The Jar of Nephren-Ka

Georgia

New Orleans, Louisiana: 4:00 AM, Friday, June 8th, 1984

I snapped off the alarm, radio blaring some rock song about someone's Christian sister, and wearily pulled myself out of bed. I worked on my knee for a bit, then stumbled into the bathroom, relieved my aching bladder, and showered.

By four-thirty, I was dressed and ready to go, looking as presentable as I ever got. I checked out of the motel and drove northeast, picking up I-65, and stopped in Mobile to hit a drive-thru. I rolled back onto the road 10 minutes later, happily cramming sausage biscuits into my gullet and washing them down with strong black coffee.

I stayed on I-65 until I hit Montgomery. There, I switched over to I-85 and continued northeast. I made it into Atlanta around one P.M., tired but eager to get to work.

My first stop was at a phone booth, where I raided the white pages again, looking for Cornelius Randolph. Once again, Cornelius was not in the book, but there were nineteen other Randolphs I could check. I tore the page from the book, folded it into a neat square, and stuck it in my back pocket. Then I searched for the Georgia Department of Public Health and wrote the address and number down in my notebook.

Back in the Caprice, I drove to a nearby gas station, fueled up, and asked the attendant for directions. I bought a map and a Coke and jumped back into the cruiser.

I studied the map for a few minutes, trying to sync the directions the attendant gave me with what I was seeing on the map. I then spent the next hour cussing and honking as I tried to navigate Atlanta's impenetrable road system, made worse by the partially completed spaghetti junction where the I-85/I-285 interchange was yet to be completed.

I'd driven in some bad traffic - DC had probably the worst traffic I'd ever seen - but Atlanta was pretty high up there. It was with no small amount of relief when I finally made it to the long, low, two-story brick edifice of the Georgia Department of Public Health.

My watch read two twenty-six, so I got a move on, limping in since I didn't have time to fuss with my knee. Inside, I searched the directory for the Office of Vital Records, then hobbled down a long hallway to the last room on the left.

Inside, a mousy looking middle-aged lady with glasses so thick she could probably see the future sat behind a low steel desk. Behind her, the room stretched on like a long hallway, with rows upon rows of cabinets stretching off into the distance. A few workers were busy at various spots along the length, fussing with documents.

The lady glanced up, eyes magnified and huge in her spectacles. She arched an eyebrow and asked in a clear, very southern voice: "Can I help you?"

"I hope so, miss," I said. I presented my ID. "I'm Rev Parata, a PI, and I'm trying to find the birth records for someone in connection with a case I am working."

She looked me over skeptically, then studied my license.

"You a long way from home, ain'tcha?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, "Been on the road since five this morning."

Mild shock registered on her face. "Well goodness, that is a long drive!" She pulled a form out from one of the cubbies in her desk. "Just fill this out and I'll have someone take a look. You'll need to hurry though. We close at four on Fridays."

I nodded, limped over to a small lobby area, and took a seat near a side table. At the top of the form was a section where I needed to fill in my information, and I quickly populated it with my vitals. Next, I checked the box beside 'birth record', then in the surname field I wrote 'Calhoun'. I checked the box beside 'Male' for sex, then entered Gerald Calhoun Jr. under the father's name.