Page 45 of A Handsome Devil

It was standing room only as I introduced Jack Hoffman to my brothers and sister. I felt embraced by the Bent Zealots, as though I’d worked with them for years, and I trusted them with my life.

Maybe Hunt was right. I was already a gay biker.

After clapping everyone on the shoulder, Jack Hoffman stepped back a few inches. He spread his fingers wide as though framing his own face. “You guys have given me the perfect idea.” He seemed to be addressing Hunt and Thymus. “Let’s take a trip to Pine Valley.”

No one knew what Jack’s plan was, but we were all in agreement with it.

# # #

“I’m right in front of Pine Valley Senior Living.” Jack spoke with authority into his mic. He posed directly before the center’s sign as Gunning recorded him on his phone. Stretching out an arm off-camera, Jack pulled Hunt into the scene. As an admirable musician himself, Hunt stood tall, confidently displaying his patches, long arms dangling.

Jack continued, “I’m here with a couple of investors in this memory care home. Dr. Huntington Mountjoy and Dr. Thymus Moog”—he pulled Thymus, still looking pissed he couldn’t kill anyone, into the frame—“dumped a ton of money into this facility, only to find out they’re killing the patients with underground fentanyl and tranq. A powerful sedative approved only for animals.”

Thymus grabbed Jack’s wrist to bring the mic to his face. “What fresh hell is this? Murdering the elderly stricken with Alzheimer’s? How many of their children thought they’d died of old age when they were actually annihilated with illegal drugs?”

Jack Hoffman wrestled his mic back. “As you can see, this story is about to explode. These two doctors are understandably enraged to discover how their investments have been put to use. Dr. Mountjoy, how did you become aware of these nefarious doings at Pine Valley?”

Hunt said, “Well, we noticed a large percentage of rooms being cleaned out, dead citizens. When we confronted Mr. Pleasant Bridgewater—not a doctor, by the way—who runs this place, he became extremely nervous and kicked us out.”

“Us too,” said Truman from the corner of his mouth.

We were watching from a safe place across the street under a fig tree. Viewing the livestream on our phone, it was surreal to see the actual scene playing out before us. I wore shades and a black leather cap of Hunt’s in a half-assed undercover attempt, but Tru went au natural. I guess we were giving less shits about being found out. Or being within the protective arms of the Bent Zealots made us feel more secure.

As more and more visitors gathered round to listen to Jack, he said, “Which brings me to this.” He strode in front of the disgruntled Dr. Moog, spreading his arm to introduce a Pine Valley patient.

“That’s my uncle,” said Truman.

Jack said, “Pickett Yarborough has been living in this hellhole for three years, being doused and drugged with the illegal cheap stuff while the care facility pockets the Medicare money for actual medication. Pickett, show them the bottle from your room.”

Apparently all riled up by the attention, the poor guy who resembled Santa Claus gripped a pill bottle and snarled, “This is speed!” His bare arm showed signs of blackened, tunneling, peeling necrosis, another side effect of fentanyl.

Jack chuckled uneasily. “Well no, Pickett, it’s not really speed. It’s fentanyl laced with tranq, which causes extreme sleepiness.”

“Sedation!” growled Pickett.

Jack put a calming hand on Pickett’s shoulder. “This is what’s making you dizzy and giving you headaches.”

Pickett shook his head, forlorn. “I don’t like headaches.”

“Right. And there are other meds, which Medicare pays for, that can help with memory problems without those awful side effects.”

“Medicare for all!” Pickett bawled.

While Hunt and Thymus escorted Pickett out of the frame, Jack stepped forward with authority. “There you have it. Pine Valley under the authority of one Pleasant Bridgewater has been committing fraud, health code violations right and left, and recklessly endangering the lives of our elders with his drugs.”

A woman sidestepped up to Jack Hoffman. “This is damned horrifying, but what can we do about it?”

“Well, this podcast is the first step. Get the word out. Do you have a relative here?”

“Yes!” shrieked the gal, fisting her hands. “My dad’s here!”

“Well, get him out immediately,” said Jack.

Truman leaned into me. “Denmark and Erin are in Pickett’s room right now, putting his stuff into our car.”

I lowered the phone to my side and stared Truman directly in the eyes. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go help.”

The flash of joy over his sculpted face lit up my heart. “Yeah, why not? I’m his nephew.”