Heller and Shannon: D-Day

Professor Faith Turner, M.D. and Department Head of the Genetic Interventions unit at the University Hospital had come a long way from the slums of Ramallah where she had been born Fatima Jabar the first of fourteen children.

At the age of 11 she and her oldest brother had been smuggled into the United States by an aunt and uncle. Such things were possible in the years before 9/11/2001. They had taken her because they thought it would be easier to sneak a boy and a girl into the country than to just take her brother.

Settling in Milan, Michigan, Fatima’s life had been a living hell. She was relentlessly mocked for her very-modest discount store dresses, her accent, her thick glasses and her toad-like looks.

She changed her name to “Faith” in an attempt to fit in but it was to no avail.

Shunned, she threw herself into her studies and guided by some sympathetic teachers she excelled in school.

Things did not change at the University. She was doted on by the faculty who, for the most part, were genuinely altruistic and wanted her to have every opportunity given her humble origins. The other students didn’t want anything to do with her since she didn’t follow the latest music, fashion, movies or anything they considered important.

Faith was brilliant. She was a perfectionist, harsh, demanding and economical with her words. She scared the crap out of her single, male colleagues as she had been known to shred them in public when they said something thoughtless or stupid. Her social life was also hampered by the fact that her looks had shifted from amphibian to distinctly more reptilian.

Life changed dramatically after she came back to Michigan after her residency in Boston. She was introduced to Lon Turner shortly after she passed her boards by a professional colleague and he swept her away.

Lon Turner was a former football player who chose not to enter the NFL draft. He looked at the typical longevity and the risk of concussions and opted out. He finished his four-year degree and then pursued a Master’s in Business.

To the surprise of his professors, he studied and actually learned the material when he could have simply skated on his name and a spectacular performance in his fourth year of eligibility against the Buckeyes, the University’s arch-rival.

Lon “went into business” and seemed to have a great deal of money when he met Faith.

Faith wasn’t sure what attracted Lon to her. They had “relations” three times a year; on her birthday, their anniversary and on New Years. Other than that they lived almost totally separate lives. Their home in Simpson’s Ridge subdivision was certainly big enough to facilitate that.

Whatever the reason, Lon seemed totally devoted to her. As an up-and-coming researcher, she planned to attend four symposiums a year. Lon put his foot down. He insisted that she upgrade from the basic room at the economy hotel to a suite in the most upscale hotel within reasonable commute of the symposium. He also “suggested” that she host parties and he insisted on paying for a bartender, free booze and all-evening buffet.

In a short period of time, Faith was being invited to symposiums. The University was delighted to give her the time off. They valued the exposure. It didn’t hurt that most of the other doctors assumed the University was footing the hospitality bill. The University’s recruiting improved markedly.

So much so that the University made a point of publishing Faith's travel schedule. Not only was Faith's specialty on the bleeding-edge of medical science but she was the most sought-after expert in the field. Why wouldn't you shout that from the tree-tops?

Within four years of marrying Lon, Faith was packing her bags and attending upwards of eighteen symposiums a year. It didn’t matter if she was re-presenting material. Every symposium and convention wanted her. She was a fixture.

***

Lon was tidying up around the house. Faith had left for the airport a couple of hours earlier and Lon was expecting some guests later in the evening.

He spent several hours in the home office making adjustments to accounts. The rising prices meant that his pre-programmed deposits were not sufficient for the invoices submitted.

Like every other businessman, he was fighting pressure to raise wages. His enterprise could survive a significant amount of turn-over but there were key players whose absolute loyalty had to be maintained.

Lon was getting excited. His two guests were to stay over-night and based on the computer images they were stunningly beautiful.

Lon believed in paying well. He also believed in getting every penny’s worth out of his investments. But even at $5000 per night per girl, Lon seldom got repeat girls. He like to play rough; very, very rough. 

It didn't take a genius to figure out that losing several weeks' worth of "tricks" while the broken fingers set and the bruises faded cost them more money than the huge premium Lon was paying.

 
Lon cursed when he heard somebody insistently ringing his doorbell. Solicitors were a rare thing in Simpson Ridge. The homes were in the $10M-to-$20M range, the properties were large and heavily wooded and the driveways were long.

Popping open the appropriate window on his smartphone, Lon saw a scrawny teenager with a warm-bag emblazoned with the logo of a local pizza place. The uncouth young man once again leaned on the door-bell and held it in. He wasn’t going away.

Walking down the stairs, Lon cursed again. He thought he had told the agency that he was going to feed the girls and that they weren’t supposed to do anything stupid...like order pizza.

“Whaddya want?” Lon demanded through the screen door.

“I got pizzas for a ‘Lon Turner’” the young man said in a high, squeaky voice.

Lon weighed the option of just telling the young man to leave them on the porch but he didn’t want raccoons coming up and shitting on his porch.

“Yeah. Right. Sure” Lon said as he swung open the screen door.

Heller shot him right below his rib-cage with the TASER he was holding beneath the pizza bag  and followed through by slammed his shoulder into Turner’s solar plexus driving him back into the house. Turner toppled like a redwood tree and struck the back of his head on the tile.

Heller rode the button of the TASER all the way down. Turner was a gorilla and Heller couldn’t afford to let Turner get his feet beneath him.