Vivian and the Virus

Well, things were going pretty smooth for me at the beginning of 2020. I made it through the Christmas shoplifting season without being hit with a purse full of stolen bras, panties, and assorted expensive perfume. That's what happened the year before. The bras and panties weren't hard at all. The perfume was packaged in fucking glass bottles and they felt like rocks.

It took half a fifth...excuse me.... half a 750 milliliter bottle of Glenfiddich and half a pack of cigarettes before my head stopped hurting. I've never figured out why the fuck they changed from fifths to 750 milliliter bottles except to make me pay the same for 7 milliliters less scotch.

I don't like working store security, but during the Christmas season, people don't normally need a PI, and it pays the bills. Sometimes it's kind of fun to see people stealing when they don't think anybody is watching. Usually, it's boring as hell. The women are all wearing coats or heavy sweaters so you can't see how big their tits are and those coats and heavy sweaters make their asses look huge. I like wide asses on a woman, but not as wide as they look then.

Anyway, New Year's Eve rolled around and I was looking forward to another year of finding lost people and cheating spouses, and catching people claiming they'd been injured at work to the point they couldn't do much of anything while they secretly fucked their girlfriends and/or boyfriends.

Wouldn't you know some goddamned asshole in China was cooking up a big mess of stir-fried bats and ended up infecting the whole fucking world with a virus? That was the first theory proposed by the experts. There were others that followed. I don't think any of the experts know their asses from a hole in the ground about what really happened. It doesn't really matter anyway. The result was along about the end of March most governors and mayors went into panic mode and shut down everything not considered to be "essential". They said we had to "flatten the curve" so the hospitals weren't overrun with sick people.

I never read that PI's weren't considered to be essential in Tennessee, but I never read they were either. Since they couldn't decide, I decided for them. I decided I was pretty goddamned essential to me so I'd keep working. The problem was most people in the whole fucking state were staying home and hiring a PI was the furthest thing from their mind.

Nobody got lost because they were all at home. No spouse could cheat because they were home with their wife or husband and had no excuse to slip out for a little poke the peach on the sly. There was no way an employee could claim he or she was injured at work because they were either not working or were working from home.

Thank God they considered liquor stores and tobacco stores to be essential. The day Tennessee shut down, I bought four bottles of Glenfiddich and four cartons of cigarettes just in case there was a run on them. That was after I tried to buy toilet paper, but every place I checked was sold out. I hadn't read that the virus causes you to have the shits, but apparently a lot of housewives thought it might and considered toilet paper to be right up there at the top of their priority list. They bought as much as they could cram into a shopping buggy and then went back for a second load.

Being the logical guy that I am in spite of what my ex will tell you, I figured paper towels would work in a pinch. They were sold out too. It was the same with paper napkins, my third choice.

April didn't start out too bad actually. I stayed home, nursed my supply of scotch and cigarettes and toilet paper, and watched movies on TV. At the end of week two, I was down to one bottle of scotch so I went to the liquor store and bought three more. It's a good thing I don't drink vodka because they were out of that. The guy said people were buying vodka to make hand sanitizer.

I was also out of frozen pizza, so I stopped by Walmart for some more. Shopping was pretty easy because there weren't many people in the store. There was still no toilet paper or paper towels or napkins. I was going to have to ration my toilet paper a little tighter. I picked up two cartons of cigarettes while I was out.

Week three started to get boring. I was on the second re-run of several movies and what the networks called "marathons" where they played a series of old TV shows over and over. I tried the news a couple of times, but all they said was if I didn't stay home, I'd catch the virus and die. That was pretty depressing and caused me to drink more scotch than my daily ration, so I stopped looking at the news.

By the last week of April, I was going nuts. I'd stopped watching movies and old TV shows and was looking at amateur porn on my computer. Even that was a letdown. You'd think people being at home with nothing to do would result in a slew of pictures of women showing their tits and pussies or couples having an afternoon plug and chug, but it didn't.

Finally at the end of April, Tennessee said enough is enough and started to open back up. Well, bars and restaurants couldn't open, but I never go to those anyway. It was enough for me that people could get out of the house, fuck their fuckbuddies, and get lost. I might get some work and I needed it. My checking account was starting to screech for me to stop and I didn't want to tap into my savings.

For the next week, all I did was keep looking at porn because nobody walked through my office door and asked for help. I did start getting a few subpoenas to serve. The dedicated clerks down at the court house were back to work and trying to round up people with unpaid parking tickets and those who'd forgotten to pay their traffic tickets.

It was that way until the middle of May, though it was pretty easy to serve the subpoenas since most people were still at home because their jobs hadn't come back yet. They were even kinda nice about it. I think that's because I was the first person they'd seen in over a month who wasn't living with them. I never realized women don't really get dressed until they leave the house. There were a couple who were better than the porn I was watching.

I could understand how they felt the day Vivian walked into my office because she was a refreshing change.

Vivian Jeffers looked about forty and I had a feeling if she'd been into amateur porn, she'd have been a real hit. It was warm in Tennessee then, well, hot as hell actually, and Vivian was baring as much skin as she could in order to stay cool. Her T-shirt fit like a second skin over her big tits and her little shorts were showing some really smooth, really soft inner thighs. I was sitting there wondering how those thighs would feel against my face when she cleared her throat.

"Mr. Meers, I need you to find my husband. Can you do that?"

I grinned, partly because I finally had some real work and partly because she'd settled her weight on one hip and that cocked hip was reminding me of something else I hadn't done in way too long.

"Sure I can. It's what I do. Have a seat and tell me what happened. Oh, and call me Harry. If we're going to work together, we need to be on a first name basis. What's yours?"

"My name is Vivian Jeffers. My husband's name is Greg, well, he likes to be called Gregory, but I call him Greg. Gregory sounds so stuffy, don't you think it does? He only corrected me once and I told him he'd always be just Greg to me whether he liked it or not, but he corrects other people all the time. Well, he did before we got shut up in our houses at the end of March."

Why the fuck is it that when women get nervous about something they start talking a mile a minute about shit that doesn't matter? They all do it, and Vivian was doing it right then. I was used to it, but it still pissed me off. I didn't want to piss her off though, so I played nice and smiled.

"OK, Vivian. When did you see him last?"

She pulled out her cell phone and thumbed over the screen for a few seconds, and then frowned.

"Here it is on the fifteenth of April. Greg's a registered nurse, and he was working days at Memorial when the virus hit. First he was working his normal twelve hour shift -- seven in the morning to seven at night -- but when the cases started piling up, he said they were talking about making the nurses work every day instead of getting some days off.

"He called me that day to tell me that they'd gone over five hundred cases and he was going to have to work every day in order for the hospital to keep up. He called me the next day and said it didn't look like he'd be home for a while, and that he probably couldn't call me because they were getting almost a hundred new cases a day and he didn't have time.

"Well, I didn't hear from him again after that. I figured he was just busy, but you'd think they'd give him time to call his wife and tell her he was still alive, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, I'd think they would. Didn't you try to call him between then and now?"

Vivian frowned.

"I did call him, every day, but it always went to voice mail. His voice mail message said he'd call back as soon as he could, but he never did. I tried calling the hospital too, but all they'd do was leave him a message."

I stopped taking notes and looked up.

"Vivian, it sounds to me like your husband was just working so many hours all he has time to do is eat and sleep a few hours. Tell you what I'll do. I know some of the people at Memorial. I'll go down and see if I can talk to him. Let's see how that goes."

Vivian smiled.

"I'd really appreciate it. How much will it cost me?"

I hadn't talked to Madge, the woman who works visitor reception at Memorial, in months and I was due for a visit anyway. The last time I had Madge help me, well, it turned into a really great night and a great next morning. If she hadn't found another boyfriend in those months, maybe...

Besides, I didn't have anything better to do.

"Vivian, this won't take me any time at all, so how about if we say fifty?" I'll go down there today and call you and tell you what I find out."

As Vivian walked out of my office, I couldn't help but stare at the way her ass cheeks made this sexy little up and down motion inside her shorts. If I'd have been her husband, I'd have had those cheeks in my hands every night.

When I got down to Memorial, the first thing I noticed was there weren't many cars in the parking lot. When I got to the door, I understood why. The sign read, "No visitation allowed except new fathers in Maternity until further notice. Emergencies use the emergency entrance."

I tried the door and it opened, so I walked inside and up to the desk. Madge was there, wearing one of those funny looking masks like I saw on TV, a plastic face shield, and latex examination gloves. She took one look at me and reached under her counter.

"Harry, it's good to see you, but if you're going to stay, you have to wear one of these."

"Why? I'm not sick."

"Just because you don't feel sick doesn't mean you aren't infected. It'll help keep you from getting infected too."

I looked around at all the empty chairs.

"Who's going to infect me? There's nobody here."

Madge sighed.

"Harry, just put the damned thing on. If you don't I'm liable to get fired."

Well I put it on and then pinched it against my nose when Madge told me to. I felt like when I dressed up for Halloween as a kid.

I could tell Madge was smiling because of her eyes.

"OK, now you can stay. What brings you down to virus central? Looking for a way to get admitted so you can play with the nurses?"

I shook my head.

"Madge, you're the only hospital worker I've ever played with and you spoiled me for all the others. No, I just want to talk to one of your male nurses. He hasn't called his wife in two weeks and she's worried about him."

"That would be some woman named Vivian then. I've pinned messages in the nurse's lounge for her husband every time she's called. Most of them are worn to a frazzle though, so that's probably why he hasn't called her."

I asked if Madge could tell me when he was off. I figured I'd go to the cafeteria and just wait until he came in for something to eat. Madge asked me his name, and when I said "Gregory Jeffers", she typed that on her keyboard. A few seconds later she turned back to me.

"I know why he hasn't called her. We don't have a Gregory Jeffers on staff."

"Well, she was sure this is where he worked. Are you positive?"

Madge shook her head.

"Harry, any doctor or nurse or even maintenance workers and janitors have to have badges and when they get the badge, the system automatically logs them into the roster. The only way he might have been here and doesn't work here now was if he quit or...give me a second."

Madge typed something else on her keyboard, stared at the screen until it changed, and then typed something else and waited until the screen changed again. When it did, she turned back to me.

"Found him. He wasn't a nurse who quit. He was a patient who died five weeks ago from the virus. He couldn't have been a nurse though. He was eighty-three."

"Are you sure that's the only Gregory Jeffers you've ever had? My guy couldn't have been that old unless his wife was into really older men. She didn't impress me that way, and she looked to be about forty or so. Are you sure about the name and age?"

"Well, actually no. Things were starting to get pretty hectic then, so things probably weren't done like they usually are. He was unresponsive when the EMT's brought him in and they didn't check for any identification because they were dispatched to another call as soon as they got him off their gurney and onto one of ours. One of the ER nurses found his wallet laying on the gurney and found an old credit card inside. The man never regained consciousness so they admitted him with that name and estimated his age. I know that because of the note the nurse wrote on the admitting records."

Now I had a lot more questions and still no answers.

"Who took the body?"

Madge looked at her screen again and then back at me.

"Nobody. We held him for a week and then notified the city coroner. I assume he was cremated. That's what usually happens with unclaimed bodies."

"Could I talk to the nurse who filled out the admitting paperwork?"

"Sure, but you'll have to wait in the cafeteria until she gets a break. That'll be about four this afternoon. Oh, and you have to keep the mask on. Want me to leave Lacy a message that you'll be there?"

It was two when I went to the cafeteria. There wasn't anybody there except a few really tired looking people in scrubs with their masks hanging under their chins. The only food available was in the vending machines, I suppose because the only kitchen staff there were only making meals for the patients and staff. I settled for a cup of vending machine coffee that tasted like the coffee I make when I run out of grounds and brew a second pot with the grounds already in the pot.

I was working on my third cup of that shit when an older woman walked into the cafeteria and up to my table.

"Since you're not wearing scrubs, you must be Harry Meers. I'm Lacy Maddox. Madge left me a message that you wanted to talk to me."

When I said I was Harry Meers, Lacy pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Well, let's make it fast. I only have about fifteen minutes."

I asked Lacy about the man whose wallet she found on the stretcher. She nodded.

"I remember him. Looked like one of the homeless we sometimes get -- really ragged clothes and hadn't taken a bath in a long time. He was a big guy too, maybe three, three fifty. Took three of us nurses to wheel him into a slot in emergency. I just happened to see the wallet because I was on that side of the gurney."

"Madge said he never was conscious. How did you know it was his wallet?"

Lacy sighed.

"I didn't, but it was the only identification on the man. When you're getting people in as fast as we are, you don't have time to be real thorough. If he'd come to at some time, we'd have asked him for his name, but he didn't. He died right there in emergency so I used the only name I had."

"You also estimated his age. How sure are you about that?"

"Harry, I've been a nurse for almost thirty years. When you see as many people as I have, you get pretty good at guessing ages. He might have been anywhere between his late seventies or early eighties. I just guessed eighty-three because that seemed like a reasonable number. Does it really make a difference? He's dead."

"No, not unless you were off by about forty years, and I doubt you were. Thanks for talking with me. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

Lacy stood up then.

"No, I need to get back to the ER. I never drink that stuff anyway. It's not even coffee. It's just black stuff that tastes a little bit like coffee. I bring my own from home."

I kind of liked Lacy, and I didn't think she was lying to me. That didn't leave me with much information useful to my case though. The only man named Gregory Jeffers with any record at Memorial was a fat, homeless man who was now dead. Somebody wasn't telling me the truth, and neither Madge nor Lacy had any apparent reason to lie to me.

When I called Vivian, she couldn't believe what I told her.

"Vivian, the woman I know at Memorial said they've never had a nurse named Gregory Jeffers. The only Gregory Jeffers they've had since the virus started was an eighty-three year old fat guy who died in the emergency room."

I could hear the anger in her voice.

"Greg was forty-two, not eighty-three, and he was slender, not fat. Your friend must have been wrong."

"Vivian, I'm sure she was right. That only leaves a couple possibilities. One is that your husband doesn't work at Memorial and is working someplace else. Are you sure he works at Memorial? I mean, there are other hospitals in Nashville. Maybe he said something about wanting to work at Memorial and you thought he was."

"No, I know he worked at Memorial because I always took him to work and then picked him up at the end of his shift so I'd have the car."

I didn't understand why he'd be lying to Vivian about working at Memorial and staying there instead of coming home unless he was hiding something, and in my experience, what he was probably hiding was another woman. The only way I'd know for sure was to find him and follow him to see where he went.

I wasn't about to drive all over Nashville and ask if they had a nurse named Gregory Jeffers. That would take at least two weeks and unless I knew the person at the desk really well, they probably wouldn't tell me anyway. It's that fucking privacy thing people keep talking about since the social media sites sold their personal data to several companies.

The other reason was since I hadn't yet told Vivian my regular fee, I didn't want to start actively looking for him until I got paid. Call me a suspicious bastard, but she wouldn't be the first to stiff a PI because he didn't state his fee in advance of doing any work.

I decided one way that might work was to look at the registry of RN's in Tennessee. It's public information if you know where to look. It took a while to download the names of all the RN's in Nashville, but I soon had that information along with practice address, education, and any special training.

When I scanned down the list looking for Gregory Jeffers, he wasn't there. I ran the search again, this time for the state of Tennessee and still turned up no Gregory Jeffers. Thinking maybe Vivian had gotten his title wrong, I ran a search for LPN's in Tennessee, and still didn't find him. A search for the other types of nurses registered in Tennessee gave me the same results. I didn't know what Gregory did for a living, but it sure as hell wasn't being any kind of nurse.

Just to make sure what I'd found was what I thought, I called Vivian again. When she answered, I asked her when her husband got his RN license. Her answer told me a lot.