God’S Little Deputies

By James Beeson

There are people who feel morally obligated to interfere in the lives of others whose deportment they find to be wanting. Charitably, they are called do-gooders. They are also referred to as Gods little deputies. This book visits the issue.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543426809

James Beeson

Dr. Beeson was born in 1926, the son of an Indiana farmer. He skipped the 12th. grade, was accepted in to the Navy College Training Program, and sent to Notre Dame University. He graduated from Indiana Medical School at 22. He is a board certified anesthesiologist who practiced his profession for 42 years in Jacksonville, FL. He was a caregiver for his beloved wife for six years. He married his late wife's best friend (widow). who was, is and ever will be beloved. He has five children, several stepchildren, grandchildren, step grandchildren, and a growing number of "greats" whom he loves with all his heart. He is chronically happy. How could he be otherwise?

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The front door to his office featured an opaque large glass segment that displayed in bold gold lettering: Max Crater – Private Investigator.

The o in his investigator was from a different can of paint and didn’t quite match when the painter was told it was not spelled investigater. Perfect being the enemy of good, Max let it go.

A few years before, his generally tranquil practice had been cruelly interrupted when he suddenly found himself in a potentially lethal territory and conflict with the Russian mafia (or its equivalent).

These Russian interlopers had metastasized from New York City and had started business with two houses of prostitution. The next step would be the recreational drug trade.

Nora Ortega was the queen mother of the recreational drug activities in North Florida. When she discerned the Russians’ intentions, she felt compelled to respond.

Jaque LeBeau was a Haitian national who had enough genetic upgrades to be of a species other than Homo sapiens. One of his unique traits was his prescient ability. He had visions, for want of a better word, which were predictive of the future, if that’s not a bit redundant. They were not immutable as his not uncommon interventions demonstrated.

In the past, he had proven to be invaluable to the Ortegas in diverse ways, helping to preserve the status quo. Drug dealers from Miami and Las Vegas had attempted in the past to infiltrate North Florida but were thwarted in dramatic fashion by his responses. It appeared it was New York’s turn.

What’s our problem, dear lady? Jaque asked Nora.

You’re the prescient one, you tell me.

I see more Russians with more aggressive intentions.

Yes. That’s why I need your services again.

CHAPTER TWO

Thank you for coming, Jaque.

"For you, mon ami, I walk through zee hell without hesitation."

I think we’re a little short of hell, but these returning Russians do pose a threat to our enterprises.

I knew this.

Of course, you did. Are your… skills intact?

Even enhanced, I should say.

What happened to the French accent?

I swing both ways now.

Splendid! These Russians plan to replace us, not compete with us. They will be violent.

Well then, we must needs be more violent. Max Crater, is he still in good grace?

Oh yes. He visits his son frequently.

And he still is a PI?

Yes. He would help us if we needed him.

We will need him.

I see no solution other than lethal. They make few bargains and do not keep those they enter in to. Negotiations would be futile, she said.

Do you know how many are in town now?

Eight is our best guess.

I suspected the same number.

Should you call Max or should I? His life is in danger, she said.

I will call him. It would be nice to see him once more. After all, he did save my life.

And you, his.

We are more than even. We have a bond, the two of us. He may be my brother from another mother.

Have you been in contact with him over the past three years?

No, but I know him to be happy and content—and he thrives on a challenge.

Well, we have a dandy this time.

CHAPTER THREE

There’s one of our city councilmen out front to see you. He had made an appointment, but he’s not noted for keeping his word, Max’s secretary said.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I’ll spare you the details, but I have a friend who knows all about the city council’s goings-on. She says he’s got a lot of detractors. Tell you later.

Mr. Crater will see you now, sir.

Are you free to date, ma’am?

You’ll have to take that up with my husband, Max.

Ouch! No disrespect intended.

Introductions: I’m Bruce Duplis. Please call me Bruce.

What can we do for you, Bruce?

I think someone wants to kill me, and I don’t want to die just yet.

How do you know of this threat?

I have received two computer-generated messages that leave no doubt about it.

Whom do you suspect?

Wry smile: I have almost as many enemies as friends, but I don’t know which one made the notes.

He took out two pieces of regular-sized paper and laid them on Max’s desk.

Read ’em—this one first.

My undear Mr. Duplis, master of duplicity: Thou shalt not commit adultery. The wages of sin is death. There was no signature.

What about the adultery business?

Well, I have had a dalliance here and there over the years.

There would be no fingerprints, and the paper was commonplace.

That got my attention. Read the second one, please.

Mr. Duplis, do get your ‘affairs’ in order—both the business and infidelity kinds.

The second one came yesterday, dated two days ago.

Regular mail?

He nodded.

Did you save the envelopes?

Brightly: Here’s the second one. I threw the first one out.

As expected, the envelope was of the common sort, and there would be no fingerprints there either.

It’s apparent he or she wants to promote maximum anxiety in you. You mentioned ‘enemies.’ Would you elaborate?

He pondered and looked at the ceiling. I suppose Roger Murray would be a candidate. He’s on the council too. I have done a number of services for the community, which he perceived as a disservice to him.

Such as?

He’s got a lot of potholes in his district. I had a lot of them too. Most of mine were repaired before they got to his. A lady drove through one of his potholes, sustaining a serious head injury. She was driving too fast! he defensively said.

Serious?

Well, she died. He ranted and raved, saying it was all my fault, even with the lady’s blood alcohol level twice the maximum allowed by law.

Didn’t her husband sue the city?

Yes. The judge threw it out on the first pass. Said if she hadn’t been drunk and speeding, it wouldn’t have happened.

Did the husband ever communicate with you?

Hey, you’re smart! I like that. Yes, he did, parroting the councilman’s accusations.

Verbally or in writing?

Computer generated.

Did you keep it?

Sheepish, he replied, No.

Who else?

I’ve had transient relationships with two married women. I believe their husbands were aware of them.

Any more love notes?

He smiled. No, just a couple of go-to-hell phone calls.

Are you married?

Yes, but we’re separated.

What did she think about your affairs?

Upset enough to leave me.

What a sleaze! Max thought.

So who’s next?

Well, there’s Milton Manson—no relation to Charles. We jointly owned a company, and I bought him out.

So?

Six months later, I sold the company to a conglomerate for five times what I had paid him and became independently wealthy. He’d asked to be bought out.

And he didn’t know about this but you did?

Defensive, he said, I knew it was possible, but nothing concrete had happened on it at the time.

Others?

He pondered. Hmmm… there were several zoning variances a man sought. I cast the deciding vote against him. Cost him a bundle.

His name?

Wilbur West.

Oh yes—it made the papers. Something about fast-food franchises, wasn’t it?

That’s the guy.

Any hate mail from him?

Damn! There was. A letter that said he’d get even with me.

I suppose you didn’t save the letter.

No, I didn’t.

So there are the two affairs, complete with husbands, a fellow councilman, a former partner, and the franchise man. Who else?

That’s all that comes to mind.

How is your will structured?

Shocked, he said, What’s that got to do with it?

We don’t know, do we?

It’s all in trusts with no huge initial payout. My wife is still in it. My thirty-year-old son is currently unemployed, and he would get a living sum annually until he’s fifty.

He’s an underachiever?

Afraid so.

Married?

No. He has a live-in girlfriend who smokes pot all the time.

How do you know that?

Caught her doing it—him too, of course.

Any other heirs?

My daughter. She’s two years younger than the boy. She has a sometime job, but her husband drinks too much, can’t hold a steady job, and is currently in custody.

Some real winners, Max thought.

Give me all the names and addresses when you can.

I have most of them on my new iPhone.

Please give them to my secretary when you leave, and get the missing ones to me as soon as possible.

Why didn’t you go to the police with this?

Police only clean up after the fact. They don’t do squat about this kind of thing.

Some suggestions: Vary your patterns every day, both in time and directions. Get a Kevlar vest and wear it. Be sure your home security system is up-to-date and working well. Would you like to know about my fee?

Whatever it takes. I can see you’re an honorable man. I have a check for ten thousand dollars, which I’ll give to your secretary. She told me she was your wife. She cut my flirtation off in midair.

Yeah, she’s that way.

After Bruce left the room, Max thought about the case. He didn’t quite like the man, but the case intrigued him. He always thrived on challenges. Where to start?

CHAPTER FOUR

How many we send to Jacksonville this time? Dimitri asked.

We not say ‘this time.’ We do not talk about that time, Galachof responded.

Okay. How many go Jacksonville—period?

Better. Eight, I think. No local talent this time.

Aha! You say ‘this time’ too!

You corrupted me. That funny!

They both laughed—sort of.

They be there tomorrow. Drug lady, big target. Plan big attack—nobody left to retaliate.

Good plan. I need say ‘last time’ again.

Okay.

Last time, we be sitting gooses. Get beat on home court—that basketball term. We strike first now!

Sitting ducks, not gooses.

Our two missing still missing?

Da. Cop kill stupid third man. Fourth come back with tail between legs.

Tail?

American words—dog lose fight, tail not up.

That dumb.

Maybe so. We smarter now.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Russian had been simmering for three years since he retreated back to NYC after his three companions had been killed. They had never heard of two of the bodies being found, but the missing two would have communicated if they were still alive. Though not his fault, he had lost esteem over the failure.

Back to Jacksonville, I hear, he said.

Da. This time, we ones who take no prisoners! Galochof said.

Don’t believe we take any last time. We do better this time.

I have hate for of them!

Who ‘them’?

Drug lady, private policeman, and damned Haitian.

Eez ‘private investigator,’ not cop. I damn Haitian too!

CHAPTER SIX

The old house off Roosevelt Boulevard that the Russians had converted to a house of ill fame had not been rented or sold in the three-year interval since their departure. There wasn’t much of a market for mausoleums. Oddly enough, the Russians had honored their lease on the place after their abrupt departure, so when they were planning to resurface, they contacted the owner, who was only too glad to rent to them again. Money is the same color whatever its origin.

Two of the Russians came down initially to make the place habitable.

Buy whatever we need, but don’t spend too much. They were admonished.

At week’s end, they had brought in eight beds, seven for the rooms upstairs and one for the basement. The stove, fridge, and washing machine were already in place, ready for guests.

In moving a dilapidated old dresser, they discovered a large black spot on the floor.

Eez blood. This where my friend cut off finger of whore—try get information she not have.

Why he stop at one?

Don’t know. He stupid—got self killed. How two enemies dispose five bodies? Not know.

Thought only two bodies.

We hire dumb thugs. They disappear too. More of us this time and smarter too!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Max decided to start with the fellow councilman. When he called the man’s office requesting a meeting, Roger’s secretary asked him what it was about.

It’s about Mr. Bruce Duplis.

Over the intercom: Show him in!

Thank you for seeing me, sir. I won’t take much of your time.

You say this pertains to that Duplis bastard? Pardon my French.

He has received a death threat, and he listed you as one of his detractors.

Did he now? I’m honored to be included in a growing list of ‘detractors,’ as you put it. You’re not a cop, are you?

No, sir. I’m afraid the police wouldn’t show much interest in the threat. At least that was Mr. Duplis’s position.

Well, well! Old Bruce must have had quite a shock to invoke you. I’ve heard of you before, Mr. Crater—all good things.

Thank you. Do you have any idea who might have it in for him, enough to want to kill him?

I hate his guts, but I’m a wealthy, established businessman. He royally screwed me once, but I wouldn’t jeopardize what I have just to end his wretched life.

The ‘screw job’ you mentioned had to do with his buying you out and later selling the whole company for a substantial profit, right?

That’s it. I was almost mad enough back then to kill him. I’ve… mellowed out since then.

The threatening note was computer generated. My friend on the police force has told me that they now have the capability of often matching the paper to the utilized printer.

I have several printers in my business. Would you like samples from them?

No. I don’t have the technology to do the tests, and since there’s been no crime yet, the police would have no reason to intrude on you.

The good things I’ve heard about you made me decide to use your services—when and if needed.

Thanks. I like you too. I hope you’re not the author. I don’t think you are, and it may all be an empty threat. And maybe not!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Good news, Dimitri. That mole we had in Ortega business still there. I contact him. He willing to help us for price.

Good! You sure he not be double agent?

We find out, we kill him now or later after help. My thought.

Ortega property on road called ‘Mandarin.’ Why Chinese name? Well fortified, but I think eight of us in surprise attack kill most everybody.

Our six comrades arrive today. We meet at house tonight—finalize plan, sleep on it. Maybe little vodka along way.

I drink to that!

CHAPTER NINE

Boris Ivanof was the nominal head of the Russian incursion into Jacksonville. He was the most educated and erudite member of the group. His charge was to kill Max Crater and that Haitian man, if he could be found.

The corollary to that was to destroy the Ortega organization with as many executions as necessary.

Simple formula. The police would be late to the table in the plan. Though the sheriff and his headman in homicide were unbribeable, there was one underling in the 911 enclave who was living beyond his means and could misdirect police calls. The plan was to directly assault the Ortega house rapidly and be gone before the delayed police would be there. At the last minute, they were ordered to employ a number of thugs, as they were called, to better assure success.

The day after the