Lazarus Dot (chapter 7): A Felix Hoenniker medical murder mystery

I limped out of the Emergency Room. A Kermit-the-frog-colored Volkswagen Camper Van was idling by the curb. It looked to be late ‘60s vintage. The rusty tailpipe blew little puffs of black smoke, which smelled like cancer. The passenger window was open. I leaned in and said, “Whoa! Where’d you score the groovy wheels?”

“I… I borrowed it,” D.D. said. In the morning light, her face looked even more gruesome. The gash in her lip had cracked open and blood trickled around the crusty scab. “Alexei Fyodorovich… well, he won’t be needing it.” She smirked and then pain flipped her lips into a grimace. “Not for a while at least.”

“Alex Whatever-ovich?” I asked. “Is that your bitey friend?”

She nodded, then looked down at the felt covered steering wheel (the same color as the fat man’s fedora). She was hiding something.

“D.D.,” I said, all the humor in my voice melted away. “Was he the one who redecorated your face?”

She laughed. A jaded laugh. It reminded me of her mother. “Don’t make me laugh.” She blotted her bleeding lip with a Kleenex. “Laughing hurts too much.”

“Then tell me,” I said, cranking the earnestness up a decibel. “Who the hell did this to you? I can help.”

“Get in, Mister Knight-in-shining-armor,” D.D. said. “You can buy me breakfast, a milkshake is about all I can handle, and I’ll fill you in.”

A short while later we sat across from each other in my usual booth at the Golden Dove. Like D.D.’s battered face, the morning sun brought out the worst in the greasy dive. The waitress set down D.D’s strawberry milkshake and slid a plate over to me: piled high with corned beef hash and, of course, a side of bacon. “Thanks, Katya,” I said. She refilled my steaming mug and disappeared. 

I finished telling D.D. about my visit to the Emergency Room: “... and the tetanus shot wasn’t too bad. But the rabies shot was a bitch. And Jim tells me I’m going to need another three. After all, who can say where your friend Alex’s mouth has been?”

D.D. nodded, “I know Alexei Fyodorovich seems a little unhinged.”

“A little?” I said.

“But I guess you’d have to be, you know, a little out there, to believe the off-the-wall stuff he believes.” She sipped her milkshake. “I mean, a kind of demon called a Preta managing a bar and grill in Rutherford.”

She waited a beat, expecting me to laugh it off. 

I didn’t.

She continued, “You saw that old book he had, right?”

“I saw a drawing of the tattoo.” My voice drifted somewhere faraway. “It’s the same one Addie has.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Mom’s always been a little weird--”

“A little?” I said.

“I always thought it was mad scientist stuff. And kind of dope. But a few years ago, she really went off the deep end. But the book explains it all. And Alexei Fyodorovich is in with a bunch of guys who, I don’t know, battle these demons, or some shit like that.” She sucked the straw. There were slurping noises. I ordered her another milkshake. “So these Pretas, well they, I don’t know, their spirits can go hunting, like ghosts that float on bad smells.”

“That explains Rutherford,” I said. “Right next to the Meadowlands.”

“Yeah, Jersey, right? Where else can you find swamps like that? Yeah, so this Preta, his spirit floats on the swamp gas, or whatever, and he can, you know, possess someone. Hijack their minds. Not everyone. Just some people. And then he stamps his brand on them.”

“Wow!” I said. “The Preta made Addie do it. I knew it. That’s why she made those awful drugs.” I slammed my fist on the table. “I just knew it. Well, the good news is, according to Jim, there don’t seem to be any more kids with Lazarus Dot overdoses pouring into the ER.”

“Yeah,” D.D. said. “The supply has run dry.” She sounded almost sad. 

“Wait. What? How do you know--”

“You said you wanted to find my mother,” D.D. interrupted. “Why’s that? It’s not some crazy jilted ex-lover stalkery thing, is it?”

I blushed. “Does she get a lot of that?”

“You have no idea.”

“The only reason I’m looking for Addie,” I lied, “is to put a stop to the drugs.” By the way D.D. eyed me, I knew I was lying badly. “She said she wasn’t going to do that kind of stuff any more.” I added wistfully, “She said she was moving to the west coast.” 

“Sure. The drugs. The infernal drugs,” she said. “And all those poor young, hopelessly addicted souls wasting away. Or, even worse, swept away by the grim reaper forever and ever. Into the fathomless abyss.” 

I dropped my fork. How could someone so young have a voice dripping with such cynicism?

“So, now the drugs have stopped flowing.” D.D. sipped her milkshake. “You’ve got no more reason to find Mom.” The one eye, which wasn’t swollen shut, twinkled mischievously. “You can just get on with your life.”

“Yeah, get on with my life.” I bit a chunk off bacon and chewed pensively. “Yeah, forget about Addie.” I shoveled the last bit of hash into my mouth. “On the other hand, if she’s tangled up with some Preta…”

“Mister Knight-in-shining-armor.”

“Doctor Knight-in-shining-armor,” I corrected. 

“Either way, you may be just what I’ve been looking for. Just what Mom needs. Alexei Fyodorovich’s book explained how to block Preta from controlling Mom’s mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Mom’s wearing a silver necklace. As long as it’s touching her skin, Preta can control her. What I need you to do is grab it.”

“Grab Addie’s necklace?”

“It’ll be a piece of cake. Just yank it off her neck. It’s a thin little nothing.”

“You want me to steal your mother’s necklace?” Something swirled in my brain. I remembered the silver necklace (as delicate as gossamer) and the way it twinkled against her buttery skin. When I’d first met Addie in Prague, she’d told me about some voice in her head. Yeah. That’s right. The only way to silence the voice was the necklace. “Wait a minute,” I said to D.D.. “Didn’t you make that necklace with your own hands? Wasn’t wearing the necklace for—”

“You asked me who slapped me around,” She interrupted. Her voice was suddenly icy. “I didn’t know for sure until Alexei Fyodorovich read from the book. He told me that the guy who did this,” she gestured at her bruised and battered face, “was one of Preta’s minions. ‘Doing his bidding,’ he said, or some shit like that. Preta’s not letting Mom go without a fight. He won’t let me anywhere within a hundred yards of her. But they don’t know who you are. You can get close to her and… Look, if you’re scared, I get it.” 

I wasn’t smart enough to be scared.

Her grin said she knew she had me. She dabbed the blood, which ran from her lip to her chin. “I know where Mom’s going to be on Saturday night.”

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Bullet to Brain is the prequel to Lazarus Dot, Azazel’s Public House is the prequel to Bullet and The Mind Unlocked is a non fiction to fine tune your brain and elevate your mind.

The previous chapter to Lazarus can be found here