family only.”

“But Tom and I have been together over 40 years,” cried the man. “If that doesn’t make me family, I don’t know what does.”

The nurse’s bureaucratic face communicated nothing but recalcitrance.

“Tell you what,” said Nick to the elderly gentleman. “Why don’t you come sit down with me and tell me all about it.”

The man was clearly reluctant to leave the doorway, but seeing the empathy in Nick’s face, he acquiesced.

“What’s your name?” Nick asked the man as they settled into the waiting lounge.

“Harlon…Harlon Abrams. And that man in that room back there is Tom Jeffords.”

Nick smiled gently—more with his eyes than his mouth. “And what is Tom in the hospital for?”

“I believe he’s had a stroke, but I’m not really sure. They won’t tell me anything.”

“Does Tom have any family…other than you, that is?”

“He has a brother who has never approved of our relationship. He hasn’t spoken to Tom in years, and now he gets to visit Tom, but he won’t let me in there.”

Nick could see that Harlon was beginning to get worked up again, so he decided to adjust the conversation. “How did you and Tom meet?”

“We’ve known each other since we were kids. Lived in the same neighborhood, went to school together. Then, when we went to college, we were roommates. That’s when we discovered just how compatible we really were. After college, we went our separate ways for a while. Back in those days, it just didn’t seem feasible for two men to be together, so we tried to play it straight. We both got married, but neither marriage lasted very long. Then, at our first high school reunion, we found each other again, and we’ve been together ever since.” With tears welling up in his eyes, he added, “He’s the love of my life, Sheriff. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

For the next half hour, Nick held Harlon’s hand as the old man reminisced about his 40 years with his lover. “Tell you what,” Nick finally said. “Let me go talk to some folks. Will you be OK here by yourself for a few minutes?” And when Harlon assured him that he would be fine, Nick marched over to the nurses’ station to demand that Harlon be allowed to see his partner, and he was prepared to employ the full force of his office to see that it happened.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” said the nurse. “Mr. Jeffords passed away 15 minutes ago.”

Nick was stunned. And really pissed off. “And no one thought to come down to the lounge and tell Mr. Abrams?”

“He’s not family,” replied the nurse coldly.

“The hell he isn’t,” yelled Nick. “Is Mr. Jeffords still in his room?”

“The body hasn’t been removed yet.”

“Well, you’d better see that it stays there until I get back, or I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice and see how you like your new room.” Of course, Nick knew that he had no legal grounds for such a charge, but he was hoping that the nurse didn’t know that.

On his way back to the lounge, Nick contemplated how he would break the news to Harlon. When he got back to the waiting lounge, he found Harlon sitting right where he had left him, slumped over a table. Has someone already broken the news to him? Nick approached Harlon slowly and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Harlon. Mr. Abrams? Are you all right?” When the old man did not respond, Nick reached for his hand and then his wrist. No pulse. Harlon had gone to be with his lover.

Nick sat with Harlon for a few more minutes and then went to the nurses’ station to report that Harlon Abrams, husband of Tom Jeffords, had just passed away.

“What happened?” asked the nurse.

“Well, I’m not a doctor,” replied Nick scornfully, “but if I had to guess, I’d say he died of a broken heart.”

Equality State. Yeah, right!

"Wake up, Jeremy! Get up!"

With the combination of exhaustion and sleeping pills, Jeremy never even heard the phone ring. Nor did he respond to Red’s excitement. Or even when Kyle jumped up and down on the mattress and almost bounced him out of the bed. Not all of him was asleep, though. Morning wood flourished between his legs. His buddies had to pause for a brief moment to drink in the splendor.

Kyle broke the spell. "I’ll get him up," and he did. He lifted him out of the bed, carried him to the shower (snatching a few lollipop licks along the way), and drenched him with cold water.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah! Damn, that’s cold! Shit! What the fuck did you do that for?" he chattered as he scrambled to get out of the frigid water.

"Let’s go, Van Winkle! Brad’s awake!"

"Huh? Who? What?"

"Ford, you idiot!" teased Kenny. "Remember? Brad-Ford!"

"Ford! Ford’s awake? Well, why didn’t you say something?"

His buddies laughed as the clumsy cowboy tripped over his horse cock trying to get dressed.

Ford had been found awake that morning by Victor Sanchez, a very cute young nurse, who had gone in to check up on him. He had quickly summoned Dr. Galbraith, the chief neurosurgeon, who had found him to be in reasonably good condition under the circumstances. Once the doctor left, Nurse Sanchez proceeded to give Ford a sponge bath. Ford was, of course, sore from his wounds and the surgery, but he found Sanchez’s bright, warm smile very comforting and reassuring. His masculine hands were very warm and gentle as well.

"I have to agree with the doctor," said Sanchez, softly sponging Ford’s stiff morning wood. "You are in good condition, very good condition." Ford moaned and slowly squirmed under the nurse’s gentle, but manly, touch.

"I think I’d better stop," teased Sanchez. "Sounds like that’s way too painful."

"Oh, no! God, no! Don’t stop now."

Sanchez continued to massage Ford’s soapy masterpiece.

"Oh, God damn! Fuck!"

"Try to stay still," cautioned the nurse.

"Stay still? You let me give you a hand job and see if you can stay fuckin’ still!"

"Well, if that’s an offer, I’d be happy to take you up on it after you get better, but right now you’re the patient." Once again, his beaming smile totally undermined Ford’s emotional defenses. Ford would definitely look up this cutie once he got better—even if he had to use all the resources of the New Orleans Police Department to do it.

Sanchez softly rubbed Ford’s chest and belly as he continued to pump his pulsating organ.

Ford’s panting grew stronger. "Oh, my god. I hope you give me a sponge bath every day."

"Even on my days off," assured Nurse Sanchez, winking and casting that sparkling smile at Ford.

Ford caught his breath, smiled back, and pulled the adorable nurse closer for a deep, wet, prolonged kiss.

"Can you tell us what room Bradford Leveque is in?" Kenny asked at the nurses’ station.

"Room 423," replied Nurse Sanchez, who had just returned to the station from giving Ford his deluxe sponge bath. "But only two visitors at a time."

When they reached the door, something caught Kenny by surprise—enough that he and Jeremy agreed to let Kyle and Red go in first.

"What are you doing here, Champ?" Kenny quizzed his compatriot guarding Ford’s hospital room door. At 6’6" and nearly 300 pounds, Marcus Champion was an imposing figure, especially in his blue uniform. He had been All-American at LSU and was drafted in the third round by the Cleveland Browns, but something happened to change his plans. His younger brother was killed in a gang initiation, and Champ, as he was known to his teammates and now his fellow men in blue, decided that he could do more to serve his brother’s memory by cleaning up the streets of New Orleans than by playing football.

"Cap’n ordered 24-hour watch on Brad."

"Really? How come?"

"It seems that the guy who got away is the brother of the one Brad killed in that store. He called the precinct late last night to say that he would get Brad if it’s the last thing he ever does."

"But...but...how did he know who Brad was or where he’d be?"

"One of those fuckin’ reporters from that fuckin’ Faux News Channel tried to make a name for herself by telling the world what a great hero Brad was, takin’ a couple of bullets to save that woman and her little girl, so she broadcast his name and picture and showed file footage of an ambulance pulling into Baptist Hospital."

"Fuck! I’d like to get my hands on that reporter and wring her fuckin’ neck!"

"You and me both, buddy!"

At that moment, another officer arrived to relieve Champ, and Champ went off to find Nurse Sanchez.

"He seems to be in pretty good spirits," said Kyle, as he and Red exited the room. "Your turn."

Kenny went in first, and Ford beamed with delight at seeing his partner. As much as Jeremy wanted to get close, he thought it best to hang back for a moment, and Ford apparently didn’t even notice him.

"We were really worried about you there, buddy. You took quite a hit."

"So they tell me, but I really don’t even remember."

Then, Ford noticed Jeremy approaching the bed. “Hello. May we help you?"

"What do you mean, ‘May you help me?’ I came to make sure you’re OK, you fuckin’ idiot."

With a bit of a forced smile, Ford replied, "That’s really sweet of you, but I really don’t….” Then, turning to Kenny, he asked, “Is this man with you, Kenny?”

"He’s just yanking your chain, Jeremy," laughed Kenny.

"Jeremy? Oh, you must be Amy’s fiancée. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I was going to call you, but…. Wait…what time is it? What day is it? I didn’t miss the wedding, did I?”