Rx Conspiracy Files

The ‘Big Easy’

 “Brrring! Brrring! Brrr!”

“McTrite and Powers Investigative Services, Deloris Powers speaking.”

“Good morning Mrs. Powers, my name is Mister Carl Carter. I’m CEO of Miracle Pharmaceutical Inc. Is Mister McTrite in?”

Very important Man. “No, Mister Carter. He’s attending the Wimbledon tournament. He’ll be away for at least two more weeks. I’m Mister McTrite’s Partner. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve received a life threatening letter from an anonymous sender. The message is coarse --”

“Profane?”

“Yes, graphic. The sender accuses my company of causing the death of a loved-one. He’s given me only a few days to live. I’m certain this lunatic’s serious. He’s not the first person; however, past threats weren’t as intimidating. I’m having problems sleeping nights.”

“You said he?”

“I really don’t know if it’s a man or woman. Of course, the letter wasn’t signed.”

“Is the letter hand written?”

“No, computer generated.”

“Have you called the police?”

“Absolutely not! I want this matter kept strictly confidential. Lately, my company has received more than its share of negative publicity. FDA has made us take two of our best selling prescription drugs off the shelves. The Board of Director’s are asking some embarrassing questions.”

Life is tough at the top “My appointment book has no one scheduled at one pm today.”

“I have a meeting then, but I’ll have it rescheduled.”

Yes, I’m the boss and don’t forget it. “Can you meet me at my office at one?”

“Your office is on Canal, right?”

“Yes. I’ll see you at one today. Bring the letter and we’ll go from there.”

 Canal Street Office Later

 CEO Carl Carter arrived ten minutes late. Deloris was livid, but the thoughts of earning a substantial fee soothed her hot temperament. It’s all about money you know.

He entered Deloris’s office. She eyed Carter for first impressions. He’s a prig: make that prick. So what. One would expect as much. Oh! My! He’s a tall, dark, handsome son-of-a-gun and his proportions are imposing. I guess he’s six-foot five. My, those fullback shoulders and tight end buttocks. But his skin’s so fair it rivals the alabaster eggs in my fridge. He must be allergic to the sun, but I’ll bet he’s a Black Label man.

He swaggered towards her desk his eyes filled with Deloris’s ample feminine wealth clothed in the latest mode. He held a soft letter holder in his huge right hand.

Deloris had birthed two boys and two girls but regular exercise at her spa and healthy diet worked its magic. She was still a knockout. Encouragement and coaching from Hackney got her into tennis. In fact she often teamed with him for mixed doubles tournaments around New Orleans. She was destined to live to a ripe old age. “Good afternoon Mister Carter. Please have a seat.” She pointed at the chair near her desk.

“Thank you Mrs. Powers. It is Mrs.?” he inquired and popped his blue eyes. His rich baritone voice impressed.

“Yes, Mister Carter.”

After shifting his weight, he unzipped the letter holder and brought out one sheet of paper. He hesitated. Frowning anger contorted his face. “Today I received a phone threat. The voice was muffled however I believe it was an older man. My secretary checked the number and found nothing.”

“What did this caller want?”

“Money. A considerable amount: Two-hundred thousand to be precise.”

“Hmmm! You’re becoming quite popular.”

“Really,” he replied frowning.

“His reason?”

“He said our product Dioxx killed his loved one. He’s given me twenty-four hours to come up with the money. He screamed if I didn’t come through he’d kill me and laughed hysterically. He said he would call back tomorrow and state where the money should be delivered. Then he hung up. Oh! Here’s a copy of the first threat. It’s a hand written copy. Mail at Miracle is handled special because of passed threats. Fortunately, the others haven’t been nearly as menacing as this one. We want to protect fingerprints.”

“That’s smart, Sir,” said Deloris, accepting the letter.

She read. You rotten bastards sit high and mighty in your ivory tower making decision that adds to the fucking bottom line while patients die from your poison. My love-one was a victim of your shit Dioxx. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do to get even but you can bet I’ll come up with something --

“Mister Carter I thought you said this person gave you one day to live?”

“Read on Mrs. Powers.”

“Right.”

“All you Pharmaceutical Companies are greedy assholes. PS: I could strike at anytime: maybe within the next twenty-four hours. Sweat you bastard.

“Mister Carter I suggest you take a long vacation. Drive out of town under the cover of darkness and tell no one where you’re going. When you settle again contact me.”

“That’s a little inconvenient Mrs. Powers.”

“Well, it’s your life?”

“Your point is well taken. A fortnight in Acapulco would be refreshing.”

“There you go. Tell no one. Are you married, Sir. No. My wife died recently. Ironically, she took Dioxx. Money well spent.”

Heartless remark. “The drug is very expensive. Why does it cost so much?”

“Research, advertisement, clinical trials, free samples to doctors and doctor perks, etc. The chemicals are dirt-cheap.” Passing the letter holder, he cautioned, “Be careful handling the letter and envelope.”

“Yes, of course. I’m going to take it to an expert.  Where was the letter post marked?”

“New Orleans. What’s your action plan Mrs. Powers?”

“I have to give that some thought. The letter and envelope will need to be dusted for fingerprints. I’ll need the name and telephone number of your secretary. You need to tell her about our relationship, but don’t tell her where you’re going. She’s to contact me if any more threats are received.”

“Right.”

“I might have to hire an additional P. I. At least on a part time basis.”

“Do what’s necessary.”

“I’ll tell you my plans when you contact me. And I’ll get your input.”

“I’ll give it some thought. Mrs. Powers, Mister McTrite must be pushing eighty?”

“Yes. I’ll wager he’ll live to be one hundred. He doesn’t come to the office very often now, but his son comes. He’s decided to become a P. I. when his tennis career ends. You know Hackney’s his coach. Actually, he coaches both son and daughter.”

“Their ranking?”

“His son is ranked number ten in the world. The daughter is number five.”

“That’s decent. You know I play a little tennis myself. Terrific game, but I prefer golf. I shoot in the nineties. If it gets any hotter than that I camp in the nineteenth hole.” He chuckled. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Yes, I play a little golf myself. I usually break ninety -- clubs that is.”

“Your cliché tops mine. We’ve stolen from Bob Hope.”

“Yes we have.”

“I’m eager to hear your plan.”

“Of course. Mister Carter I usually get fifteen hundred dollars up front. My rates are one hundred and fifty dollars an hour and expenses.”

“No problem. My secretary will mail you a check today.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Goodbye Mrs. Powers.”

He rose, turned and strutted away.

Deloris’s last thought, he’s an arrogant aristocrat but he comes financially endowed. I can handle it. “Mister Carter get out of town tonight.”

He waved without looking back. His worried soul felt little relief.

 Frenchy’s - A Bourbon Street Dive

His was a sunburned face covered with bushy, silver whiskers. Long, stringy salt and pepper hair mindful of Willie Nelson covered conspicuous floppy ears. Tight, black leather garments hugged his rawboned frame. That lugubrious facial expression sent harsh messages. “M F-ing sonofabitches murdered my sweet Mama Pearl,” spewed through clinched teeth. He scratched below and tossed down his third boilermaker. He’d been on this binge for days: ever since his common law wife died of a massive stroke. He rapped his empty shot glass on the bar and snorted, “The bastards haven’t heard the last of me.”

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