Chapter 6

Elvis, a bus and a guy named Duke

The front seats of the cross town bus were occupied by businessmen with Blackberry’s
and cell phones, each feverishly thumbing their devices in a short hand tele-code created
by teenagers and taught to their parents. Mid-bus is where the older working women;
maids, cleaning ladies and domestic support rode. They had seen several buses this
morning in their two hour commute to low paying jobs serving the elite of New York’s
boomers.

The back of the bus always seemed full of some form of rebellious youth. One day it was
blue and red spiked hair, the next rappers with their pants around their knees, some day’s
gang bangers, but today it was just plain old thugs. They were pushing, groping, and
rubbing up against the executive assistant types that were lining the middle aisle.

“Hey, momma” one whispered in Lori’s ear as he slipped a hand between her thighs, “I
can make you a real momma any ti….AAAhhhhh!

Lori turned just in time to her the tattooed assailant reach one hand for his crotch and the
other was uncomfortably bent backwards so his hand touched the back of his head with
his thumb touching his forearm. Tears were rolling down his cheeks as his peers began to
move to aid their companion. A handsome European or perhaps Asian gentlemen in his
mid to late forties had a firm grasp on both testicles and thumb while eyeing the
associates moving toward him hands reaching for tools to cut and maim.

Lori instinctively reached for the stop cable. Maybe not instinctively, perhaps more like
a voice seemed to tell her to do it, not out loud, but in her head. Still, it seemed very real
and not her voice at all. She pulled the cord as though she had no choice but to do the
will of the voice.

The bus pulled to the curb, stopped and the gentlemen literally threw the punk into the air
and out the bus door to the curb with a resounding slap as his face hit the pavement.

“Now boys,” the gentlemen began, “there are only four of you and I would hate to hurt
you.”

At first the comment seemed laughable, but seemingly in unison, everyone on the bus
heard the same thought. That same voice Lori heard, but this time the voice said “I will
kill each one of you, slowly and painfully if you do not leave the bus now.” The voice
didn’t seem to threaten the other passengers; it was kind of like they were listening to a
conversation, except no one was talking.

The look on each of the faces was one of agreement. Yep, there was no doubt that this
handsome gentleman in a very expensive suit and hand made loafers would kill each of
these punks and never break a sweat, each of them knew it was true though no one knew
why. They just knew.
“I imagine you boys are going to get off here aren’t you,” the gentleman asked.

The tallest responded for the group. “Yeah, uh, this is our stop. But we ain’t forgetting
your face so you’d better be watching your back. Watching it all the time.”

“Remember this young man,” replied the gentleman, “I also remember your faces as well.
Do well to remember mine for you will soon see it in your nightmares.” Only Lori heard
the last comments as the other riders were smiling and clapping for the stranger on the
bus this morning.

“Please miss, would you be so kind as to take my seat and accept my apologies for the
coarseness I have displayed. I assure you, I do not make a habit of roughing up children,
even bad ones,” the gentleman waived his hand from Lori to the seat in a gesture that
compelled her to sit.

“I just, well I haven’t, by that I mean… it’s just so…” Lori was embarrassed at how
difficult it was to get the words to form in her mouth, as though someone had just stirred
her brain with a big wooden spoon and nothing was mixed correctly.

“I believe you are trying to say thank you. Which of course I would reply that ‘it is
nothing, a small act,’ and then you would say ‘oh no, it was very gallant and brave kind
sir,’ and I would say ‘why do you talk like that?’ The gentleman smiled and Lori burst
out laughing as if they were the only two people on the bus.

Finally, regaining her composure Lori extended her hand, “Hello, I’m Lori, Lori Tanner
and it is a great pleasure to meet you.”

The gentleman took her hand in both of this, “It is a pleasure to meet you Lori Tanner,
even if it is under less than optimal circumstances.”

Suddenly Lori felt as if a bolt of lightening had struck her in the forehead. Everything
flashed white for the moment and her hand felt as though it were on fire. By the time she
had regained her composure, the gentleman that had been her protector was now on the
bus’s landing preparing to exit. “It has been a pleasure Lori Tanner, but I must meet
someone this morning. I am sure we will meet again soon.”

Lori watched as he exited the bus and then entered a stretch limousine that was waiting at
the curb. She could not see clearly through the darkened windows, but it appeared that he
was the only one in the car as it slipped away in to morning traffic.

*****

The bus continued it serpentine path, devouring a group of five and later expelling three,
devouring two and expelling six. The process continued tedious stop after stop. Roy
Laws had been running this same route for the last three years, four months and nine
days. A patient man with a kind face, for the first few months everyone called him
“Roy” or “Roy L”. Soon after that Roy L sounded like “royal” and within weeks he was
“The Duke” and finally just “Duke.” Duke was kind of living his third life the way he
looked at it. Though not tall, Duke had always been a rough and tough kid looking much
older than he really was. At twelve, you would have thought Duke was seventeen. Of
course, owning your own car and driving your mother around Tupelo, Mississippi did
foster that impression. That was one of the reasons he had so many older friends. The
other was that his uncle Paul made some of the finest moonshine in the tri-state area,
clear as water and a potent as dynamite. “Good for a drunk or start a coal stove,” was
what uncle Paul used to say.

At thirteen he and his cousin double dated with a tall lanky kid that lived on the other side
of town, but could not afford a car. Roy and Sherry usually met up with Elvis and his
cousin at Elvis’s house and spent most summer evenings driving around, drinking ‘shine’
and singing on a blanket by the creek. Elvis played the guitar and Roy played harmonica.
Elvis did all the singing and it was lucky for all that Roy could not sing and play at the
same time. Roy’s sister Anna swore it would remove paint from a fence at twenty paces.
In a year, Roy would enlist swearing he was eighteen to a naval recruiter and Elvis would
go on to his musical career, swiveling hips and all. Roy often recalled to friends and
family that the jacket Elvis wore on the Ed Sullivan show for his first appearance was
made by his aunt Ruby Lee. My, he looked fine.

Roy’s good looks and rock hard body made him popular with the ladies and a target for
every drunken Army, Air Force or Marine wonder boy that had the misfortune to cross
his path with an intoxicated challenge. More than one unfortunate mother’s son came
home with a broken jaw or worse from the thundering force of his massive left hook or
his bone splitting right cross. Golden Gloves champ of the seventh fleet; he was one of
the few ‘swabbies’ the Marines counted on in a fight.

Roy and a few of those Marines were the first to hit the beaches at Okinawa, Roy driving
in the LST and manning the radio, Tommy gun in hand. He had been in the battle of
Lahti gulf and had heard the sultry tones of Tokyo Rose, faced the captains mast twice
and was discharged honorably three years later.

That was his first life; his second life began when he met Barbara Jean. His mother
Hattie said “all men are fools, but the biggest fools are the ones that think they are in
love.” Roy was and would be for the rest of his life till cancer and time took Barbra Jean
and his only son in the same cold winter.

Barbara’s father, Red, had been a horticulturalist and naturalist his whole life working for
the Rockefeller’s, Crain’s and Morgan’s at a time when the rest of the world was out of
work and suffering in the depression. He liked Roy, put him through college and made
him a partner in the landscape business. After Red died, the business fell off and Roy
moved to Detroit to pick up on the automotive jobs as the economy blossomed in the
early sixties.
So it was till 2001, when he lost his reasons for living. Roy sold all he had and moved to
Florida; leaving the despair of his loss and the disappearing industrial base of Detroit for
warm beaches and orange trees. Roy was not sure what he was been looking for, but
after a year, he decided it was not in Florida and on a whim, took the train to New York
City.

Roy lied about his age again, this time younger rather than older at 71 Roy looked no
older than fifty five and landed a job driving bus and had been here for the last six years,
as happy as he thought he would ever be, alone with his memories and a fairly mindless
job that paid well, had good benefits and did not involve any real work or decision
making. Occasionally he called on his training in his first life to subdue some unruly
bum or punk kid and, on at least one occasion, send a perverted piece of scum to settle up
with his maker. Just one of the perks of the job.

Roy, now ‘Duke’ had seen very few real surprises over the last six years. Occasionally
bumping into or being bumped by another vehicle, pedestrian or other object was all in a
days work. Now and then some freak weather, or odd mechanical malfunction, was
about all he would see. In 1993 the bombing at the World Trade center shut down bus
traffic for the day, but that was before Duke’s time on the job. Then again the attack in
2001 shut down the whole city. Again these instances were before Duke’s time on the
job. Today, though, was a different kind of day indeed.

Duke was nothing if not prompt. He kept his rolling palace on a tight schedule, to the
minute if not the second. The gentleman boarded at 6:54 AM on the dot.

“Good morning Duke, a lovely day don’t you think?” the gentleman smiled and deposited
the correct tokens

“Yeah, guess it is,” Duke replied. While everyone called him Duke, he could not recall
ever seeing this guy before, yet he seemed so familiar. Duke was a master at
remembering facts, faces and names. In the old days they called him Mr. Jeopardy and
later ‘Cliff’ after a character on a television sitcom who seemed to know everything about
everything, though seldom right. Duke on the other hand was always right. Blessed with
a photographic memory and an obsession to know, he had been a compulsive reader
covering everything from the ingredients on the loaf of bread to the Encyclopedia
Britannica.

“Duke”, the gentleman went on, “I know you are an honest man doing an honest job for
an honest wage. So it’s a damn same the Transit Authority is poking around in your file
to determine just how old you really are. You know military service records, birth
records you know, stuff like that.” The gentleman sat down on the first seat, behind the
rail. Strangely, no one was on the bus but the two of them.

“I haven’t heard anything like that,” replied Duke. “Besides why would anyone care if I
was doing my job?”
“My thoughts exactly,” replied the gentleman. “Why they would be fools to bother you.
Still, some people just can’t leave well enough alone can they?”

“I suppose,” Duke pulled the bus to the curb where there was no stop and killed the
engine. “So what’s that got to do with you mister?”

“Well Duke,” the gentleman began, “you don’t mind me calling you Duke, do you Roy?
Well, I didn’t think so,” the gentleman smiled and went on. “You see Duke, I have
friends who help me and I help them and…well Duke…I’d like you to feel like we are
friends. You know, as a friend, I can help you and make this whole issue go away.
You’d like that wouldn’t you Duke?”

“Yeah sure I’d like that, but what’s in it for you?” Duke cast a suspicious eye toward his
only passenger. “I mean I realize I ain’t getting’ this favor for free so what’s it gonna
cost me?”

“Very astute Duke, straight to the point. I like that in a friend, and indeed we will be
friends.” The gentleman rose and shook Dukes hand. It felt warm, then hot, then kind of
a bright flash of light. “I am going to put on kind of an ‘urban drama’ this morning to
impress a female. Nothing dangerous, but somewhat disruptive. As I know you are a
man of both mental and physical strength, despite your years, I would appreciate your…
shall we call it patience while the drama unfolds?”

Duke, started to say something but then he realized that the words seemed to be in his
head rather than hearing them out loud and somehow he felt he wanted to do what the
man asked. Perhaps a better way to put it was he felt compelled to do it.

“Since we are friends here Duke,” the gentleman smiled and reaching into his inside coat
pocket and removed an envelope, “I’ll make sure this little misunderstanding about your
age goes away and never comes up again. You know, friend to friend.”

The man handed Duke the envelope. It was thick with its top unsealed; Duke could see it
was full of money. “Here you go Duke, a little extra bonus for taking your valuable
time.” Duke later counted the money, and found it contained $5,000.00 in non sequential
$100 dollar bills.

“Sure mister, no skin off my nose as long as no one gets hurt, got it?”

“Of course Duke, you have my word as a gentleman.”

Duke turned, started the engine and looked up at the LED clock to determine just how far
behind schedule he was and how he was going to make up the time. Strangely, the clock
had not changed and only began to click off minutes again after the bus pulled back into
morning traffic. Duke looked up to the rearview mirror to see where the stranger and
gone to sit, but the bus was empty. He did not see him get off or return later.
Duke did see him get off the bus and jump into the limo though; and he also made a
mental note about the attractive woman whose honor he seemed to be defending. She
pulled the stop cord to get off in front of the Chrysler building. Nice legs and she
smelled good too although Duke could not figure out what the smell was. Wait, it was…
Aglia Odorata, the Chinese perfume tree. But Roy only knew of one plant that had been
imported to the U.S. by Red in the thirties, and then, it could not live above the Mason
Dixon line. Strange, but that was the smell, no doubt about it.

******

The headlines hit Lori like a line drive as she stepped from the bus. There it was on the
cover of the New York Post, Danny’s neighbor Grace standing in a blood stained robe,
weapon in one hand and cat in the other; her head a mass of curlers half of them falling
out and a cigarette dangling from her upper lip. The headline read “SHOOTOUT TWO
KILLED ONE WOUNDED.”

“OH MY GOD! It’s Grace,” Lori shouted as she pulled a newspaper down from the
stand.

“Look Lady, this ain’t no library, I gotta make a living here…”

“Shut up or you won’t need to make a living because you won’t be living”

“Chill lady. It’s just a freakn’ paper.”

Lori hastily scanned the text looking for Danny’s name but no names were listed other
than Grace. One man was killed by Grace, unlikely to be Danny, and one was tortured
and murdered. The blood drained from her face as she returned the crumpled newsprint
to the stand.

“Hey, whose gonna buy this?”

Lori felt as though she would pass out, her head was spinning and the whole world was
getting darker, it was like her peripheral vision was gradually going from grey to black.
She turned to face the Chanin Building when…there was…no, maybe not.

Now she was sure of it; her eyes became clear, mind sharp and she was white hot angry.
There was no missing those shoulders, cheap suit and balding dome on top of a giant
frame. No way, Lori had seen that shape from behind a thousand times and recognized it
as well as if he had been facing her.

“DANIEL MARKS!!! YOU SON OF A BI…” the end of her cry of anger was lost in the
sound of screeching tires as she stepped from the curb into the path of hastily stopping
yellow cab. The driver recognized the look on the woman’s face as one he had seen on
his Porto Rican wife’s face on more than one occasion and it usually meant a knife or gun
was to follow and he wanted no part of it.
The screeching tires and honking horns did nothing to dissuade Lori’s missile like path to
her target.

Normally screeching tires, screaming cabbies or even an occasional gun shot had little if
any impact on Danny’s focus particularly when he was working on a case. Maybe is was
the fear on the faces of the people around him, maybe it was his sixth sense or maybe he
could feel the pounding of each foot fall as she came closer. Whichever it was, Danny
whirled around just in time to see Lori raising her hand to give him a roundhouse punch
to the shoulder, which was just about as high as she could reach.

Instinctively Danny moved to block the punch only to find it followed by another in the
opposite direction. They were flying so fast, and doing so little damage Danny began to
feel as if he had been attacked by a swarm of hummingbirds. Of course the difference
here is that this bird didn’t hum, it cursed like a sailor and was getting worse. Between
the obscenities and the punches Danny could pick out something that sounded like she
was mad because he wasn’t dead or something like that.

Finally, for the protection of all, Danny wrapped his arms around her, picked her up off
the ground and held her tight. “Hey, it’s all right. It’s me! It’s Danny. I’m alright…I
ain’t dead. Well at least not yet, but you are sure working hard at making me that way.”

Lori continued to cuss and struggle against Danny’s grip till tears began to flow and she
fell limp in his arms. “You big bastard,” she sobbed as he placed her on a nearby bench.
“You could have been killed and then I couldn’t have told you what a jerk you are.” She
gave him one last punch for good measure.

“Hey, I’m sorry babe. If it makes ya feel better next time I’ll let them at least send me to
the hospital for a week or two. Ok?”

“No it’s not ok you big dumb ass,” Lori was wiping the tears from her eyes and
periodically thumping his over sized chest with her fist. “Damn it Danny, I thought you
were dead. And what is Grace doing on the front page of the Post in a bloody housecoat
with a machine gun? Was that your doing or not?”

“Well, I haven’t seen the papers, but there was a little trouble at the apartment…and well
maybe Grace came up to see what was going….” Danny was trying to put a good spin on
a very bad situation.

“Maybe a little trouble?” Lori was getting fired up again. “A LITTLE TROUBLE?
YOU CALL A SHOOT OUT AND TWO DEAD BODIES A LITTLE TROUBLE?!!
CUSTER HAD A LITTLE TROUBLE, GETTYSBURG WAS A LITTLE TROUBLE”

“OK, ok, you’re right, it was a lot of trouble; but I’m ok, see?” Danny held open his coat.
Unfortunately the wood fragments they pull out of his chest on the scene had continued
to bleed partially due to the odd shapes they left and partially because Danny had moved
around enough to pull the bandages loose.

“Look at you, you’re bleeding” Lori was pointing at his chest, “and you’re bleeding on
the only good shirt you own, you big jerk. How is Mr. Lee going to get that blood out of
there? Don’t you think of anybody but yourself?” Lori was blotting her tears on Danny’s
coat sleeve. “And while I am thinking about it, don’t you at least carry a clean
handkerchief?”

Danny reached in his pocket and removed a small white handkerchief with ‘LT’
embroidered on the face and lace around the edges. “Yes I do,” he said and handed it to
her. “I’ve kept this one with me for the last two years. Since the last time you told me I
needed to carry a hankie.”

“Good,” she replied with a fake curt tone to her voice, “at least I taught you something.
So just what did happen? Did you get shot? How is Grace? What about Shu?”

“Hey slow down a minute, it’s all good but you need to give me time to answer,” Danny
was holding her hand to his chest. “See, I’m fine just some scratches from wood
splinters, no holes. Shu is fine; he wasn’t even there till it was over. And Grace, well
Grace is Grace and she got grazed saving my ass. I owe her big time; more than just a
new housecoat and a box of shells.”

Lori wiped her eyes and handed the hankie back to Danny. “So what did happen then?”

“Honestly, hon I’m not really sure. A guy was waiting for me in the apartment with
obvious intentions of arranging a meeting between me and God. The other guy in the
apartment was a kind of informant that got iced before I got there. Most of the shooting
was Grace and the hired gun. I spent my time dodging bullets, hoping Grace didn’t kill
me and calculating up what the damage was gonna be.”

“Damage? You mean the loss of something valuable in your apartment? What could that
be other than the refrigerator or that piece of trash chair you so loved?

Danny hung his head.

“Oh, my God Danny, I am so sorry. You mean they got your chair?” Lori was smiling
and about to burst our laughing.

“Hey, I just had it broke in.” Danny stood and looked down at her. “Besides, there was
nothing wrong with my chair. Who are you to tell…?”

“Whoa, hang on there big guy, just a joke ok?” Lori stood and put her hands on his
shoulders. “I know you loved that chair, but there will be others, you’re still young.”
She was starting to smile again and then she could no longer hold it back. Lori broke into
a spell of laughter that brought tears to her eyes, pain to her stomach, smiles to passer bys
and a stern look of irritation to Danny, forced to endure this shameless display of mock
concern.

“Hey, that’s enough now,” Danny scolded, “besides, like Al says, were am I going to find
another genuine Nauga that they can get the hide off of for another chair. Shu says they
are extinct.”

Lori felt as if her sides were going to explode. “You big dummy, Naugahide is just
another name for cheap plastic. There’s no such thing as a Nauga…ha…ha…you’re
killing me.”

‘That rotten low life Shu, wait till I get my hands on him’ thought Danny as he gritted his
teeth in a fake smile pretending to see the humor in all of this. “Of course I knew that, it
was just a joke.”

Lori regained her composure and realized she would soon be late to her first day at work.
“Sorry Danny, glad to know you are ok, but I need to get to work. Can you call me
later?”

“Sure I can call,” Danny replied, “hey, wait, I thought you worked down at that big
stockbroker place. You know the one for retired crooks and government employees.”

“Yeah, for once I think you are right about them. Didn’t you hear, they went under last
month and were purchased by some Japanese and Arab conglomerate? Anyway, I’m
working here now.” Lori turned to pick up her purse.

“Where’s here?” Danny queried as he looked back across the street at the Chrysler
Building.

“Right here in front of you, the Chanin building, fifty-fourth floor. Supposed to have a
super view. See you.” With that she gave Danny a quick kiss on the cheek and dashed to
the entrance leaving Danny looking like a dog staring at a new water dish.

Danny paused and looked upward trying to determine which floor was the fifty-fourth.
“Obviously somewhere nears the top,” Danny mumbled to himself as he leaned back,
tourist like, straining at the vertical gain all around.

“Hey mister, you ok?” Danny turned slightly to his left to see a slight spectacled man,
accounting type, pointing at his chest. Danny followed the imaginary line from the end
of the pointing finger to the center of his formerly white shirt to see it was now fully
crimson.

“Cut myself shaving. You know how rough those pink Lady Slipper razors can be on a
man’s chest. Not to worry though I got a waxing scheduled for next week so I’ll look
good for the boys at the club.” With that, Danny winked at the bystander, spun on his
heal and headed the other direction.
Too much public attention was not good for a detective, especially one investigating a
high profile double barrel screw up like this one. Danny decided it was about time he
checked in somewhere, got some rest and some clean clothes.

Had Danny actually been able to see the fifty-fourth floor, perhaps he would have seen
the single shadowed figure that was now looking down at the hustle of activity below.

Gerry Sandalius, whose first name was really Gerwulf after his grandfather, felt his skin
tingle and the reddish brown hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end as he gazed at the
morning activities some five hundred feet below. Unlike Danny, Gerry’s eyesight was
exceedingly keen, but not as keen as his sense of self preservation and right now his
senses were telling him that danger was near. He drew back from the window and
pondered the situation pacing the length of the darkened office.

As he walked Gerry considered both the scope of the danger in how it might affect his
plans as well as the threat it posed to him personally, perhaps exposing who he was or
more importantly what he was. He stopped for a moment and stared into a large glass
enclosure containing the battle dress of a third century Chinese warlord. “Old friend,” he
spoke as he placed his hand gently on the glass face, “it has been a long time since we
fought together. Yet soon, very soon you and I shall again see the glory of our fathers
and our fathers who were before them. We shall bask in the eternal light of true
immortality, forever.”