The Man Who Cheated Death

Chapter 16 D.B.

The yard of the state mental hospital was surrounded by a chain link fence topped with six foot cyclone barbed wire. In recent months, picnic tables and benches had been added, giving the Visitors area a homey feel. Inhaling deeply on a cigarette, D.B. felt the smoke tickle his lungs, and glanced fondly at Eugene Osbourne.

“It’s good to see you again, Eugene,” D.B. said. “Thank you for remembering my cigarettes. I hope you brought an extra carton for the staff.”

Eugene, who had not forgotten how things worked behind bars, nodded that he had.

“I see from the newspapers that you’ve been busy,” D.B. said. “Any problems with the police?”

“The usual.” Eugene eyed a pair of nearby guards.

“Is that why you chose such a creative disguise to wear today? I must say, the uniform becomes you.”

Eugene bristled at the remark. It was not easy changing his appearance, and he’d found that wearing a uniform usually did the trick. Today he wore a green sanitation worker’s outfit which he’d bought for two dollars at a yard sale.

“Don’t make fun of my uniform,” he said. “If I get caught, and someone remembers me coming here, it will be over for you.”

“It is over for me,” D.B. replied without a hint of self-pity. “It has been for a long time.”

“You know what I mean.”

D.B. fondly patted his arm. “I appreciate the concern. I have some good news for you. My doctor has convinced her superiors to grant me phone privileges. Soon you and I will be able to talk courtesy of AT&T. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Eugene visibly relaxed. Visiting D.B. inside the hospital had always dredged up painful memories of his own incarceration.

“That is good news,” he admitted.

“I thought you’d be happy. Now, tell me why you’re here.”

“The LAPD is using a magician named Hardare to try to catch me. Hardare keeps giving the police clues, and even showed the police what I look like. I’ve got to stop him.”

“I saw the sketch in today’s paper,” D.B. said, crushing out the cigarette and pocketing the stub. “Not a very good likeness.”

“It’s close enough,” Eugene said.

D.B. glanced at his protégé out of the corner of his eye. Eugene was staring at the ground, his mouth working silently up and down. He looked like a scared rabbit, and not the crazed killer who’d terrorized Los Angeles for the past four years.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to pull up stakes and move on,” D.B. suggested. “All good things must come to a pass. I read in the paper last week how six hundred people are moving into Florida every day. It sounds like fertile ground.”

“I’m not running away,” Eugene said adamantly. “I want to stop Hardare, and I want you to help me.”

“But he’s working with the police, Eugene. I’d advise you to lay low for a while. The police will move onto other things. Time is always on a killer’s side.”

Eugene angrily kicked at the ground. “Will you help me, or not?”

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Patience was never one of your strong suits. Yes, I’ll help you, but be forewarned: The end result may not be to your liking.”

“I don’t care. I want Hardare.”

Eugene’s mind was made up. Why try to change it? D.B. smiled.

“Then you shall have him,” he said.

They stopped at a picnic table and sat so they faced each other. The yard had filled with visitors, many of whom had brought picnics. At a nearby table, a pregnant young Hispanic girl had burst into tears while the male inmate she was visiting stared absently into the sky, oblivious to her suffering.

“Doesn’t she understand that he can’t feel what she feels,” D.B. wondered aloud, puzzled by the outburst. “How could she have let him impregnate her, and not realize that?”

His words hung in the air like a philosopher’s musings.

“Ah, well. Let’s talk about your problem, shall we?”

Eugene nodded enthusiastically. The savage look had returned to his face, his inner demons bubbling to the surface.

“Does this Hardare fellow have a family?”

“A wife and teenage daughter.”

“Splendid. I would suggest you focus on them. Do you know what hotel they’re staying in?”

“It’s in Beverly Hills. Last night, I followed them from the theater where Hardare is performing. A pair of detectives were in the lobby, so I ran.”

“You ran away?”

“Yes. I didn’t want them to see me.”

D.B. slapped his hand against the picnic table. His face, which he pampered with facial cream and religiously shaved twice each day, broke into a hundred tiny wrinkles, betraying both his true age and his anger. “Only the weak run away, Eugene. You went to Hardare’s hotel with a plan in mind, yes?”

“Yes. I even wrote it out, like you taught me.”

“Splendid. Go back and execute your plan. Do it right now. That’s my advice.”

“But —”

“He who hesitates is lost.” D.B. rose from the table, and in a loud voice said, “Nice to see you again,” and walked away.