Assisted

By Harris Tobias

Being a homicide detective was all Ben Marcus knew. When an ambush left Chu, his partner, dead and him paralyzed it seemed like the end of the line. Years of guilt, depression and slow deterioration followed until Ben’s wife Maddy died and could no longer care for him. Thrust into an assisted living facility, Ben expected to live out his remaining days playing bingo and watching old movies but that’s not what happened. Little by little Ben and Chu were drawn into the world of the living. Suddenly there were crimes to solve and wrongs to right and Ben and Chu were alive again. This is a story of renewal and discovery combined with some gritty detective work. Come a join Ben, Chu and the residents of Sunset Village on their final adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harris Tobias
• Release date: Nov 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466153240

Harris Tobias

Harris Tobias lives and writes in Charlottesville, Virginia. He is the author of The Greer Agency , A Felony of Birds and dozens of short stories. His fiction has appeared in Ray Gun Revival, Dunesteef Audio Magazine, Literal Translations, FriedFiction, Down In The Dirt, Eclectic Flash, E Fiction and dozens of other publications. His poetry has appeared in Vox Poetica, The poem Factory and The Poetry Super Highway. You can find links to his novels at: http://harristobias-fiction.blogspot.com/

Book preview

ASSISTED

Retired doesn’t mean dead

by

Harris Tobias

copyright 2011 by Harris Tobias

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

INTRODUCTION

Being a homicide detective was all Ben Marcus knew. When an ambush left Chu, his partner, dead and him paralyzed it seemed like the end of the line. Years of guilt, depression and slow deterioration followed until Ben’s wife Maddy died and could no longer care for him. Thrust into an assisted living facility, Ben expected to live out his remaining days playing bingo and watching old movies but that’s not what happened. Little by little Ben and Chu were drawn into the world of the living. Suddenly there were crimes to solve and wrongs to right and Ben and Chu were alive again. This is a story of renewal and discovery combined with some gritty detective work. Come a join Ben, Chu and the residents of Sunset Village on their final adventure.

Assisted--1

We here at Sunset Village like to think of ourselves as facilitators, referees as it were for the end game, Mr. Wainwright was showing Nathan and Susan, Ben’s children, around the Village’s big common room. A huge carpeted lobby filled with upholstered chairs and sofas. Ben sat in his wheel chair pretending not to listen. This was just a formality. The decision had already been made that this was going to be Ben’s new home. It was the best of the assisted care facilities in a hundred mile radius. It was centrally located for the kids to come now and then. The tour was to help orient the new customer and reassure the family that he would be well taken care of.

Don’t worry about your father being bored; we’ll find plenty to keep him busy. We have a regular activity schedule and a full time activity coordinator. Dick Wainwright pointed to a hand lettered white board on an easel listing the day’s activities. There was something going on for almost every waking hour. Have you met Kerry yet? Nathan and Susan shook their heads. Wainwright didn’t miss a beat and called over a pretty, perky twenty something. This is Kerry Collins, our director of activities, she’ll see to it that Ben here is fully occupied. Wainwright patted Ben on the shoulder as he said this. Ben felt like biting his hand.

What does your dad like to do? Kerry asked Susan.

Dad likes to read, Susan said. Mysteries mostly. He used to be a homicide detective you know, before the accident I mean.

Well that’s just great, said Kerry cheerily.

Excuse me, said Nathan who usually let Susan do the talking. What’s great? That he lost the use of his legs or that the stroke has addled his brain?

Oh no, Kerry sputtered. I meant that every second Thursday of the month we have mystery night. We watch movies and talk about mystery novels. Once in a while a theater group comes in and acts out a little who done it. I’ll bet your father would love that. Wouldn’t you Ben? Kerry knelt down and addressed Ben in that annoying way young people have when speaking to the elderly.

Ben made a raspberry noise.

The tour continued. Wainwright ushered them into the lovely dining room and introduced them to Armando Parma. Armando is our dining room manager and head nutritionist. Any complaints about the food go right to Mr. Parma. Wainwright flashed his capped tooth smile. Just kidding, we pride ourselves on our wonderful cuisine.

Does your father have any special dietary requirements? Armando asked.

No, Dad eats everything. A lifetime of street food has given him a cast iron stomach." This wasn’t quite true. Ben had been chewing antacids for years to keep his indigestion under control.

Would you like to see the kitchen, Wainwright asked.

No, that’s okay, said Nathan looking at his watch.

Armando Parma shook hands all around and excused himself. To Ben he said, I hope we’ll be seeing you around Mister...er?

Ben, croaked Ben, Just call me Ben.

Ben stared at Parma’s bald head and muscular build. An image flashed into his head―a bald head, a pool of blood. At first Ben thought he was having another of his mental lapses or mini strokes that had been plaguing him of late. But it was a legitimate memory from fifteen years ago, a dead bald man broken on the sidewalk. Only then that bald head had fallen from a tenth floor window. The body lay on its side in a puddle of blood and broken glass. Ben and Chu were the detectives on call. They were nearby and got there before the crime scene techs. The two uniformed cops who were first on the scene were doing their best to keep the curious crowd away from what was most likely a crime scene.

What have we here? said Chu moving around to look in the dead man’s face. I think we know this guy. The dead guy was dressed in a white t-shirt and boxer shorts. He was splattered on the sidewalk in front of the Regal Hotel, a seedy residence hotel in Chicago’s tenderloin. Looks like Joe Clemente, Chu said. You remember him Ben? Used to do muscle for the Duke.

The Duke was a mid level pimp and gang boss. A small part of the intricate web of crime and gangs that kept Ben and Chu in business. Jumped or pushed? Ben asked kicking at the broken glass with his toe.

Too soon to tell. Chu put on rubber gloves and patted down the body although it was obvious the man had nothing on him. Two more cop cars pulled up and secured the scene. Ben and Chu went inside the hotel and began their investigation.

Well then, follow me and I’ll show you our aqua fitness spa. Wainwright walked the trio down a carpeted hallway toward the pool. He was in full salesman mode now extolling the virtues of Sunset Village over any of its rivals. A small bird like woman pushing a walker stopped him in mid speech.

Something’s missing, she said looking into his sunny salesman’s face. It’s missing.

What’s missing Mrs. Domeleski? Wainwright answered looking around for an attendant clearly annoyed by the interruption.

Something’s missing, Mrs. Domeleski repeated locking one of her bird like claws on Wainwright’s sleeve. He shook it off and said Well we should look for it then shouldn’t we. He was clearly uncomfortable and embarrassed by the situation. He was saved from any further dealings with the old woman by the appearance of Justine, a staff aide. There you are Mrs. D, Justine said. She walked the old woman away asking what’s missing?

Wainwright gave them a sheepish smile and muttered something about Alzheimer’s. Sometimes all you can do is listen.

The aqua fitness spa turned out to be a tiny indoor pool and a bubbly little hot tub barely big enough for four adults. A couple of younger and fitter residents were doing water aerobics. Wainwright called over a young man and introduced him. This is Peter Tulane our aerobics instructor. The young man looked like a teenager. He wore a bathing suit and a gray undershirt that said lifeguard on it. He had a whistle around his neck. The pool was only 30 inches deep so Pete probably didn’t need too many life saving skills.

Sorry to barge in on your class, said Wainwright without conviction, but these nice folks are considering our humble facility.

Great, Jimmy exclaimed.

The swim trunks and the undershirt were strong reminders of the Regal Hotel and, for a brief instant, Ben could see the skinny Hispanic kid standing there like he’d just been awakened from a sound sleep. Minutes before, The Regal’s desk clerk, a wizened old raisin of a black man, handed them the key to room 1006 without them even asking. Guy’s name is Clemente, Joseph Clemente. He’s been living here for eight months. Pays on time. No problems. Thing like this. It don’t look good for the hotel. People jumping out windows―terrible. The clerk shook his head. Ben got the names in his note