Detective Ronald Lewis

Character Introduction – Det. Ronald Lewis   

Detective Ronald Lewis is a fictional character in my in-process novel – Peter’s Vision. While a mystery, my intention is to populate it with interesting, true to life characters. Ron Lewis is one such. Let me introduce you to him in the following words.

Copyright: ©2013 GCheatle
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I knew he was a cop as soon as he walked into my office. I rose to greet him and he towered over my five foot eleven and a half inches, even as I stood tall. Perhaps he was six five, maybe taller; almost half a foot higher than I was. I am too short. I know it and it bothers me.

He filled his gray suit with body that wasn’t fat.

It wasn’t his size that clued me into his profession. It was the way he walked, held himself. Tall to begin with, he was erect almost stiff. If it weren’t for the carpet on the floor, I am sure his well shined black leather and leather soled shoes would have tapped.

Immediately he reminded of gung-ho Officers I’d met while in the Army Medical Corp. Yes military bearing: stand tall, dress crisp, walk with conviction. It wasn’t so likely this was a spontaneous visit by the military in civilian garb – it was much more likely this was an enthusiastic police officer. Just the type I didn’t like so much.

He stopped and removed his gray fedora. “Doctor Carpenter,” he walked toward me and extended his hand. “I’m Detective Ron Lewis.” I took his hand.” A firm yet not overbearing shake.

This was the second time in two weeks I encountered the Police. I can’t remember the time before that. I don’t think that I had ever. I looked at him and just knew this wasn’t going to be good.

I gestured to the comfortable upholstered chairs over by a small table, clustered by a set of windows that looked out over a secluded court-yard. I intended it as a peaceful more intimate setting for folk, as comfortable as possible, that is, in a therapist’s office.

As we moved to the chairs, I took the opportunity and looked him over. He went together. I mean his dress matched his physical looks and each item the other. Either he has an innate sense of style, that, or someone dresses him.

He was in all grays and black, head to toe. I envy folks who can outfit themselves with clothes that match and then match the person. I’ve not been blessed with this sense.

A quick scan showed a light-skinned black man, shaved bald with an oblong shaped face, you know, almost egg-shaped. A silver stud glistened in his left ear, another in his right.  A short black goatee was under his lower lip. Thin black circled the glasses that sat a little way down his nose.

A silver chain was around his neck and hung breast bone high, flashed and caught my eye. The links were so large that they seemed as elongated O’s. I later saw a wide, silver, middle finger ring and matching  silver watch and band. The watch and ring were on his right hand. Probably he was left-handed.

Before we sat, he removed his gray tweed overcoat, folded it neatly and carefully draped it over one of the chair backs and placed the gray fedora on top. It was a precision placement, directly in the middle. He was a tad obsessive.

I remained standing for this and watched. When he finished I sat, he did also.

First meetings are information gathering for me. I am good at it. I learn much about a person in these first minutes. I suspect it is true for him also. I evaluated him, he me.

Grabbing the proverbial “bull by the horns,” I looked at him and asked, “What brings you to my office, Detective?”

“It is murder, Doctor Carpenter and a particularly gruesome murder at that.”

I was right; this wasn’t going to be good.

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Meet: Phelicia Hart, MD

Dr. Phelicia Hart  is a fictional character in my in-process novel – Peter’s Vision. While a mystery my intention is to populate it with interesting, true to life, characters. Doc Philly is one such. Let me introduce you to her in the following words.

copyright: ©2013 GCheatle
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Character Presentation – Phelicia Hart, MD

“Good Morning Everyone,” she said as she quickly walked into the Clinic’s front room. The “she” is Dr. Phelicia Hart, the physician in charge and for that matter, the only general practice physician at the Picket Clinic.  More importantly, my sometime girlfriend.

Heeled black boots, close fit calf length black skirt, short black leather jacket with a light gray blouse under; this was Doc Philly as she preferred to be called; “I never did like Phelicia,” she often said.

I found it interesting that her name matched her walk or perhaps I should say her gait. Philly walked subtly toe to heel. And to see her cross the room in those heeled boots, back straight, head high, reminded me of a thorough breed horse: determined, self-assured, and confident; yes, a winner.

Just above her shoulders was straight deep black hair, almost china white skin, subtly enhanced with a touch of makeup color and black eyes that at times seemed to flash. Philly is striking to see.  From my perspective, she is a pleasure to look upon.  Yes, she is all woman and very female if you get my meaning.

Born and raised in Picket, like so many others of her generation, she went away for school after graduation. Folks thought that like her classmates this was a permanent move. But this wasn’t her plan.

As she said to the Gazette reporter on her return, “My dream was to get my medical degree and to return to Picket and set up a practice.” And so she did: undergraduate degree from Northwestern; Medical degree and Master’s degree in Community Public Health from Harvard Medical; residency in family medicine at The Maine Medical Center.

She lived her dream, returned to Picket and opened practice. Some years later, she borrowed the necessary money to build and open the Picket Clinic. It is affectionately known as Philly’s Place.

Movement and noise brought me back to the moment at hand.

Doc Philly noticed me in the waiting room and came over. Well not only the Doc but also her dog. Wherever Philly went her dog went with her, attached to her by one of those retractable leashes. I stood out of respect and to put a bit more distance between me and this jack terrier.

Of all the dogs I have known in my life, Disco was the most annoying. And today she was being very much her annoying self. It was interfering with me talking with the Doc. I was peeved but tried not to show it.

Cave canem,” I thought: “beware of the dog”. I paused in this thought and added “Cave canem, te necet lingendo (Beware of the dog, he may lick you to death.)” I couldn’t help but smile at my joke but did dare show it.

Disco for her part loved people and was excited to see me. Repeatedly she was jumping straight up; coming off all four paws as only a hyped-up terrier could.  I tried to keep my distance from the flurry of activity. Hyperactive is the only way to describe this dog.

“Enough!” I thought. But it wasn’t enough. The dog when not jumping was dancing, sort of, on her hind legs. Around and around she went as she often did; thus her name Disco.

Philly seemed not to notice what was going on.

Once Disco started this dance, she would keep it up until someone gave her a treat which she treats, she knew, were kept in a bowl on the side of the receptionists counter. Exasperated, I went slowly to the goody bowl. Doctor and dog followed. I retrieved and gave a doggie biscuit to the dancer dog.

Disco for her part satisfied went without protest to her cage behind the reception counter. Doc Philly and I went back into her office as opposed to the exam room. I was there on business and not as a patient.

The Clinic was the reality of Philly’s dream: three inpatient rooms, a modern surgery equipped for most out-patient procedures, a lab, three of those small examine rooms and a waiting room. In the waiting room and behind a counter where the nurse receptionist worked was a space for the part-time person who handled the billing. A mini kitchen, a unisex bathroom off the waiting room and a men’s and women’s lavatory and shower room in the back completed the floor plan.

And then there was Philly’s office. What can I say about her office?

As neat as my study is, Philly’s office was messy. And she loved it that way. “Don’t move anything!” she had more than once told me. “I know where everything is and moving it would make it lost.” Someone had given her a sign that said, “A messy desk is a sign of a great mind.” I was annoyed every time I read it.

I tried not to visit with her in her office. But today I had no choice.

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