The Three Dollar Phoenix by Walt Sautter (rooftoppers .txt) 📖

as best you can and walk. I know the choices are lousy, but they’re the only ones we’ve got, right now” replied Mike.
Ed stared at him, through the heavy wire mesh of the jail’s visiting room.
“I’ve got a choice of trying to stay alive in here or living with my conscience out there, huh?”
“You’ve got it. We both know the smart choice. If you try to push these guys, you’ve had it. They’ll be sending your social security checks to this address. I’ve seen people, with good connections and plenty of money behind them, get screwed over by this bunch. My advice is not to let the cell door hit you in the ass on the way out” answered Mike.
“I’ve got to think this over.”
“Are you nuts?” exclaimed Mike as he pulled some papers from his tattered briefcase.
“Either you’re signing this waiver or I’m signing it for you.”
Ed looked at Mike briefly, and then reluctantly accepted the paper and pen through the opening in the grating. He held them for a minute, and then signed the document in an instant, like a swimmer plunging into a chilly pool, so as to get the unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible. He handed it back in silence, with eyes cast downward.
“Sometimes, we do what we have to do, not always what feels good” consoled Mike.
“You should be out of here tomorrow afternoon, at the latest” he added.
That day, Ed walked back to his cell for the last time, he hoped. While he walked, he felt a deep disappointment in himself but the prospect of his impending release helped to deaden the sting of his self inflicted sadness. He did what he had to do, of that, he was sure. He was equally sure that it would be some time before he could fully convince himself of that fact.
The next afternoon, Ed was escorted to a room on the upper floor of the building. There, his clothing and personal effects were returned to him, each neatly packaged in brown paper bags marked with his name and number. He quickly changed his clothes, signed an items receipt and was then led to the large, central room at the entrance of the police station, where he had first been taken the day of his arrest.
Mike stood near the door, wearing a wide smile.
“Where’s the new suit and the ten bucks you’re supposed to get when they let you out of stir?” Ed joked with a Cagney accent.
“The only choices they had were leisure suits or Neru jackets and I didn’t think you’d like either” Mike replied with a chuckle.
“Let’s go for a drink, if you don’t mind being seen with an excon” replied Ed with a grin.
With that, they headed towards the street and Mike’s waiting car. He drove to a small bar just outside of Newark.
“How’s is Rita?” asked Ed as they sat in the dimly lit tavern.
“I’ve been so consumed with my own problems, the past couple of days, that I haven’t even asked about her. I guess, I’ve been a little too concerned about myself lately” he confessed.
“She’s fine. I spoke to her, the day before yesterday” replied Mike.
“She had some very interesting information. I purposely didn’t mention anything to you though. I wanted to concentrate on getting you into the right frame of mind so you wouldn’t do something stupid, like not signing those papers. You had me scared for a minute, Buddy.”
“What did she say?” Ed asked eagerly.
Mike proceeded to tell him about Al’s medication, his recent discharge and Rita’s decision to remain at Caramore.
“Quaaludes, huh. I wonder why?” Ed mused aloud.
“That’s your department, Doc. You tell me.”
“Now that Al’s home, maybe I can find out for both of us” Ed replied.
“I told Rita, that I would call him, but I got so tied up with you, that. I never did” Mike said.
“I’m going to call Angie tonight” said Ed.
Mike looked at him sternly.
“Ed, before you do, let me give you some god damn good advice, free of charge. I think we can be pretty sure, that all the pokin’ around you’ve done is what got your ass in a jam, in the first place. As matter of fact I’ve picked up little bits and pieces, while you were in the can, that convinced me that your sticking your nose in this thing with Druse, is precisely what did it. Why? I don’t know but that’s beside the point. When I went to talk about your release, one of the things that was mentioned right away, was your patient load.”
“What do you mean, my patient load?” interrupted Ed with a frown.
“Well, they said that you should confine your practice to local people and not be traveling a hundred miles to New York State, to get a new patient. That’s kinda subtle, but I’m sure you get the idea, don’t you?”
“I’ve got a couple of cops at the station, who help me out with inside information now and then. I got one of their kids into law school and the other one's mother on the top of a nursing home list. They both have treated me right, ever since.
Anyway, the story, I get from them is, next time you’re out of line, will be the last time. They also assured me that the people behind that threat, can and will make good on it.
Before you jump on the phone, maybe you should give the whole thing some more thought. I'm not telling you what to do, that's got to be up to you, but I just want you to think all this all over first.”
Ed slowly lowered his glass and folded his hands on the table, in front of him. He stared at them for several moments and then looked up and spoke.
"You know, Mike, I never told anybody, but I've known all along that Druse was the trouble. The morning after the first time I took his wife up to Caramore, I got a phone call. The guy on the other end said, ‘Druse is bad medicine, Doc. Stay out of it' and hung up. That's all he said. I didn't take it as seriously as I should have, I guess, it seemed too melodramatic, movie stuff. I kinda wrote it off as a crank call of sorts. I didn't think things would get as out of hand as they have. I never told Rita about the call, because I didn't want to upset her, and as I said, I didn't really take it seriously.
When Lucky was poisoned, I should have realized that whoever was behind this, wasn't just playing around. Then, when I wound up in jail, I couldn't tell anybody, because I felt so stupid for not paying attention, in the first place.
If I would have known that it was going to cost me the clinic, I never would have even ridden over to St. Anne's, that night with Charlie.”
He paused and swallowed hard.
"Now, it's to late, the clinic's gone. If I just turn away, I've not only lost the clinic, but I've also lost any chance of getting even with the bastards who destroyed it. On top of that, I’d desert a guy that’s gettin’ screwed, with nobody to help him. You tell me what you would do Mike’?”
“I don’t know” Mike replied, “You’ve got to make that decision.”
“I think the decision is made for me. I’ve got to make that call” Ed replied with a sigh.
Mike was troubled by that, but he knew better than to try and change his mind. The decision was rooted in emotional and moral concerns and lacked all practical considerations. Individuals driven by those kinds of forces rarely respond to logic. In that knowledge, Mike replied with an understanding, silent nod.
Although, he was fully committed to the task that awaited him, Ed felt recurring pangs of self doubt. He knew the consequences of his acts could be grave and each time he summoned the courage to go to the phone, menacing images sapped his strength. As the afternoon wore on, his courage grew, aided by greater and greater volumes of beer. By the time Mike drove him home, he felt confident in his decision and ready to begin its undertaking. Mike wondered if the resolve would be as firm when Ed awoke the next morning. He hoped not.
Ed opened his apartment door and entered unsteadily. The place smelled stale. The plants in the living room had succumbed to the two week drought and slumped fluidly over the edges of their pots. The dishes in the kitchen sink looked as if they had grown blue, white and green whiskers. He timidly cracked open the refrigerator door and was met by the foul odor of sour milk. He pushed it closed again and walked into the bedroom. Nothing looked disturbed. Everything was pretty much as he remembered leaving it the morning of the arrest.
Suddenly, his head began to spin and a queasy feeling started. Maybe it was the stuffiness or the sour stench from the kitchen. He opened the bedroom window. The next instant, he found himself scurrying towards the bathroom. It wasn’t stale air, it was the dozen glasses of beer which spontaneously surged from his convulsing stomach, just as he reached the toilet.
Twenty minutes later, he was lying, fully clothed, face up, on the bed in a deep, unconscious sleep.
The clock read six fifteen A.M. Sunlight flowed through the windows and reflected from the white bed linen in all directions, giving the room an incandescent glow Ed wasn’t sure if it was the brightness of the room or the terrible pounding in the back of his skull, that awoke him. He sat at the edge of the bed and tried to collect his thoughts. Slowly, the events of the previous day began to surface, lead by his resolution to contact Al. He wasn’t sure if the fear that overwhelmed him yesterday, had been washed away by the booze, or merely dulled by the pain of his hangover, but somehow, he no longer felt intimidated.
He got into the shower and emerged feeling better. A hot cup of black coffee would brush away the final few cobwebs. He walked to the kitchen just in time to hear a familiar thump, at the front door, as he passed it. He stopped, opened it and retrieved the morning newspaper. It was a long time since he’d seen one. Those which had been delivered during his absence had probably been claimed by the old lady down the hall. She had the habit of claiming them, even when he wasn’t absent, if he happened to be a bit late in picking it up. He had caught her a couple of times, red handed, but he chalked it up to senility and said nothing. What could he say to a ninety year old woman anyway?
Ed carried it to the kitchen table and spread it open, while the coffee began to heat. He read over the front page and moved on to the sports. He scanned an article about the Giants, looking for Charlie’s name. They won, but his name wasn’t mentioned. He read the entertainment and editorial sections.
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled the room, overpowering the lingering staleness. Ed looked up, spied the glowing indicator light on the pot and closed the paper. As he rose from the table, his eye caught