Deke’s request - Chapter One
Detective Deke Quarrels didn’t recognize the corpse at first.
Deke rose at five thirty, dressed in running gear, grabbed his badge, and ran down from the hills near Zilker Park to Barton Springs Road. He made his way to the Hike and Bike Trail next to Lady Bird Lake, planning to run his usual four-mile loop. As he crossed the footbridge over Barton Creek into the park, flashing lights signaled trouble ahead.
Two patrol units and an EMS ambulance had stopped on a park road near the trail.
Deke recognized a patrol officer but couldn’t remember the guy’s name. He flashed his badge and introduced himself. A man in dirty clothes lay prone in the bushes. Two EMTs bent over the body.
“What’s going on?” said Deke. “I live nearby and know some of the homeless.”
Officer Brent Jones nodded. “Nice neighborhood. Must cost you a roll.”
“A widow rents me her garage apartment. The neighbors like having a cop around.”
“So, it’s kind of a small place, right?”
“Yep. What do we have here?”
“This guy’s dead. Fucking fentanyl. A homeless woman—apparently a friend of his—found him stone cold. Been gone a few hours.”
“Mind if I take a closer look?”
Jones gestured with his hand. “The ME guys should be here soon.”
“Hey,” Deke said to the EMTs, flashing his badge again. “Detective Deke Quarrels from Homicide. I’m out for a run.” They exchanged names.
“Whatcha got?” he said.
Ramona, about thirty with arm sleeve tats, said, “Fucking fentanyl. Male. About forty. Homeless. Dead a few hours now, needle still in his hand.”
The other tech, Peyton, said, “That’s eighteen this week.”
“No, it’s twenty,” said Ramona. “Who can keep track?”
“Damn,” said Peyton. He had a soft voice. “The sad thing is he had Narcan in his shirt pocket. These guys should never get high alone.”
“Yep,” said Ramona. “Sad.”
Deke stared at the dead man’s combat boots, and a hollow pit opened in his stomach. The man wore jeans. Ramona stood in the way of his upper body.
“Let me see his face. I’ve met some of the homeless around here.”
Deke’s shoulders sagged. Army veteran Lieutenant Joe Smalls lay dead on the ground in Zilker Park, quiet now, unlike his usual self. Not fair. Not fair at all. The recent spike in overdose deaths had the Austin PD on edge.
“Recognize him?” said Peyton.
“Uh-huh. Joe liked hanging out in the park, but he made it to a shelter most nights. He was off and on with the drugs, never could shake it completely.”
The ME van pulled up, and Deke retreated to the patrol officers. Ramona came with him.
Deke gave Brent Jones the deceased’s name for his report.
“That sucks,” said Ramona. “I hate to see a vet go that way.”
“Too many do,” said the second patrol officer, whose name Deke had forgotten.
Deke said, “He broke his leg and got addicted to the painkillers, but he had some lingering demons from Afghanistan too.”
“Jesus,” said Brent. “But for the grace of God.”
“Amen,” said Ramona.
Ramona and Brent exchanged looks, and Deke got the feeling they knew each other.
“This damn war on drugs,” said Brent. “We’ve been fighting it since before I was born, and there’s no end in sight.”
“Yeah,” said Ramona. “There’s no winning this thing. We should just legalize the shit. Sell it at CVS. Regulate it.”
“You bet,” said Brent. “Tax it too, just like alcohol. What’s the difference, anyway? One man’s poison is another man’s treasure, or whatever.”
“What do you think, Detective?” said Ramona.
Deke said, “You guys don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Haven’t you watched Dopesick? Same damn thing. All it took was a few doctors on the take to write prescriptions for Oxy. Pretty soon, all kinds of regular folks were addicted to opioids. Make it legal, and we’ll have ten times that problem.”
Ramona and Brent nodded, appropriately admonished.
“Fucking fentanyl,” said Brent.
“Fucking fentanyl,” said Ramona.
“Yeah,” said Deke.
#
Back in his neighborhood, the sky fast turning blue, Deke Quarrels paused beside a Camry parked on the street two doors down from his. He rested his hand on the hood. Ambient temperature—it had been parked there all night. Abbey Houston had spent the night at her home for seven nights running, a departure from her recent routine when she had spent four or five nights a week at her boyfriend’s place. Before meeting her boyfriend, Abbey and Deke had hooked up a dozen times after meeting at a neighborhood picnic. She had told him straight up that she was in the market for a husband—true love and great career potential were minimum acceptable conditions.
Abbey enjoyed having sex with Deke but hoped he would understand why she felt a police career didn’t measure up. Deke didn’t take offense; in fact, he agreed with her. He hadn’t pursued law enforcement for the long-term potential. Also, he had serious doubts about the existence of true love and had no interest in a long-term relationship. Nevertheless, he enjoyed having sex with her too.
Deke hadn’t been with a woman since Abbey told him—without crying—there would be no more sleepovers. Fair was fair. But he fondly recalled her naked in his bed after lovemaking. She leaned against the headboard, with long brown hair dangling lazily about her shoulders. Even a policeman could hope for a pleasant change in the routine.
That was chapter one of Book One of The Bad Fentanyl Case Series. Buy Deke’s Request on Amazon or get it free with Mickey’s newsletter.