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 walk the planet. I’m certain this lunatic’s serious. He’s not the first person; however, past threats were not 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 eating healthy 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 bright 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 aloud. “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 excellent. 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 sipping mint juleps.” 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.”

Gracie the busty barmaid ambled up emoting like a penniless prostitute. Spite of her raw sex appeal her physical being was frumpy.

His blue-green eyes sparkled. He offered a loopy grin.

“If you start answering yourself Rocky, I’m calling the men in white jackets. You having another, Maaan?” She blinked her dark, mysterious eyes.

“Hell yes, Sweetie! I’m drowning my sorrow. I miss my passionflower Pearl. Hell, I’m hornier than a ranch hand after a thirty-day roundup, and I’m not thinking about sheep.” Gracie looked at him cross-eyed and chuckled.

“Down Big Boy. Damn! Maaan! You smell like my favorite four-letter word.”

“Shit.” He chuckled gutturally.

“Right on. Maaan. You need to take a shower real bad."

“You gonna wash my back Honey Child?"

“There you go again Lover. Forget it. Hey, Babe, you riding your Harley?”

“Naw! Sweetheart! I always wear black leather.”

“Toppling on a cycle could skin you alive.”

“No sermons Grace. Just serve the booze and continue looking trashy. I really don’t give a crap anymore now that my sweet Pearl departed this crappy world. I warned her ‘bout those stupid pills Quack Gene Rowell prescribed.”

While pouring him a generous shot, she asked, “What was the name of the medicine?”

“Dioxx, I think.” He searched pockets. Finally he pushed two bucks towards Gracie.

“Tipping isn’t a city in China Old Buddy?”

“I still owe Mortician Bill Jones for cremating my Pearl. He won’t give me her ashes till I pay him not that I care a hell-of-a-lot. I’ll catch you later. I’m expecting some big change soon.”

“Hey! I saw on TV that there’s a class action suit being organized by a firm of New York pettifoggers. They promise some big bucks for family of patients who took Dioxx and died of a heart attacks or strokes.”

“Too slow. I know a better way to get even, and that’s all I’m going to say. Besides the greedy lawyer pockets most of the loot. Hey!  You got a steady man Gracie?”

“Are you kidding? And I ain’t looking for one.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah! Like more heartaches.”

“I can dig it -- been there.”

“Quench that torch Babe. You’ll find another sack mate. You ain’t no Dick Clark, but you ain’t half bad for your age.”

“You know I’ll be sixty in a few days. I’ll never find anyone half-as-pretty and sexy as Pearl. She was twenty years younger than me. She had lazy-legs.”

Her gaze became quizzical. “Lazy-legs?”

“I mean she couldn’t walk by a bed without falling into it. And she always found a way to get my lizard erect.”

“Lizard?”

“You know, tally-whacker.”

“Ever try Viagra?”

“Naw! That stuffs for guys much older than I am. Anyway, I knew a senior type who took a prescription drug for erection dysfunction and experienced permanent blindness. An erection isn’t worth risking blindness. Half the excitement comes from the porno movies.”

“If you say so. Hey, I got to blow.”

“Could I make a suggestion?”

“Now you’re getting obnoxious.”

“Come on get out of here.”

“The hot little number at the end of the bar is one thirsty bitch. She’s about to wave her hand off. Incidentally, she can be had if the price is right.”

“I never buy the cow. Milk’s too cheap.”

“Cliché, but true, especially for studs like you.”

She winked and sashayed towards the hot mama.

 The ‘Big Easy’

 Beverly Jenkins’s eyes were plastered all over owner George Shaw. He’d played tight end for the Saints. But a leg injury ended his career, and he’d bought George’s Pub to pass the time and pick up broads. Sauntering up, he asked with a wink, “You having another one, Baby?” He’d exaggerated the noun baby.

“Reckon so, George. You’re a good-looking hunk. Shame you have a wife.”

“Well, she’s married I’m not.” He chuckled. “What did you have in mind?”

She shrugged her shoulders and batted her eyes.

Beverly had been allergic to work her entire life. Well, she’d stripped down on Bourbon Street ‘til Robert Davis started keeping her: you don’t raise a sweat taking off your clothes. But even that got to be too much for her. Fortunately, God endowed her with a voluptuous body and nymphomania.

“You know my sugar-daddy upped and croaked ten days ago. The bastard didn’t leave me a dime. Soon after his kids came and kicked me out of the house. I had to move in with an acquaintance who’s a lesbian.”

“We do what we have to do. Hey, he looked healthy the last time he came in. What went wrong?”

“He died of a massive heart attack. Actually, it happened seconds after his orgasm, which I thought would never come.”

“You were having sex?”

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

“Bobby was having trouble keeping his Willie erect. Fortunately, I was on top or I’d had a hell-of-a-time getting him off of me.”

“Yeah! He’d put on weight lately. Had he been sick?”

“He suffered with arthritis.”

“What’d he take for the pain?”

“Dioxx.”

“That shit’s been blamed for increasing risk for strokes and heart attacks.”

“Really! How well I know. And I’m mad enough to eat a fat turd on a stick.” She chuckled, but thought the image was disgusting. “One minute you bask in luxury and the next you’re begging. I sent CEO Carl Carter of Miracle Pharmaceutical Inc an unsigned letter. I told him what I thought of the friggin’ pharmaceutical industry. And I suggested he was a murderer.”

“Yeah. As much so had he taken a gun and shot him in the head at close range. Give me a second while I fix your drink. That was a Cosmopolitan right?”

“Right!”

George poured two ounces of Absolute Citron, one ounce of Cointreau, one ounce of fresh limejuice and a splash of cranberry juice and started shaking it.

“Hey handsome I like the way you shake it.” He ignored her but smiled. He strained the mix into a chilled Martini glass and reached for a slice of lime.

“Make it a cherry George.” She added a saucy wink.

Setting the drink in front of her, he smiled coquettishly. “This one’s on the house.”

“No strings attached?”

“There’s always strings attached.”

“Thanks George. I’m looking for another sugar daddy. Pass the word will ya, Sport.”

 Washington, D.C.

 Handsome Bruce Jordan sat at the dining table tears welled in his eyes. He’d aged ten years in the last four months after loosing his job. Daughter Sue and oldest son Jack were at school. Nine-year-old Pete, spit and image of his father sat in his wheelchair eating a hamburger Dad had fixed. Teaching him at home saved money. Cerebral Palsy had been diagnosed two years earlier.

“What’s the matter Dad?”

“Nothing Pete.”

“Come-on Dad. You have tears in your eyes.”

“I had an dreadful thought. We might have to put Dolly down.” Dolly, their four-year-old dachshund had developed hip problems. Twice weekly their Vet treated her with cortisone.

“No! Dad! No! How could you say that? We love Dolly. Gosh! I rather you put me down.”

His conscious kicked in. “Sorry son, but we’re having troubles making ends meet.”

“I know. Maybe the Cerebral Palsy Foundation would help pay for my medicines and stuff.”

“Maybe, but that’s charity. I’ve never begged in my life.”

“I’ll talk to Mom. She won’t have a problem with it.”

“I’m sorry I told you. And I’m ashamed of myself.”

Seconds later his eyes had dried. Through stiffened lips came, “I’m going looking for a night job when Mom gets home.”

“You aren’t considering killing Dolly then.”

“No!” I may kill a pharmaceutical CEO, but not Dolly.

“I didn’t really believe you, Dad. You love Dolly too much.”

He had no intentions of getting a night job. His mind had conjured up a better way to raise some quick cash, and he needed a cover-up to keep it from the world and family. He remembered the moment CEO Carl Carter looked at him his eyes devoid of compassion and said, “Bruce, you’re fired. You disobeyed orders. You have fifteen minutes to collect your personals and leave the building.”

Dad lobbied for the pharmaceutical industry. Miracle Pharmaceutical, Inc. sacked him because he’d answered plaintiffs’ lawyer’s questions honestly in a class action suit that alleged Miracle used deceptive advertisement to lure patient to buy their over-priced medicine Dioxx. And they’d purposely neglected telling potential customers the increased risk of strokes and heart attacks.

Now, thirty-five, he’d lobbied Congress since earning a degree in political science from Yale University. It’s the only occupation he knew. His chance of finding another lobbying job was a mission impossible. Getting a job paying one-hundred-K his annual salary at the time of his dismissal impossible. Bills were stacking up. So, Mom found work.

But Mom’s thirty-k salary was insufficient to pay all the bills. Of course the mortgage payment came first, then food, leaving no money for car payments and they were close to having both cars repossessed. Their savings were gone. They now considered filing for Chapter 7 bankruptcy, which would save the house and one car. Such vicissitudes would stress anyone to the breaking point.

From an embittered mind came, “I was subpoenaed to testify and I merely told the truth. They may not have scruples but I do. They owe me, damn it, they owe big. And they’re gonna pay.”

 Natural Springs, Florida

 "Roger!”

“Roger!”

Her cry was a feeble, pitiful plea in the night.

“Roger!”

“Damn it, Mary’s in trouble. I’ve been expecting this. That crappy medicine Doc Rowell prescribed has been causing heart attacks. I should have researched it on the NET: so stupid of me not to. Doctors buy the sale pitch the Pharmaceutical salesman spiels. Why not, prescription drugs bring the patient to the office and the coffers full.

“Roger!”

“Coming Mary.”

I rolled over hit the floor and raced to Mary's room. Falling over a misplaced chair I kicked it, swore loudly and continued. Trembling, I groped for the light switch. I found Mary sprawled on the floor. Pepper and Princess our Affenpinschers whined from the foot of the bed. They were Mary’s world.

“Calm down man.”

“Finally, thank -- God” Agony laced her voice.

“Sorry Mary.”

She gasped. Her breaths came short and shallow.

I knelt beside her. I caressed her cool, clammy hands. Her eyes had an empty gaze. “Mary don’t leave us. We need you. We love you.” Tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Call -- 911. She stopped to catch her breath. I -- think -- I’m dying.”

“Mary. Mary.” I leaned down and kissed her lips.

“Roger -- I -- love -- you --” 

Natural Springs, Florida – Later

 Lonely and broken hearted I paced the floor in the Florida room of my comfortable home. Three months earlier I’d buried Mary my soul mate of forty-five years. Grief had taken its toll. My mind had soured with medical facts surrounding her death. I now felt certain that Dioxx prescribed by Doctor Gene Rowell caused her massive heart attack. Thoughts came. I’ll search the WEB to make sure I’m right before initiating my revenge. The entire ordeal has embittered me and getting-back at the rotten bastards who caused Mary’s death dominates my existence. My sorrow has literally turned to hate. I now loathed the greedy, unscrupulous medical and pharmaceutical professionals. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with murder.

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