ALVIN’S CHOICE

A Crip and Henrietta Short Mystery

by

 Tim Wohlforth

TIM WOHLFORTH’S story “Jesus Christ Is Dead!” made the “Distinguished Mystery Stories” list in Otto Penzler’s 2005 Best American Mystery Stories. A story of his was chosen for inclusion in the Mystery Writers of America’s Death Do Us Part, edited by Harlan Coben published in August 2006 by Little Brown. Dennis McMillan has  published a Crip and Henrietta story as part of his Plots With Guns anthology.  He is a  Pushcart Prize Nominee and has received a Certificate of Excellence from the Dana Literary Society. Wohlforth has had seventy-four short stories accepted for publication in print magazines, ezines, and in twelve anthologies

 

     I was wheeling up the street towards the Cal campus in my chair when I spotted her. Hard to miss Henrietta with her spiked green hair, rings in eyebrows, nose, cult tattoos on her skinny bare arms, another ring in her exposed naval, torn jeans. Come to think of it she might just have blended in on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley, though nowhere else, if it wasn’t for that scowl. It was as if she was ready to strike in the face anyone who dared to smile at her. A curled cobra with green hair and hostile green eyes.

Before she spotted me I quickly spun my wheels around almost colliding with a clown on a unicycle. Then I took off down the street, heading back to my home off Dwight. I heard puffing and wheezing. The damn woman was bearing down on me. If only the sidewalk had been less crowded with students heading for classes I knew I could’ve outrun her. There are few thin ladies in this world less fit than Henrietta. Even some 300 pounders are in better shape.

I took pity on her and, facing the inevitable, slowed down. She bashed into my chair and broke out into spasms of coughing.

“Trying to kill me, Crip?” she said. “Is that what you’re trying to do? You’re a motherfucker, a useless cripple, a no good motherfucking freak.”

Even for Henrietta that outburst was a bit much. Cripple fine. That’s the truth. Motherfucker, that’s a matter of opinion and I’m a tolerant person, but I drew the line at freak. And she knew I did. That’s why she said it.

I glared at her and said, “You’re one damn sick lady. I hope those cigarettes kill you and fast.”

The students kept flowing around us. An argument between a man in a wheelchair and a green-haired punk was not considered worth stopping for. She stood there, holding onto the back of my chair, trying to get back her breath. Then she muttered something, swallowing the words so that I couldn’t make them out.

“What?” I asked.

She repeated a weak, “Sorry.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Three things Henrietta never did – apologize, smile or cry. No smile was in evidence, but I distinctly heard an apology. And I feared that puckered up face could at any moment break down into tears. That I couldn’t take. She must be in one massive King Kong-sized pile of shit.

“Did I hear you right?” I asked. ”You’re apologizing?”

“Not about the motherfucker business. You saw me and you turned and ran. If you could run. You know what I mean. You were trying to kill me. But I guess you’re not a freak. I mean a complete freak.”

“Henrietta, stop while you’re ahead. I accept your apology. Now what do you want?”

“Who said I wanted anything?” she said. She pulled out a crumpled pack of Camels from her jeans pocket and lit up. She sucked in smoke like a whale takes in air after a thousand foot dive. Then she blew smoke in my face because she knew how much I hated it. She broke out in coughing. “Just checking in.”

“Well, now that you’ve checked, how about taking off?”

“Can I buy you a brew at Raleigh’s?”

“You buy me?  You sure you’re feeling alright?”

“We’re friends, Crip, you know that. You need me.”

“I need you? I’m not the one doing the checking in.”

“But you do. You just don’t want to admit it. I understand that. Crippled and all.”

Henrietta, the psychologist.

“Come on, Crip,” she added.

“Okay.”  I smiled. I had to admit I did miss the lady for some unfathomable reason. I’m Tom Bateman and I run a little private eye business over the Internet. Digging up dirt for bucks. Kind of like the NSA but on a somewhat more modest scale.

We headed back up Telegraph Avenue towards my favorite brewpub. Like we were a couple. Shit.

 

* * * * *

 

“So what’s going on?” I asked as we sat in the outdoor patio at Raleigh’s. It was a chilly day, but they had the gas heaters on. I knew Henrietta would insist on the outdoor area so she could smoke. And smoke she did. She had me coughing.

“Can I order you a pint?” I asked, as I placed my order with the barmaid.

Raleigh’s was packed with clusters of students shouting, laughing, swallowing quantities of brew, arguing about politics and poetics. I loved the place, so goddamn alive. I never had a chance to go to college. Spent that time in ‘Nam and received in return a bullet in my spine. I suppose I could’ve gone to college after rehab but something had changed in me. Not my love of books or knowledge. And I enjoyed the feel of a campus. That’s why I live in Berkeley.

I guess I lost the passion to achieve. That bullet that got me had been random. Life was determined by chance. So what’s to achieve? I was happy with just living and self-indulgent enough to read only what I wanted to read, not what was required.

I liked being paid to be a snoop. I had modest monetary needs. And the chair? The chair and I had come to terms. What I lost physically in my lower body I had more than made up for with developing my upper body. I didn’t consider myself handicapped or disabled, just different.

“No brew for me. I cut that shit out,” Henrietta said. “Not good for your health.”

“Never figured you for a health nut. No more pot either?”

“Medicinal. Great if you’ve got cancer.”

“But you don’t have cancer. At least not yet.”

“Crip, be serious. I need some advice.”

Incredible. I found it hard to believe this lady really wanted my opinion on something. There would be some hook, some price. Every time I had dealings with her I got into trouble. I made the mistake a while back of hiring her as my legs on a job that I couldn’t quite handle from a chair. It proved to be a disaster. She filled the air in my house with smoke, strew ashes over the furniture, tossed Big Mac wrappers and catsup-soaked fries on the floor, and devoted her time to insulting me. I insulted right back and she loved it. Now she won’t leave me alone.

I took a deep sip of the pint of Full Sail that had arrived and stumbled on, “How can I help you?”

“You remember Alvin?”

“How could I forget him? Nearly got me killed the last time we met.”

Henrietta’s boyfriend, Alvin, was a pot farmer who had served time recently in Pelican Bay. He dragged me into a confrontation with the mob that ended in a shoot-out. That should’ve been the end of the fellow, except Alvin is exceptionally good at ducking bullets, running away, and leaving me to deal with the killers. Some tough guy.

“You know how he feels about his race,” she said.

Alvin’s body was covered with Nazi and white power tattoos.

“Like he’s part of the persecuted majority, right?” I said.

“He’s not prejudiced. Some of his best customers are…”

“Blacks. Very broadminded of him.”

“Alvin’s like that. He’s got this sweet nature.”

“I noticed. What about that AK-47 tattooed on his arm?”

“You’ve never really tried to get to know him.”

“If the point of this meeting is a reconciliation between Alvin and myself forget about it.”

“He’s about to do something stupid,” Henrietta said.

“That’s not new.”

“It’s not his fault he ended up in Pelican Bay.”

“You’re not going to claim he was innocent?” I asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything? I mean it’s not his fault he got caught. Alvin’s smart. Just bad luck.”

“So what’s going on this time?”

I knew I shouldn’t even ask, but she would tell me anyway. I might as well get it over with. I waved my empty pint glass at the barmaid, a blond college girl wearing a tight Peoples Republic of Berkeley tee shirt and low cut jeans that exposed a flat tummy and a marvelous navel. And I’m into navels, all except Henrietta’s. I sensed I would need the ale. I didn’t care what Henrietta said, she wasn’t going to involve me in one of Alvin’s schemes again. Beer or no beer.

She must have sensed my resistance because she quickly added, “Just advice, Crip, that’s all. It’s the White Bloods. That’s the prison gang that protected Alvin’s ass when he was at Pelican Bay.”

“I get the picture.”

“He owes them. And now that he’s out they’re making demands. And it’s not just the Bloods. It’s all of them.”

“All of who?”

“The Bloods are linked to the American Nazi Convergence, the Church of Aryan Identity, and the Avengers of the Pre-Born.”

“Great crowd.”

“You know me, Crip. I’m not political. Chills me out. I’m white and all, but so’s my parents and they’re fuckers.”

First time I heard her mention her parents. I had figured she was found under a rock when the Stones played Altamont.

 “Alvin’s just a businessman,” she continued. “He doesn’t give a shit about abortion one way or another. Helped pay for one for me. And now he’s going to take out an abortion doctor.”

“Shit!”

Even for Alvin this was a bit much. And the problem was I believed Henrietta. There were fanatics out there and some were killers. There was nothing worse than a killer who believed God was on his side. Look at 9/ll.

“Not kidding, Crip. The Avengers are totally mad. Can’t reason with ‘em. They view a doctor who performs abortions as a mass murderer. So they want to take ‘em out. The Reverend Ike of the Church of Aryan Identity says the Bible justifies such killings.”

“They kill and claim to be pro-life. Makes a lot of sense. And what does Alvin think?”

“He’s upset. He says it’s wrong to kill, unless it’s necessary for business. He’s got his principles.”

“So why’s he going to kill this doctor?”

“Orders.”

“From whom?”

“The White Bloods. They claim it’s an act of solidarity but I figure somebody in the Bloods is getting paid off by someone in the Avenger crowd or the Reverend Ike.”

“Why doesn’t Alvin just say no?”

“The Bloods will take Alvin out.”

“You wanted my advice and here it is. Tell the cops.”

“You got to be kidding. Then the Bloods take both me and Alvin out.”

She was in deep Godzilla doo-doo. Damn her. I had never met a person who got into the kind of messes she stumbled into. Why I ever bothered to help her out I didn’t know. This time was even worse. It was more than a matter of Henrietta. An innocent doctor’s life was at stake.

 “It’s all wrong,” She continued. “Alvin’s a businessman. He will ruin his reputation if he takes out some doctor under orders from the pro-lifers. You know how divisive the abortion issue is. Told’m it would be bad for business.”

“Not to mention its effect on the doctor.”

“Now he’s pissed at me. Says I don’t understand shit. Says I wanted him to get raped in prison. Says I don’t respect my race so why should I respect life? He started preaching at me about life for Christ’s sake. Like he wanted to get on the Supreme Court. That’s not Alvin. I think the Reverend Ike’s brainwashed him. What’re we going to do?”

“We?”

“If that doctor dies it will be because you did nothing.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“Fuck you,” she said as she got up and began to walk out.

“Wait.”

She turned.

“What?”

“You forgot to pay.”

She reached into her pocket, then shook her head. “Left my money at home.”

She turned again and headed for the door.

“Henrietta,” I shouted after her.

She stopped.

“Come back.”

She was right. I had to do something.

 

* * * * *

 

“We’re going to stop him,” I said staring into Henrietta’s blank green eyes. She had returned to her seat opposite me in Raleigh’s patio. I heard honking above the low hum of human voices, looked up and spotted six Canadian Geese flying in formation overhead. They seemed determined to go somewhere and I doubted that it was back to the frozen North. More likely nearby Lake Merritt. Talk about illegal immigrants.

 “No way am I going to let him kill a doctor,” I continued.

“Better not hurt Alvin or I’ll… I’ll.”

“You’ll what?”

“Tell the Bloods it was you.”

“Some friend.”

“I stand by Alvin no matter what.”

“True love.”

Henrietta was funny that way. She had one decent trait - loyalty. Maybe that was the reason why I put up with her. There were so many out there smiling in your face and fucking you behind your back. A lot of them had degrees and titles and worked supposedly for the disabled community. And I hate being patronized by people who would prefer to look the other way when someone who’s disabled comes down the street. We’re just people and that’s the way we prefer to be treated – as people. Henrietta’s insults could be refreshing.

“Fuck off,” she said. “I knew I shouldn’t bother with an asshole like you.”

Alright, she did have a strange way of expressing her affection.

She made an effort to get up again. I reached over and pulled her back down.

“The trouble with you and your boyfriend is you think everything can be handled with violence. Did you ever try thinking?”

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean I will stop Alvin. I mean I will do my best to keep the cops out of it, try not to hurt him or anyone else. I promise you that. But before I go around shooting at people, I intend to use my brain. We need to stop this killing by going to the source.”

“The source?”

“The person who put out the hit request. My guess is that person is Reverend Ike or at least he knows who it is. We get the hit order withdrawn, the doctor is saved, Alvin doesn’t get hurt.”

Henrietta’s scowl lessened slightly. As close to a smile as she ever gets.

“Might work.”

“So tell me everything you know about this Ike guy.”

“Nothin’ ‘cept he has this church in a rundown cottage on Howe near the cemetery in Oakland.”

“Last name?”

“Prune. Something like that.”

“Come on, That’s not a name.”

“Pru something. I got it. Pruitt.

“Now we’re getting someplace. Is he new to this area?”

“How did you know?”

“Never heard of him before. And there are not a lot white racists in Oakland. Or at least open ones.”

“I remember Alvin saying about how he came from this all-white place. They wanted to separate from America.”

“Idaho.”

“That’s it.”

“Hayden Lake.”

“How’d you know?”

“I read the papers. You ought to try it.”

“The papers are filled with lies. You should’ve seen what the Trib wrote about Alvin. They convicted him even before he went to trial.”

“I thought you said he was guilty.”

“That doesn’t mean he should’ve been convicted. Come on, Crip, this is the U.S. of A. It’s supposed to be a free country.”

“So all criminals should go free.”

“Of course not. There’s some real bad asses up there in Pelican Bay.”

Why I had let myself in for another one of Henrietta’s lectures on civil society I didn’t know. I suppose I hoped that one time I would, if not convince her, at least understand the weird logic that filled her head.

“Do you know the doctor’s name, the time and place of the hit?”

“No, nothing like that. Alvin said if I knew, it would endanger me.”

It was time to get on with it. A life was at stake.

“Let’s go,” I said as I backed my chair out from under the table and began a turn.

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“No. I’m not letting you out of my sight until this is all over.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“No.”

“Fuck off.”

She pulled her crumpled pack of Camels out of her jean pocket, shoved a bent cigarette into her mouth and lit up. But when I started to wheel the chair out of the patio, she followed. I looked back. What a sight. A tattoo of a face that looked like a crossed between Alvin and Gilroy glared at me, her navel forming the mouth. A ring protruded as if it came from Alvin’s tongue. The frayed elastic band of her panties acted as a curtain leaving to the imagination the lower portion of Alvin. Green poked through the hole in her crotch. Color coordinated with her spiked hair. Henrietta’s kind of fashion statement.

 

* * * * *

 

I drove my van down a one-block continuation of Howe Street that dead-ended in a cemetery. The sun had set. I could barely make out a large crematorium that hovered over us on a hill to the left. The yellow glow of a weak street lamp illuminated Reverend Ike’s residence, a ramshackle little Victorian and attached buildings. If the place had been kept up, it would have been quite appealing. The cottage sported a peaked roof, gingerbread trim, and carved moldings. However, the place needed paint, vines crept up its sides, the lawn in front hadn’t been cut in years, and tall bushes were encroaching on one side.

On the other side a rotted garage containing a classic black Caddy haphazardly filled a space connecting the house to an adjoining cottage painted a sickly ochre with a tarpaper roof. The whole scene shouted time warp, a fitting habitat for a man who no doubt lamented the passing of the good old cross-burning days. 

At first I thought the attached shack was uninhabited, but then I noticed an electric meter on its side, a small cross in the window, and a sign proclaiming in Gothic lettering “The Church of Aryan Identity.” It didn’t appear as if this particular brand of Christianity was flourishing. Just as well.

Henrietta had spent the afternoon curled up on my couch sleeping while I toiled away at Google supplemented with Lexis-Nexis. Lexis lists all legal actions in the country and Nexis contains newspaper accounts and much much else. Well worth the subscription price. The Reverend Ike maintained a website, but more importantly scored prominently in both lists. The man had a very good reason for leaving Idaho and I had some hard questions to ask him. But I needed more, a witness to his skullduggery. I turned to my skip trace source, available only to licensed PIs. Within minutes I could find out anyone’s address, phone number, place of employment, spouse, children, the school they went to, net worth, religious affiliation, you name it. I made couple of phone calls to confirm what I had unearthed and felt prepared for our meeting. Our dear Reverend was in for a surprise.

I pulled the van up to the curb just past the complex. The shadow of the arched entrance to St. Mary’s Cemetery loomed at the end of the road. I positioned my chair on the lift in the back of the van, pressed the controls, and was lowered to the sidewalk. A possum waddled by, ratty tail swinging, heading for the cemetery. Henrietta joined me. I scooted up the street and stopped in front of the Victorian house. I faced steep steps. No way was I getting into that place.

“What now, Crip?”

“You go in and tell the Reverend we’ll meet him in the sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?”

“Like in church. The cottage past the garage. Looks like a straight run.”

“Suppose he doesn’t want to meet you?”

“Just tell him we have a mutual interest in abortion doctors. He’ll come.”

Henrietta walked up the steps and faced a rickety door where a glass panel had been replaced by plywood. No bell. She pounded on the door. It opened and Henrietta disappeared. I used the time to make a phone call. Two minutes later she emerged, followed by an old man with a receding but still brown hairline, a thin mustache and creased face. He had the shriveled neck of a turtle, wore a white shirt with a bolo tie featuring a Confederate flag clasp, and a tan fringed leather jacket. Not the kind of guy that would blend in that well in Oakland. Do better in Hayden Lake. But on this weird cul de sac surrounded by the dead, who’s to notice?

He stared at me, I nodded, spun wheels, and headed towards the church building. Ike and Henrietta followed. I stopped at the pathway leading to a side door. Ike strode past me, unlocked a large brass padlock, swung open the door, and turned on the lights.

I entered a hall filled with perhaps fifty folding chairs. A pulpit dominated the far end of the room. Behind the pulpit hung a large blue banner featuring a red cross thrust diagonally through a gold crown. The words “Conquer We Must” were written above and “For Our Cause Is Just” below. An American flag stood next to the pulpit. The Reverend Ike headed straight for it. Even an audience of two was an opportunity to preach. I rolled to the front, Henrietta followed.

“What the fuck…?” she began to say.

“Shhh…” I whispered.

“Welcome to The Church of Aryan Identity.”

“So?” Henrietta asked.

“We’re part of the worldwide Christian Identity outreach ministry to God’s chosen race.”

“Which one is that?” she asked. No way was I going to shut up Henrietta.

 “The White, European peoples. You are, I assume, of pure blood?” The Reverend was pissed.

“My blood is none of your fucking business,” Henrietta responded.

“You a mongrel, part mud people?”

“Why you motherfucker…” She prepared to leap at him, but I reached over and held her back.

“Let me explain, Reverend,” I quickly intervened. “We didn’t come here to discuss religion or race for that matter. However, we do have a mutual interest in abortion doctors.”

“Ah, pro-life. Jewish doctors are out there killing thousands of the unborn everyday and nobody does anything about it. It’s part of their plot to take over the world. We will not allow these murderers to continue to live and kill.”

Ike no longer looked at us. He held out one hand as if conducting a choir of angels, closed his eyes and preached to the heavens.

Before Henrietta could answer him, I spoke.

“We’re not here because we agree with you or the pro-lifers. We’re here because we also have a stake in abortion doctors. We believe in their right to life.”

“You tell ‘em Crip,” Henrietta said.

“You could say we’ve come to save you,” I said.

“What’re you talking about?” Ike’s voice was a bit shaky. He knew damn well what I was talking about.

“I’ll be frank. We know you had the White Bloods put out a contract on an abortion doctor. They have forced Alvin, a friend of Henrietta here, to carry out the hit. If he doesn’t then they will take him out.”

“None of that has anything to do with me. I can’t help it if a good Christian white man like Alvin decides to carry out the Lord’s work. While I have nothing to do with it, I applaud the young man’s courage and racial pride.”

“I’m clearly not getting through to you,” I said. “If a doctor gets killed, it’s you I’ll hold responsible.” I paused for emphasis. “I will destroy you.”

He glared at me and asked weakly.

”How do you plan to do that?”

“I’ve been doing some research on you. Remember a young woman by the name of Melissa Smith? You seduced her when she was only twelve. She gave birth to your child at thirteen.”

“Lies, all lies.”

There was a knock on the door of the sanctuary.

“Come in, Melissa,” I shouted.

A twenty-one year old black woman walked in the door. Plump figure, her soft brown eyes expressed defiance. I had called her while Henrietta was in Ike’s house to let her know the meeting would be in the sanctuary. She held the hand of a skinny eight-year-old light-skinned girl in blue jeans and a Harry Potter tee shirt.

“That him?” I asked.

“Yes.” She turned to her child and said, “Angel, go to the car and wait. Mommy will be out shortly.”

Then she turned back to the Reverend.

“You hypocrite,” she shouted. “My mom cleaned your house and you kept staring at me when I came with her. Then one day you asked me into your bedroom. You told me to kneel by the bed and pray. Then you forced me to strip naked and you dragged me into the bed.”

“Why you fucker,” Henrietta said. She had him pegged right.

“It’s her word against mine,” he said.

“That’s the way it stood in Hayden Lake eight years ago,” I said, “when rumors first appeared in the newspapers about Melissa. That’s why you left town in a hurry. She followed you here, didn’t she? And demanded child support. You’ve been paying her. Want to give a blood sample to test DNA?”

“You will not humiliate me.”

“This matter could be left to Melissa and you. She has expressed to me a willingness to continue with the present arrangement. It would be better for Angel. However, I may go to the press with the story. Any denial on your part not backed up by a blood sample will be dismissed. What will your flock think? Miscegenation is a sin in your church. They’ll not forgive you. And having intercourse with a twelve-year-old is statutory rape. It’s up to you. If you withdraw the contract on the abortion doctor, I will keep out of it.”

The Reverend glared at me. He was a man who had devoted his whole life to hate and right that minute all that hostility was focused on me. But I had him and he knew it.

“I’m not admitting to anything, but it’s too late to stop Alvin or the Bloods.”

“The Bloods?” Henrietta said. “Alvin said it was just him.”

“That’s what he thought,” Ike said.

“I get it,” I said. “Alvin takes out the doc. The Bloods take out Alvin. No way to trace the hit back to them or you. And you blame Alvin’s death on the pro-choice crowd.”

“You scumbag!” Henrietta leapt at Ike, smashing into him with her two feet. She had this karate kick thing. He fell to the floor with Henrietta on top of him, scratching at his eyes, digging her green nails into his flesh. Henrietta could be a tiger.

“Henrietta, stop!” I shouted. “That’s not going to help.”

She didn’t stop.

“Use your head. Ike here needs to tell us the target, the time, the place. Otherwise we can’t stop Alvin.”

She lifted herself off Ike, who shrank to the corner of the room.

“Okay Ike, give us the plan. You’re into salvation. The only way you can save yourself now is to help us stop Alvin.”

“It’s too late.” He looked at his watch. “Coming down in fifteen minutes.”

“Where? Who?”

 “The target’s Doctor Rachel Fein, when she leaves her weekly evening clinic, at the Planned Family Center on Macarthur near Telegraph, next to the Royal Motel.”

I pulled out my cell phone, dialed information for the phone number of the clinic, and called. I got a voice recording. Fuck.

“Let’s go,” I said to Henrietta, spinning my titanium wheels as I raced towards the sanctuary’s door.

I turned and faced the quivering racist.

“Reverend, you get on your phone and track down the Bloods. I don’t want them hounding Alvin in the future. Or any of you killing doctors. And I suggest you start praying that I stop Alvin and the Bloods.”

 

* * * * *

 

“What do we do now?” Henrietta asked as we careened down Broadway towards Macarthur. Luckily, the clinic was only about five minutes away.

“I’ll think of something.”

“What you’re saying is you haven’t any idea what to do.”

“Just shut up, Henrietta. For once in your life keep that trap of yours closed. I can’t think if you’re talking.”

She glowered at me, but kept quiet. Silence didn’t help. I really hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do. We had a doctor to save from an AK-47-toting boyfriend and there was the no small matter of a mob of racist ex-felon thugs. In ten minutes we could very well be among the corpses piled up on the street in front of the clinic.

I knew one thing and one thing only – somehow I would protect that doctor. If I died so be it. I’d faced death before in ‘Nam. I could handle it in Oakland. I wasn’t sure why I felt so strongly about the killing of Dr. Fein, but damn it, I did. Henrietta, by informing me of the coming hit, burdened me with preventing it.

Then it came to me. I could see Alvin lying in the darkness stalking Fein with a rifle the way I had been stalked in ‘Nam. It was not the same as facing your killer eye to eye. That doctor was being reduced to no more than an innocent deer running blindly through a forest. I was not about to allow that. And we were talking about a doctor at the other end of the scope. Doctors saved me in ‘Nam when I got that bullet in my spine. I pay my debts. Tonight was payback time.

I reached Macarthur, turned and slowly drove past the facility. I didn’t want to cause attention. Then I swung a u-turn at Telegraph and proceeded up the other side of the street. I paused across from the facility. The building was constructed like an American Embassy in an Al Qaeda controlled country – steel screens where windows should be, no sign out front, bombproof I suspected. A carport occupied the front portion of the first floor. It was separated from the sidewalk by a high wrought-iron fence. An entrance permitted only one car in or out.

Inside the carport a floodlight revealed only a single car. Must be Fein’s. Made sense from a security point of view. Patients and doctors could drive right in and out avoiding hostile pickets on the sidewalk. All Dr. Fein would have to do tonight was walk out the clinic door at the rear of the carport, step into a brightly-lit area, get in her car, and then exit. I therefore assumed the plan was to hit the car on its way out of the facility.

Where would Alvin be? A huge elm, taller than the building, dominated the front. I saw a slight movement in its shadow. He must be hiding behind it. No sign of the Bloods, but I knew they weren’t far away.

I started the van, drove until there was a break in the median, and made another u-turn, then pulled to the curb about fifteen feet from the building. Finally a plan came to me. Probably suicidal, but a plan.

“Can I speak?” Henrietta snarled.

“You listen to me, and you listen carefully. I expect you to do exactly what I tell you. No questions asked, not the slightest deviation from my instructions. Or else Fein, Alvin, you and I die.”

“You serious?”

“Never more so in my entire life.”

“Remember, no cops. We stop Alvin but he can’t go back to jail. You know what the Bloods will do to him there.”

“He’ll get his chance, but we’re saving that doctor.” I checked my watch. “We have only a minute or two. I’m getting out of the van and will position my chair on the sidewalk. You reach over and drive the van, using the hand controls. Simple really. Proceed very slowly up the street towards the clinic. Be sure the van is between me and the road at all times. When we get to the tree, I’ll leave you. That’s where Alvin is. You proceed to the carport’s entrance, block it, pull the emergency break and fall to the floor. Don’t move no matter what happens.”

“What do you expect to happen?”

“Shit.”

“And you?”

“I’ll tackle Alvin.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“My problem.”

I scooted the chair back, lowered it with the lift, and started down the sidewalk. Henrietta followed with the van as instructed. I paused a second to pull out my cell and speed dial 911. Tucking the phone under my chin, I called for police backup as I continued down the street. Alvin would get his chance to get away, but the safety of Fein was more important. So far everything was going according to plan, but it was too damn quiet. I knew the Bloods were out there somewhere.

Did Alvin notice us? I didn’t think so. He was preoccupied preparing for the hit. I could make him out now, rifle in hand, behind the tree. I was only five feet away. I spotted a figure in a white coat in the carport area. In seconds she had ducked into a Toyota Prius. Good.

Now. I spun my wheels as if I were racing in the Special Olympics, heading straight for Alvin. Henrietta gunned the engine of the van and plowed its front-end directly into the gap in the fence. Alvin got off a shot at the van just as I bashed my chair into him. He fell to the ground.

I swung the chair over, falling to the ground next to Alvin, using the seat as a temporary shield. Alvin reached for his gun and began to rise.

“No!” I shouted, pulling him back down. At that very moment two black SUVs sped down the street, Uzis sticking out windows. The cars stopped in front of the clinic, bullets sprayed the van and us. The noise was deafening. Alvin screamed. He’d been hit. I looked down at my legs. One of them was bleeding, but I felt nothing.

The one advantage of being crippled.

“Let’s go,” I yelled at Alvin. I used my hands to pull the dead weight of my body as I slithered towards the van. Kind of like a snake. I have great strength in my arms from weight lifting and wheelchair racing. Alvin followed me. Bullets struck the sidewalk spewing concrete in my eyes. I kept crawling. I was back in ‘Nam, jungle around me, snipers firing, and monkeys, high in the trees, howling.

Somehow I reached the van. Sirens. Roar of engines, screech of tires as the SUVs took off. Silence. The Bloods were gone. Henrietta began screaming.

“Who the Hell was that?” Alvin asked.

“Your friends, the Bloods. You okay?”

“Thanks, Dude,” Alvin muttered.

Bullet eyes that matched his dense black close-cropped hair softened just slightly. He raised himself from the ground, his tank top revealing bulging biceps covered with tattoos. The swastika on his left arm was now partially obscured by blood. I could barely make out the words “White Power” below it. Sprinting towards Telegraph, he carried his AK-47 in his other hand.

Three cop cars, sirens blaring, swung around the van. Cops pulled their guns out of their holsters and surrounded me. A young woman with glasses and short curly hair, wearing a white coat, joined the circle. Then I heard screaming coming from the van. Two cops dragged a scratching, spitting Henrietta out and onto the sidewalk. They cuffed her.

“You the one who made the 911 call?” a cop asked me.

“Yes.”

“What’s going on?”

“Dunno. Henrietta and I just dropped by to pick up some condoms. Better safe than sorry. I was in my chair heading for the entrance of the clinic when these two black SUVs passed by spraying us and the front of the building with bullets. I called 911. Henrietta crashed into the carport’s entrance. I tried to crawl to the van and check her out. Then you guys showed up.”

“We don’t dispense condoms outside regular office hours,” Dr. Fein said.

“I was misinformed.”

 

The End

Copyright © 2008, by Tim Wohlforth