The Deadly Rain: Conclusion


Publisher's Note:  As a kid growing up in Mitchell, SD Dave spent many Saturdays at the movie theater and one of his favorite parts of those matinees were the 'Serials' which were adventures that were continued until the next week.  Like those serials Dave so loved as a kid, "The Deadly Rain" will run in three parts.

Click here to read Part I and Part II

To bring you up to date:

The biggest drug distribution in the history of the US is taking place.    The ingredients of the new synthetic drug Coceron have been mixed in Chicago and now are being shipped.    Through luck, a snitch and coericion, Chicago detective Joe Dropo knows of these plans. He also knows that a bust of this operation will solve nothing. The drug world is too big and organized and now threatens the entire country.   Is there another solution?

The Deadly Rain continues………….




Forty-eight hours later, in every state in the union, in small and big towns alike, the final act of the largest drug distribution plan in history was being played out.   For at exactly 9 a.m. CST the “Great Rain” began.

Once again the vendors were in the street bringing relief to their parched patrons.

If there was joy on the streets, there was absolute elation at a very posh and private suite at the top of the Palmer House.   There, although still early in the morning, the champagne was already flowing as reports from across the country confirmed that the “Great Rain” had been a total and complete success.

In a corner, Vic Davio smiled languidly into his champagne glass.   The early morning buzz helped him relax for the first time in two days.

“That slime ball  cop was just on the take,” he thought.

In the center of the room, Gallos called for quiet and opened a large wooden box on the table and began passing out small solid gold containers with the date engraved on the outside and 10 Coceron pills inside.

“These pills came from the first batch of Coceron that was processed through our laboratory,” he continued.   “And I think it only fitting that we be the first to enjoy the fruits of our labor.”



The dawning of that day also brought joy to the Joe Dropo home.   Even Linda was up early and in a good mood for a change.

“You seem to be feeling pretty good today, honey?”  Joe said as he poured them both coffee.

“I do feel better, Joe, and who knows maybe from now on I’m not going to be hurting so much and we can have some fun again.”

As Joe headed to the station house he stopped at the Wabash Street sewer, where the night before, he had dumped $2 million worth of Coceron.

“Just where it belongs,” he thought, “down in the sewer with the rest of the rats and vermin.”

However, on this morning there were no rats or vermin in the Wabash Street sewer.  Not live ones anyway.   The first casualties of the “Great Rain” had been claimed the night before.



By the time Joe reached headquarters the first reports were already coming in.   Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong in the city!

“Joe, have you heard?”  Phillips excitedly asked as he caught up with Dropo at the lockers.   “Word is coming in from all over the city that people are dropping dead.   Most of it seems to be in the South Side, but hospitals everywhere are having trouble keeping up with all the emergency calls.”

Joe sat down slowly on the wooden bench by his locker and for the first time contemplated what it was he had done.

“You OK, Joe?”   Phillips asked as he saw the white pallor on his friend’s face.

“Ya, I’m fine.   Say could you give me a couple of minutes, I feel just a little woozy.”

As Joe sat by his locker, the one thought that struck him the most was how incredibly easy it had been.   Perhaps if it had been more difficult or had more risk he would have spent more time thinking about what he was doing.   However, there had never been a hitch.

Once he had talked to Lipps about different kinds of poisons and their effects on color and potency when diluted, the rest had been a breeze. The poison was readily available over the counter, and it only took going to a number of different places so the size of his purchases wouldn’t attract attention. The manufacturing plant was just as Davio had described; isolated and almost without security.   The Coceron was accessible, slowly brewing in two huge vats.

“They’re all junkies, Joe, every last one them,”  Phillips shaken voice made Joe jump and he barely caught what his partner had said.

“What? What did you say?”

“Junkies, Joe.   The whole damn junkie world is dying out there.   Joe, please tell me you had nothing to do with this?   Please tell me all those talks we had about controlling the drug problem by killing the users was just talk!”




Vic Davio, mucous running from both his mouth and nose, stared at the insane scene around him.   It reminded him of the ending of a very wild bachelor party.   There was furniture tipped over and champagne bottles strewn among passed out men.   He tried to recall what happened.

Was this his party?   Was he really getting married tomorrow?   Then he remembered!   He wasn’t getting married, he was dying, and that cop hadn’t been crooked, he’d been crazy.



Joe did not remember how he got to his car or how long he’d been driving.  He no longer heard the wail of the siren or saw the stunned faces of people who had just had their city reduced by thousands of people.  The radio continued to pour out the grisly toll:   “Thirty Congressman, six Senators and two cabinet secretaries; dead.   The entertainment and sport’s world completely decimated.

In spite of announcements that the victims were almost entirely drug users, there were still claims of terrorism and demands for immediate retaliation against whom, no one said.   On and on went the gruesome tale, but Joe Dropo did not hear or comprehend. He was headed home to safety.

Joe almost ran from his car to his front door.   Too much was happening.   Too much madness around; he needed his Linda.   The house was quiet.   Then he saw her sleeping serenely on their bed.   He stood over her a moment then bent and kissed her cold forehead.   A second later he saw the small package of Coceron clutched in her hand.

The first clap of thunder of the approaching rainstorm resounded like a gunshot.