Boom-BOOM!

by Wally Duff

  “Not exactly. Mom hasn’t been getting around like she wants to. Last Friday we met with her rheumatologist. After telling Mom he had nothing more to offer her, he recommended she see an orthopedic surgeon. The orthopod recommended a total knee replacement — both of them, actually.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, but she has been having an agonizing time going up and down her stairs. When’s her surgery?”

  “You know my mom. She insisted the procedure be done as soon as possible or she would find another surgeon. She’s having it done tomorrow. I would have called you before this, but it’s been kind of a whirlwind getting her life organized.”

  “I totally understand. Which hospital will she go to?”

  “The new one, MidAmerica Hospital.”

  “No kidding. My friend Linda is going there to have her baby. Would it be okay if I visit your mom there?”

  “You’ll have to hurry. Mom will be discharged on Saturday.”

  “Isn’t that kind of a short stay?”

  “It’s these damn new Medicare rules. But because she’s having both knees done, they’ll pay for a rehab facility for six weeks.”

  “I’ll visit her there. Which one is it?”

  “The Brookstone Center on North Damen.”

  “Do you need my help? What about her house?”

  “That’s been an ongoing dilemma. My brother Nick and I want her to sell it, but she is adamant about keeping it. We came up with a compromise. She’s going to rent it out until she can prove to us she can negotiate the steps.”

  “What’s your timeline for that?”

  “About three months. She’ll live with one of us after she is discharged from the nursing home. But she understands the surgery might not help her enough to go up and down her front and back steps. If that happens, she assures us she’ll sell.”

  “Is her house going to sit empty all that time?”

  “No, the orthopod knew a dentist who wanted to rent a place immediately while he’s establishing his practice in Lakeview. Mom signed a month-to-month lease with him this morning. She’s staying with me and my wife, Susan, until she goes into the hospital early tomorrow.”

  “Wow, that’s certainly speedy.”

  “Like I said, Mom wants the surgery done pronto. In fact, the dentist moved in about four hours ago.”

  “I didn’t see any moving trucks.”

  “You won’t. He rented the house from Mom completely furnished.”

  A column here?

  I needed a story for my looming August eleventh deadline. “Tell me about my new neighbor.”

  “His name is Dr. Greg Lorenz. He’s from San Francisco, divorced, and no kids. He’s rented space in the office building behind Starbucks.”

  “On North Paulina?” I asked.

  “Yes, close to the corner at West Roscoe. He’ll begin seeing patients on Friday.”

  “Please tell your mom how much I’ll miss her, and I’ll be sure and make cookies to welcome him to the neighborhood.”

  “It’s already been handled. She insisted I help her make cookies to give him when he came over this morning to meet her and sign the lease.”

  “That is so like Lyndell. I’ll be sure and drop by and visit her at Brookstone.”

  “Give it at least ten days. She doesn’t want any visitors until she can get her hair done and be able to dress properly.”

  “If you have time, will you call and let me know how her surgery goes?”

  “I sure will. Thanks.”

  I hung up and glanced out my side window at Lyndell’s house.

  Now who’s gonna help me watch al-Turk’s house?

  60

  The next morning, Kerry and I were doing a puzzle on the kitchen table. I glanced at al-Turk’s house across and remembered what Linda had reported about the Mercedes’s trip to the airport.

  Is there another car involved?

  “Kerry, let’s go for a ride and then stop at Whole Foods for a healthy lunch, okay?”

  She clapped her hands. “I wuv to go on wides!”

  That is true most of the time but lately only if there is a bribe being offered. Otherwise, I would never be able to work on either of my stories.

  It took forty minutes in the early lunch hour traffic to reach the Twenties. It was a long shot, but if I discovered a different, expensive, new car or SUV parked in front, there might be another player in the game. I would snap a picture of the license plate number for more DMV research.

  I drove past the building but didn’t see any new vehicles that attracted my attention.

  Might as well recon the neighborhood.

  Turning right, I spotted a one-story building without any signage across the street from the Twenties. I drove forward and, at the opposite end of the block, discovered a modern, four-story apartment building. I took cell phone pictures of both buildings.

  It had been a wasted journey, but as long as Kerry and I were in the van, I drove in the opposite direction, north, to research my other story. It took another fifty minutes to locate Dr. Mittelman’s laboratory, a two-story, windowless, gray, cement building. A ten-foot-tall chain link fence surrounded the lot, which was about half the size of a typical Chicago city block. There were no signs to indicate what type of business was inside. A guard gate was the only entrance. I took a picture of that building too.

  Twenty-five million dollars doesn’t buy much these days.

  I was going nowhere with the story. “Kerry, remember what Uncle Jimmy does all the time?”

  My brother, Jimmy Edwards is a starting pitcher for the San Diego Padres. He hasn’t gotten a hit for the past two years, claiming he’s paid to pitch, not hit.

  “Stwike out!”

  “I did too. Let’s go to Whole Foods and buy our healthy lunch.”

  61

  Late Thursday afternoon, I was in the kitchen starting dinner and glanced out the front windows. A man walked down the stairs from Lyndell’s home and went past our house. He was a pale, pudgy, six-footer with greased-back black hair and white skin. He looked like a vampire but in the daylight.

  Dr. Lorenz, I presume.

  Putting my dinner preparations on hold, I carried my daughter down to our computer room. Kerry played with Elmo while I did an online search on my newest neighbor, Gregory Lorenz, DDS.

  Obtaining the information on Lorenz wouldn’t be a challenge. As a starting point, I had his name, new office address, and phone number, which was already up on social media. In six minutes, I had his entire life history: where he grew up, his parents’ and siblings’ names, his ex-wife’s name, their address in San Francisco, when they were married, his various schools and degrees, and even his dog’s name when he was a little boy.

  This is way too easy.

  Tony said the lab didn’t find any drugs on the trash, but what if he’d lied to me? He wanted to know where the trash came from, but there was no reason he needed that information unless there was more to the story.

  What if there were traces of drugs on the trash and, as Linda had originally suggested, al-Turk was a dealer? If that were the case, the local police, maybe with the DEA, would be all over this. All of Lorenz’s credentials proved he was a dentist, but maybe he was actually a cop or DEA agent posing as a tooth guy so he could spy on al-Turk.

  62

  On Friday afternoon, I watched the dentist stroll past our front windows toward Lyndell’s house. And he wasn’t alone. A striking young lady walked with him. It was Donna Allen. Cas and I had seen her stripping at The Twenties. She also worked out with us at XSport Fitness.

  Through the side kitchen window facing Lyndell’s home, I watched them ascend the stairs up to the front door. I called Molly. “Have you been to the Twenties yet?”

  “Greg and I went there last night,” she said. “He loves watching me have a lap dance.”

  Not gonna ask about that.

  “Did you see a guy who looks like a vampire?” I asked.

  “You mean Dr. Greg Lorenz?”r />
  “You know him?”

  “Yep. He just opened a dental practice right behind Starbucks.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “My hubby went to the bathroom. I, of course, looked hot, and Lorenz came up and hit on me.”

  Big surprise.

  “Did you work on Lorenz?”

  “Didn’t have to,” she said. “He did it for me.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “He was super friendly. Said he's trying to build up his practice and gave me a card for a free dental exam. And I saw him give cards to all the strippers.”

  “Did he try to hook up with any of them?”

  “Uh-huh. He was all over Donna Allen, the girl who works out with us.”

  “Lorenz lives next door to me. Five minutes ago, Donna went into his home with him.”

  “Like I said, it looked like they were hooking up.”

  “Guess they did.”

  “Oh, and the Rover was parked in front of the Twenties. I put the GPS thingy under the back bumper.”

  “Did your husband wonder what you were doing?” I asked.

  “He was busy lighting his cigar, and he didn’t notice,” she said.

  I hung up and called Linda. “Molly planted the GPS transponder last night.”

  “Great,” she said. “She showed it to me when she brought me the software. It’s expensive equipment, better than yours.”

  “At least our taxes are being put to good use.”

  63

  Saturday morning, Carter took Kerry to Hamlin Park. I was one block away from my front door as I finished my run. Donna Allen walked down the front steps of Lorenz’s house. She wore the same clothes she’d had on Friday afternoon

  Walk of shame. Been there, done that, sweetie.

  I flashed back to my times with Tony when I’d returned to my Lincoln Park apartment on West Roslyn Place wearing the same clothes I’d had on the night before. Laurie Zoob, my roommate, would welcome me home with a wide smile and her “walk of shame” comment.

  A taxi stopped in front of Lorenz’s house, and Donna climbed in. The cab pulled away. A few seconds later, Lorenz exited down his front steps, but he wore different clothes and walked toward his office.

  Saturday morning office hours? Maybe you really are a dentist opening a new office.

  How did Donna the stripper fit into this? Before Carter and Kerry returned home, I needed go online and run Donna’s name and recheck Lorenz’s information. There were too many missing elements to this new story.

  I’d already decided not to tell Carter about Lyndell’s surgery and our new neighbor Lorenz. My husband knew Lyndell, but he rarely asked about her. If I told him about Lorenz, he might suspect I was working on a story. I didn’t want to have to lie to him more than I already had to cover-up my interest in al-Turk and the Twenties.

  At home, I grabbed a bottle of water and went down to the office. I began online with Donna. She grew up in Spirit Lake, Iowa, raised by a single mom. Donna had been a cheerleader and had won several local and then regional beauty contests, which led her to the bright lights and big city of Chicago before she finished high school.

  She was twenty-four, with no apparent high school degree or GED. Until she was hired at the Twenties, her career had been on a downward spiral of low-paying, entry-level restaurant or bar jobs. She probably wanted to find a guy who would be her way out of the stripping business and into a normal life with a husband, a home with a yard, two kids, and a dog.

  Going over Lorenz’s background didn’t result in any new discoveries. He might be okay, but if he weren’t, whoever had created his online persona had done a perfect job. I tried all my research tricks, but his story was incontestable.

  Or was it?

  64

  Saturday night, I was in the kitchen helping Carter prep the salad plates for our dinner to welcome Hannah and Micah to the neighborhood. The scent from his cooking lamb made my mouth water.

  “Honey, I am so grateful that you’re doing this for me,” I said.

  “I love helping you out,” Carter said. “And I really wanted to try to prepare the lamb with the Joule sous vide I just purchased on Amazon.”

  My hubby loves his cooking gadgets.

  That was why, during our Friday night movie and dinner date, I’d asked him to help me with the dinner party. He could not resist, and I’d gladly stepped to the side while he took over.

  He had created his version of a classic Waldorf salad to which he’d added fresh strawberries and an ultra-tangy mayonnaise. It would be served after his first course, a tiny cup of tomato bisque with a dollop of crème fraîche and a pinch of caviar.

  Our front doorbell rang. I opened the door and held out my hand. “Micah, I’m happy to finally meet you.”

  Micah Mittelman stood on the porch, supporting his wife’s right forearm with his left hand. He was about Molly’s height, and his light-brown skin tone complemented his black eyes and hair. He wore a short-sleeved, multicolored silk shirt that clearly hadn’t come off the rack at Kohl’s.

  Micah shook my hand. “And I am pleased to meet you.”

  He had a mellow bass voice with the trace of a British accent. If any normal woman were to hear it in a bar, the tone would melt her thong.

  Micah assisted Hannah into our front hallway. She wore a billowing, white silk designer dress that could only be purchased in finer stores. For the first time since we’d met, she had on jewelry. Her marquise-cut diamond wedding ring went knuckle to knuckle. A smaller, oval-cut, yellow diamond adorned her right ring finger. A pear-shaped diamond hung from her neck. Either of her solitaire diamond earrings could have been made into a spectacular engagement ring.

  Amazing.

  I introduced them to Carter who was still in the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw her jewels. “Tina has told me a lot about you, Hannah,” he said. “Your family’s move to Chicago from Israel sounds fascinating.”

  “I am not sure Hannah would use that term to describe arriving here with four children,” Micah interjected.

  Hannah and Micah followed me into the family room where the rest of our group already sat chatting and sipping cocktails and wine. Micah continued to support Hannah’s arm.

  “Oh, my,” Hannah said, as she scanned the room.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I am embarrassed. We are overdressed.”

  “It’s my fault. I should have mentioned we’re casual around here. But you look lovely.”

  “I will remember next time.”

  Kerry played upstairs in her room with a babysitter, Liv, one of Mrs. Sanchez’s daughters. I went up and gave Kerry a kiss goodnight and then returned to the party.

  65

  Linda and I watched Hannah and Micah work the room.

  “The doctors have done this before,” I said.

  “With all the money in her family, she had to have been raised attending society functions where she learned to socialize with all the guests,” Linda said.

  Like Hannah, Linda came from inherited wealth from both of her parents. She’d been raised the same way as Hannah.

  Both members of the lucky sperm club.

  “Watch how Micah supports her arm and then puts his hand in the small of her back as he leads her around the room,” I said.

  “It’s like he’s her human crutch,” Linda observed.

  “Hannah either leans against a table or sits on the edge of the couch until they move on.”

  “And they immediately hone in on what is being discussed, and then they take an interest in it too,” she said. “I’ve seen my parents do this many, many times at their parties; once at our embassy in Israel.”

  “The doctors are practiced at it.”

  “Can you use any of this for their story?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’m trying to eavesdrop on their conversations.”

  For appetizers, Carter had made smoked salmon crostini, a cheese tray with the proper accoutrements, and p
rosciutto-wrapped melons. At my suggestion, we’d placed the appetizers on the bar so I wouldn’t be stuck serving them. For the guests, he had opened his favorite wines, a Fourth Estate Pinot and a Fourth Estate Chardonnay.

  Our tradition for dinner party seating has always been to alternate man-woman, and couples don’t sit next to one another. Or at least that was my original plan. As we approached the table, Micah placed Hannah next to my seat at the near end of the table. He sat next to her, and the rest of our guests plopped down wherever they wanted to, except for Carter and me. We sat at each end of the table where we could get up and down to serve each course.

  Okay gang, keep drinking. I need to hear more than dinner conversation. I have a story to write.

  66

  “It was delightful and, at the same time, terrifying,” Micah said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Hannah?”

  “I would, indeed,” she said. “Especially with four children to protect.”

  Linda had related her experiences with a suicide bombing in the streets of Jerusalem when she traveled there with her parents. Hannah hadn’t sampled her first course, the tomato bisque. During the chat in the family room, she hadn’t touched her wine glass. I’d assumed she might not drink, but I was wrong. She didn’t have the strength to lift the wine glass with one hand without spilling its contents. And I was sure she’d avoided the tomato soup course because she was fearful of dribbling the liquid contents on her gorgeous white dress.

  As Hannah continued to talk to Linda, Micah slipped out of his chair. I watched him walk into the kitchen. When he didn’t come back, I joined him. Carter added the finishing touches on the salads. With a knife and fork, Micah chopped a Waldorf salad into tiny pieces.