Chapter III

CHAPTER III
Cause and Effect

“I’ve never been here before,” Katy whispered to Judas as they sauntered into the small street café. Brushing off the wet rain from the umbrella, Judas led Katy to a booth fit perfectly for two.
“It’s certainly a great place to let your mind wander.” Judas motioned for the waitress.
“Listen, Quentin thinks the two of us can work together and accomplish certain goals,” Katy said as she looked over at the skinny waitress. “I’ll have the cappuccino please.”
“And a double-shot of espresso, please,” Judas also ordered his drink. “I need the caffeine.” Folding his hands upon the green table, Judas looked directly into Katy’s eyes. “Do you honestly believe him?”
“I suppose so.” Katy shifted in her booth, as she feverishly itched her right heel with her left heel. “He must have some kind of competence in our abilities.”
Judas wrapped his coarse fingers around the arriving whitened mug of espresso. “I’ve learned a great deal from his leadership and invaluable wisdom.” He took a refreshing sip. “And what about you? How does he know you? I’d be naive to think that Quentin’s enamored by your five minute solution plan earlier tonight.” Judas was never one to sugar coat the truth.
“I find it hard to explain myself,” Katy responded as she dipped her waiting tongue into the cappuccino to test its immediate degree of hotness. “He must have some inner intuition about our budding partnership.”
“I didn’t say we’re partners,” Judas said with a sly grin. “I just wanted to ask you out on a date for some coffee. It’s a helluva lot better than hanging with those stiffs back at the convention.” Judas again enjoyed another taste of his steaming espresso. His masculine face drew wrinkles once the liquid touched his lips. “Shit, that’s hot!”
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t pair up and head to Natas as part of Doctors Without Borders.” Katy’s eyes followed the random assortment of sporting events that had graced the high definition televisions inside the café.
“If I go, it’s alone. I can’t make that clear enough. I work entirely by myself, no added luggage.” Judas’ black eyes surveyed the buzzing café. One of the large screen televisions off in the far corner behind Katy, was displaying an Arena Football game. The Dallas Desperados and Colorado Crush were battling it out. Several young men and women were engaged in casual conversation enjoying their coffees and donuts while they linked up to the Internet, via some new wireless machine.
“So let me get this straight. I’m extra baggage?” Katy asked with an angry tone.
“I just don’t want to be responsible for another’s life. These places are horrid enough to work in Katy. I know this first hand. I went to Nigeria last year for a six-month stint. If the poverty doesn’t destroy you, then the lack of food, drink, resources and rebellious armies will break you in half.”
“But, as a team, we can overcome those obstacles and fight poverty and replenish their resources with this five-step plan of Quentin’s.”
She brought up his name again, much to the chagrin of Judas. If only Katy had known Judas’ deep rooted hatred for Forsythe.
“Is that why you want to come? To instantly change everything for the better? Katy, it’s a long and tiring process, where one step forward usually results in three steps backwards.”
“Quentin seems to have a handle on everything.” Katy’s innocent inclusion of Quentin’s name finally had set off Judas’ simmering feelings for his mentor.
“Let me clue you in on your precious Quentin,” Judas snarled as he finished off his espresso, smacking his charred lips. “He flies into these areas to enhance his public relations image. He stays a few weeks, does some medicinal work, then hops aboard one of his private jets and comes back home. And now the greedy fucker wrote a book about his global experiences.”
“If that’s all true, then why do you look up to him?” Katy attempted to rope in Judas’ demeanor. “Your facial expression tell the story of a man whose jealous with Forsythe’s accolades.
“All his shortcomings aside, the man’s a medical mastermind. He blows my mind when he saves lives with his cutting edge medicine. I repeat, that man’s a damn genius.”
“But?” Katy asked with reservation.
“He recruits young enthusiastic people like yourself to sign up on these field missions, working your fingers down to the bone for free, and then hand over all your data to him so he inflates the numbers and gathers further donations for his righteous cause.” Judas clenched his teeth with anger. “I just want him to realize what those places truly are.”
“Which is?”
“These impoverished places need the right people to turn everything around and not some greedy businessman flying in for routine handshakes and glamorous awards dinners.” Judas again felt anger disrupt everything inside him. His stomach churned with a burning acid that eventually sent a fire rampaging through his esophagus.
“It’s cause and effect?” Katy responded back with an alert question.
“Yeah, something like that. Whatever Quentin finds to be the cause, in this case Natas, Africa, the effect will be another medal stuck in the brim his feathered cap. The man always looks to personal wealth, and public admiration before anything else.”
“So why are you signed up?”
“I want to be the difference, the man that does indeed positively change everything for the better. I don’t want to be remembered as the greedy business man that wanted frequent global recognition that he continually made public relation stops amongst these downtrodden areas.”
“Then, let me go with you and together we can find a way to make a positive mark in the world, and in the same time, stuff it down Quentin’s pompous throat,” Katy said with a recharged attitude. Judas had managed to steer Katy into his line of thinking. “Although, he doesn’t come across to me as the arrogant, greedy, seeking glory type of guy.”
“I’ve known him for several years. Trust me when I tell you this. Quentin Forsythe will stop at nothing to ensure his place among his peers. If that means using eager doctors to propel his program into the stratosphere, then so be it,” Judas responded with defiance. “He must be exposed for what he really is.”
“That would be our cause?” asked a dubious Katy.
“And the effect would be the relief of showing the world what a son-of-a-bitch he really is.” Judas bit harshly into his lower lip. “When he tutored me back in ‘93, I was a bit naive to fall under that mighty Quentin Forsythe spell. I just had lost my wife Penelope, and I needed a healthy distraction.”
Katy felt some remorsefulness for her new friend. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. She suffered for many years from cancer, eventually passing in the spring of 1992.” Judas squinted his eyes and thought fondly of his late wife.
“No children?” Katy inquired.
“Sadly, I don’t have any. I’ve always wanted children, especially a son,” he responded with faint hope. “We even had a name picked out and everything.”
“What was the name?” Katy wanted to know.
“Jourdan Hawthorne. That name belonged to my father, the late Jourdan Hawthrone Sturgis.”
“Was your father involved with P.A.L.S.?”
“Not one iota,” he said while rapping his knuckles against the table. “My old man was a stubborn bastard who worked in construction and haughtily provided for his family, and forged an everlasting bond with his son.”
“How did he die?” Katy automatically asked. It was the pure vanilla question that was always a safe bet.
“We never recovered his body,” a bitter Judas replied. “He went off flying his private plane with his brother Randolph, when they lost control and crashed into the Indian Ocean.”
“That sure is an odd place to fly a plane,” Katy surmised.
“I believe he was on the way to see me while I was in Southeast Asia providing relief work.”
“Well, my parents are happily married and live in Trenton, New Jersey.” Katy looked at Judas with compassion. “I have one sister, Jeanette. She’s married and resides out in Lincoln, California.”
“That’s really nice.” Judas feigned interest. He motioned the waitress over for another order. “I’ll have an Irish Killian’s.” Judas unclenched his jaw and returned back to the conversation. “All I want for Christmas is world peace and Quentin Forsythe to get what he deserves.” His jittery fingers wrapped around the ice-cold bottle of Irish Killan’s. Judas brought the sweet aroma to his lips and enjoyed the elegant, lingering waft of alcohol.
“Do you always drown your problems in either coffee or alcohol?” Katy noticed Judas’s certain emotional tick over the last hour and a half of their conversation.
“Only the good problems.” He enjoyed the smooth taste cascading down his throat. “The problems that grab you right by the balls and refuse to let go.”
“I understand, even without your colorful analogies.” Katy jotted something down on the crinkled yellow café napkin, then slipped a firm twenty-dollar bill and the napkin into Judas’ open left hand, closed it shut. “This date’s on me.” Katy looked into his hurting soul. “If you want to talk more, my number’s scribbled down on the back of the napkin.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Judas pocketed the money and the phone number. “Thank you.” He returned the favor and scribbled his own number down for her as well.
“No sweat. I really want for us to get to know each other and make a difference here.” Katy slid out of the booth’s confines, stood up, and slipped Judas’ number into her pocket. Katy wrapped her overcoat around her slim frame. Her beige pantyhose clung tightly to her wet legs.
“Let me walk you back outside,” he said with a smile.
“It’s okay Judas.” She turned down his offer. “You finish your beer and enjoy the rest of your day. Don’t hesitate to call me.” She touched his arm in a friendly way.
Judas simply nodded his head in agreement. His thoughts were already somewhere else. He turned to find Katy walking out the café doors and mingling into the swarming crowd of people, until she disappeared into the rainy mist.
Judas emotionally sat there in the booth staring into some dark abyss. Maybe he did erase all of his concerns with the romance of alcohol. But, his mission was clear: bring down Quentin Forsythe. He started to hatch a plan inside his head. The foundation for all of this to be successful started with Katy and Judas joining forces. That was the only sound idea Quentin had that night. All that other bullshit about caring for those sick people, what a crock of shit. Quentin indeed was a medical genius, but he utilized those talents for the betterment of his own selfish endeavors. Quentin used his powerful name to engineer a foundation that scours the world helping impoverished countries. But, does he involve himself for any length of time? Fuck no.
Vehement and naturally pissed off, Judas polished off his beer and looked up at the television screen. The football game had receded into the local news which had a feature story on Dr. Quentin Forsythe, and his speech earlier tonight. The news station had culled images from Quentin’s rising speech and ensuing book signing. Judas even caught a brief glance at Katy in the crowed during the story.
A young, beautiful reporter had shoved the microphone into Quentin’s face after his speech, yearning for an exclusive cover story. Not to be outdone, he happily responded to her crazy questions and used the media to further his own greedy name.
“This benefit tonight hopefully will eradicate poverty worldwide.” Quentin’s voice resonated with a cool assurance.
“How so, Doctor Forsythe?” The smitten brunette reporter asked back.
“A few bright doctors tonight came up with some solid plans to help me reach P.A.L.S.’s goal of wiping out poverty.” His crooked smile seemed natural, those beady eyes glimmered with fiery passion, and his voice boomed with manipulative reasoning.
“Jesus!” Judas slammed his fist into the table. “Man, I used to like you,” he bitterly stated while he watched the painful interview. Judas had a recurring bout of acid reflux that had returned and stormed through his chest sending a burning wave of pain throughout. Judas, in defensive logic, clutched his heart and teetered toward the table. Squinting his eyes, Judas tried to regain his lost focus.
“Do you think that Natas will be your ultimate challenge?” The same sexy reporter force-fed the answer to Quentin. It was all an ego boost to the aging doctor.
“Absolutely,” Quentin spoke with deft confidence as he looked deeper into her green tinted eyes.
Her legs were wobbly from his powerful stare. She seemed at a loss for words. “I...,” she stammered into her next question.
“Let me offer a congratulatory thanks to one of my esteemed students,” he added while his eyes shifted back to the red light on the camera. “Dr. Judas Sturgis, if you’re listening, please take a few bows for your wise contributions tonight.”
The newscast seemed to grow fuzzy to Judas. The picture kept skipping like a record. Quentin’s words became coherently louder than before, ringing inside Judas’s eardrums.
Judas aggressively clutched his left arm, his fingers curled painfully backwards. He frantically and unsuccessfully clawed at the table trying to regain his lost balance. Judas fell sharply off his chair and crashed hard to the floor below. A tiny piece of his front tooth sailed across the café, sliding under another table. The Killian’s spilled over the marbled tiles, running perfectly into the waiting grooves. The waitress raced over to lend a hand, but it was too late. Judas’ body had twitched a few more times, before those heavy eyelids closed and his breathing declined into a shallow rhythm.
A small crowd of people curiously gathered around the helpless, fallen doctor, as the owner of the café quickly dialed for an ambulance. Their eyes watched him like hungry vultures, captivated by this type of unique situation. The entire room spun in a wild pattern of circles, as Judas Hawthorne Sturgis faintly felt his soul escaping from within his grasp.