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

free fall. He closed his eyes and braced himself as best he could for the impending impact with the water.
He struck a hard, unyielding surface but the rush of pain was mild, compared to that which he had anticipated. As he lay there, stunned, he found, to his surprise, that he wasn’t dead or even seriously injured. The ice cold water he expected wasn’t there either.
He cautiously opened his eyes, fearful of what he might see. The drug was beginning to lift and he saw a green and white car, catapulted up against the guard rail which had a gaping hole torn in it, several hundred feet beyond. The wheels of the vehicle were spinning at high speed and just touching the pavement, with the full weight of the car resting on the railing. Billows of smoke issued from the tires and a loud, unceasing squeal shook the air. The door was sprung open and a motionless body was on the roadway several yards away.
Ed struggled to his feet and stumbled to the prone form. He never really got a good look at the men who abducted him but he was sure that this wasn’t one of them. He was too thin. They were both much larger.
He looked up. There was no sign of the black car anywhere. Then, he spied his car, standing in the road about thirty feet away. He staggered to it. The motor was still running. He reached in through the open window and shut it off.
He noticed the hole in the railing once again and made his way towards it. As he approached the edge of the bridge, he saw heavy, black skid marks leading to the opening.
He stood unsteadily and peered down. Far below, a torrent of raging water swept rapidly down stream and he began to realize what had happened.
By now several cars had stopped and the drivers were attempting to revive the man in the street. The wail of sirens echoed faintly in the distance and dim flashing, red lights could be seen moving on the highway leading to the bridge.
Within minutes, two police cars, an ambulance and a wrecker had arrived. The other man was loaded into the ambulance. The “on the spot” diagnosis of his condition was minor abrasions, lacerations and acute intoxication. Evidently, he had lost control of his car and swerved sharply at the sight of the two cars parked in the roadway, missing the first and striking the second broad side. Upon impact, the black car was driven through the railing and plunged into the river below. The fate of its driver and his companion were unknown. The search for the vehicle and its occupants would begin in the morning, according to the cops. It was now two A.M. and little would be accomplished until then, they reasoned.
Ed was now seated in the back of one of the cop cars. He was pretty well recuperated from his stupor and he decided it would be best to avoid the interrogation that would result from telling the truth. He remembered his last encounter with the police, Mercer, Holler and company. He was sure silence would be best.
He played the part of a passer by who was the first one at the scene and described what he believed had happened. His explanation must have been satisfactory and apparently agreed with those of the other passing motorists, because after a brief statement, he was released.
As he returned to his car, he had the feeling of divine intervention acting in his behalf. How else could this miracle of his fortuitous rescue be explained?
He started the engine and drove away, basking in the light of special favor he felt surrounding him.
He headed back towards Newark, resolved to be more careful and convinced that his mission was now sanctified by the higher power. He drove down the darkened streets and began to feel fatigued from the trauma of the day’s events. He’d go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Tomorrow he’d plan his next move.
He sat at a stop light, waiting for it to signal him onward. His eyes began to close and his head started to fall forward towards the steering wheel.
At that moment a powerful arm thrust about his neck from the rear seat and pulled him sharply back with its choking grip. The suddenness of the attack sent a surge of adrenalin through his body that instantaneously wrenched him from his drowsiness. He flailed about violently attempting to break the vise like strangle hold. He felt himself being pulled over the seat to the rear of the car. He gasped, helplessly for breath but within seconds the dim street lights began to fade and he fell into limp unconsciousness.

Chapter XII

Mike hadn’t heard from him for almost two days now. That was strange. The last time he was with him was at Big Harold’s and Ed said he would call as soon as he was settled. Two days were certainly enough time to get settled when you’re carrying only two suitcases thought Mike.
He hadn’t talked to Rita in a couple of days either. The last time he spoke to her she had told him about Larry. From what she had said, he felt that at least now she had some protection and he was a bit less apprehensive about her than Ed.
Mike wasn’t known for his patience. He was the action type. He had to do something, even if he knew it would accomplish little. The very act of doing it made him feel better. He wanted to always feel that things were under his control even if they weren’t. He realized that often his actions were in vain but instincts die hard and frequently he found himself tilting at windmills, in spite of these realizations. It was a nervous habit, one he swore many times that he would break.
Ed and Mike were similar in that respect. Maybe that’s why they got along. Both had the belief that somehow they could control fate, change the future by their own efforts and make things right. Ed, however, was often consumed intellectually and emotionally by the idea and never willingly submitted to defeat. Mike, on the other hand, recognized the foolishness of some of his efforts and at times, begrudgingly relinquished the struggle to the hands of the Almighty.
Ed was totally committed in every challenge he accepted and allowed little or nothing to dissuade him if he felt the cause to be just. He had done most everything of consequence in his life with the same zeal, immersing himself, every moral and mortal fiber in the task.
His work at the clinic augmented his tendency to complete commitment. Many times he spent fifteen or twenty, hours straight caring for those who couldn’t reward him with even a dime. It was the sense of doing that which was right, that he accepted gladly as payment.
Rita had once described him as “moral druggie.”
He was addicted to the feeling of doing what he felt to be morally just. The addiction grew within him and he fed it daily with his experiences at the clinic. By this time injustice had become a threat to his psychic strength. He began to view himself as a preserver of man’s concern for his fellow man. He accepted every opportunity to drive a stake through the heart of inequity with uncompromising fervor. Mike knew Ed’s mentality well. He shared it too, but a lesser extent, but still enough to understand. He had seen it grow in Ed even more uncontrollably over the Druse incident, starting from a tiny seed of concern and becoming an overpowering force, pushing Ed blindly, towards an elusive and possibly fatal resolution. It was for that very reason that he feared so greatly for Ed’s safety. Too many times those exact same emotions had led him to unsuspected misery. Luckily, he had learned by those mistakes before serious harm had come to him. He wasn’t sure Ed could do the same. He knew that Ed was emotionally entangled beyond escape at this point and clearly he couldn’t save him from himself, but he felt an obligation to try.
It was long enough now. For the past days, he’d tried to control himself but he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d call Angie.
She was the only one who might know what had happened to Ed. As he dialed the number he hoped that his fears were unfounded and it was strictly an oversight on Ed’s part. He was fully aware of the danger to which Ed had subjected himself and he candidly expected the worst.
“Angie, this is Mike Mitchell, Ed Bennett’s friend. I spoke to you once before when Ed had those problems a couple of weeks ago” he began.
“Oh yes, I remember” she replied.
“Have you seen him lately?” Mike asked.
“I saw him yesterday. He was here.”
“Was that the last time?”
“Yes”
“Did he say where he was staying or what he was going to do next?, questioned Mike.
She paused for a moment trying to recall the conversation of the previous day.
“He did say he wanted to see a friend of Al’s named Pete but he didn’t say anything about where he was living.”
“Pete who?”
“Pete Jerace. He wanted to talk to him about some pictures I showed him when he was here. He was a friend of Al’s who worked with him at the stadium” Angie answered.
“What about the pictures?”
“Doctor Bennett thought it was funny that some of them were real dark. That’s all he said. I didn’t understand why that bothered him so much, but it did. I gave him Pete’s number but he hasn’t called there yet.”
“How do you know he hasn’t?” asked Mike.
“Well, I called Rose, Pete’s wife, this morning to see if he had and to find out what happened. I was curious about why he was so concerned about the pictures, too. He didn’t call yet. It’s just as well that he didn’t though. Pete’s not home anyway. He’s sick, like Al was. He’s up at Caramore. They didn’t come to Al’s funeral and I wondered about that. Now I guess I know why” she added.
“Rose, she’s all upset especially since she found out that Al just died. She’s been so busy with Pete, like I was with Al, that she only found out yesterday in an old newspaper. What could I say to her?” said Angie in a quivering voice.
Then she stopped for a minute to regain her composure.
“I wanted to tell Doctor Bennett what happened.
She’s not home that much, now that Pete’s up at the hospital and maybe he’s tried to call her and not been able to reach her. I wanted to tell him. I don’t know his number so I couldn’t call. Maybe you can tell him for me” she continued.
“How long has Pete been at Caramore? Did she say?.”
“One week, she said.”
“Did she tell you anything else?”
“Everything sounds like what happened to Al.
Even the room he’s in is almost the same one Al was in. It’s right next door, 311. Al was in 309.”
“Give me Pete’s number” asked Mike.
After a minute or so, she read the number to him along with Pete’s address.
“If anything else comes up or you hear from Ed call me” said Mike.
He recited his phone number to Angie as the conversation ended with more