[Gina Mazzio RN 01.0 - 03.0] Bone Set

by JJ Lamb

  “Maybe it’s only because the nurse is a new hire. Maybe what you’re seeing is an imaginary monster in the closet.” David listened to Ethan’s breathing. Short, tight breaths. “Listen, man, we need this trial to be a winner. You asked for this job ... asked us what we needed … that’s what we need. A winner!”

  “I already know that, David.”

  “Do you really think you’ve got two undercover agents? Really?”

  “At this point, all I can say is, it’s possible. But too early to be sure.”

  “Well, find out for sure!”

  “David, you know I’ve been holding up my end of our deal.”

  There was a long moment of silence as David thought about the criminal unit of the FDA. About OCI, sticking its nose into Zelint’s operations.

  “Remember how you said you were never going to work in a hospital again, Ethan?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, do your job … get rich. Don’t come to me whining about problems you’re expected to handle. I have enough of my own. You hear me?”

  David didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed the phone down—his good mood already evaporated.

  Chapter 12

  The overnight orderly had been right on time for the 7 pm shift turnover. After a brief hello to Gina and a high five to Rocky, he wandered down the corridor, popping into patient rooms to take vital readings. Rocky gathered his things, and without a word, left the unit.

  Gina sat at the desk waiting, jiggling the narcotics keys and rereading her nurses’ notes. Delores finally arrived thirty minutes into the night shift.

  “Sorry,” was all she said. No real or phony excuses—for which Gina gave her points—but she turned her back on Gina and began putting together a tray full of narcotics as though Gina didn’t exist. The woman never said another word and never asked for a report or any patient status. A repeat of how the day began.

  “Hey, don’t you want to hear about the patients?”

  Delores turned and gave her a strange look. “Not necessary. I’ll read your nurse's notes later.”

  Well, now it’s official—that’s the way they run this operation. No reports. No nothing.

  And when Gina started down the hall to leave, Delores didn’t even return Gina's goodbye.

  What a bunch of dorks.

  Gina continued to feel letdown, unsettled, and annoyed at the gods … no, the whole flipping universe.

  Her skin was crawling with exhaustion when she shoved the key card into her apartment door and found the place silent and dark. Where was Harry? Why wasn’t he here?

  She hit the light switch, walked to the sofa, dropped like a stone, and began to sob.

  * * *

  She barely heard Harry come in, but he folded her into his arms and rocked her.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” he whispered.

  She felt small, like a little girl again. When things went wrong, her father would hold her close and smooth her hair the same way.

  “I hate it here.”

  Whine, whine, whine.

  “Everyone is so unfriendly. I feel like I landed on the moon. There’s no one to talk to when I’m not with you, and it was terrible when I got back and you weren’t here.” She looked up at him. “I feel so lonely.”

  “I’m here, babe.”

  “I know, but it hit me really hard when I walked into a silent apartment and realized I’d spent the whole day only listening to irritated patients in terrible pain.” She took the tissue he offered and blew her nose. “Is that the way it’s going to be for the whole three months?”

  “It’s only the first day. Give it a chance.”

  “I know it sounds stupid, but I miss our apartment and my little Fiat.” She blew her nose again and the tears finally stopped gushing. “The thought of it sitting all by itself in a garage back in San Francisco … it’s horrible.”

  Harry laughed. “Well, I have to admit I don’t miss that temperamental Italian prima dona for one second. It never runs smoothly for me. I swear it has double pneumonia the way it coughs and snorts.” He looked at her with laughing eyes. “Well, at least you’re smiling again.”

  “Why were you so late?”

  “The overnight nurse was swamped. I stayed and helped out for a while.”

  “How are they running this place on such a minimal staff? It’s crazy.”

  “You’ve got to admit, except for their narcotics,” Harry said, “most of the patients are pretty self-reliant—especially after they have their fix.” He laughed again. “Nothing but a bunch of junkies.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Gina said. “I thought these patients had failed the study because of side effects. Yet, I haven’t found anything in their charts about individual treatments for those side effects. Isn’t that why they’re here? These people are in a lot of pain. Someone needs to help them, not mask their problems with narcotics.”

  “Guess I was too busy jousting with Pete, getting all the meds straight, and juicing up the patients to spend a lot of time thinking about that. It didn’t even cross my mind. Not too bright.”

  “Well, that’s all I’ve been thinking about,” Gina said.

  “What puzzles me,” Harry said, “is that the people I’ve seen show no sign that they ever had dementia. That AZ-1166 must be one helleva drug … they’re all as clear thinking as you and I … well, at least me.”

  “Aren’t you the funny one?” She fake-punched him in the arm. “Anyway, remember Emma Goldmich? The one who was in the elevator with us yesterday?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s on my unit.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to hang out with any one person,” Harry said, “but I did spend some time with an interesting woman: Rhonda Jenkins. She was a marketing CEO; worked for a New York firm for most of her career, but in later years she became a medical assistant. She’s almost blind now. But the worst part is her arthritis. I’ve never seen anything that severe.”

  “It’s the same for Emma Goldmich.”

  Harry gave her a wicked smile. “Rhonda almost sounds like you with your New Yawk accent. Only very refined … if that’s even possible.”

  “Okay, I’ve whined enough. I don’t have to sit here and listen to an air-head Californian. I’m going to make dinner.” She went in to the kitchen area and took a couple of cans of soup from the cabinet. “Soup all right?”

  “I sort of had my heart set on a thick sandwich of some kind … and a pile of French fries on the side.”

  “Spoiled rotten,” she said, pulling out a package of frozen fries and popping them into the oven.

  “You’re supposed to wait until the oven heats up,” Harry said.

  “Listen, my little butternut,” she said, throwing him a kiss,” you cooka da dinna, you waita for the heata. Capish?” Then she gave him a wicked smile and repeated herself in pure Bronxese, hands flying in every direction, “When I cook, we do it my way.” She pulled out a wrapped package of hamburger and began to make thick patties. Peeling an onion, she cut a thick slice for herself, a thin one for him. “Tell me more about Rhonda Jenkins.”

  “Sure you don’t need some help?” he said, lying down on the sofa, smiling.

  “Nah. I got it tonight. But tomorrow … it’s your turn, and I’ll be on that sofa, you can bet your cute little butt on that.”

  Harry finger-gunned her. “Rhonda is really a sweet woman … after the pain meds kicked in. We briefly talked about the stock market. She gave me some great investment tips.”

  “You can invest. I like to handle my own money,” Gina said, pulling the catsup out of the cabinet and setting it on the table.

  “You mean stuff it under the mattress, don’t you?”

  “Eh! Whatever!”

  “Anyway, Rhonda said she did really well, more than just put bread and butter on the table to support herself and a small child, after her husband died.”

  “Ugh … finances and numbers.” Gina pulled the fries ou
t of the oven, slid the broiled hamburgers onto the rolls while he stood up and grabbed a brand new Dijon jar from the cabinet. He set it down next to the catsup.

  “Mmmmm, a veritable feast. I couldn’t do better at MacDonald’s,” Harry said, sitting down.

  “Sometimes,” Gina said, “I don’t think you care about staying alive.”

  “l don’t, unless I can spend it with you.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, his eyes all soft and dreamy.

  Gina’s face felt hot. “Don’t say that, Harry. It makes me feel weird.”

  “You are weird. But let’s eat anyway.”

  After a few bites, Gina dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I guess I ought to tell you about something that happened today.”

  “Uh huh,” Harry said, stuffing his face with three French fries all at once, dripping gobs of catsup into his napkin. He wiped at his mouth before Gina could warn him and smeared the red sauce all over his cheeks.

  Gina started laughing. She jumped up and brought him another napkin. “Try this.” She held out her hand and waited until he placed the red paper mess into it. “As I was saying, I think I got into a little bit of trouble today.”

  Harry was suddenly all ears. “Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

  Gina leaned back in her chair. “Well, I tried eating a snack in the cafeteria.”

  “Don’t stall, Gina. Tell me about the getting in trouble part.”

  “I was only giving you some background, telling you the whole story—”

  “—skip the build-up.”

  “Okay, so I decided to see if maybe they had some extra food in the kitchen.”

  “How on earth did you find the kitchen?”

  “Well, you see,” she said, “if you use your ID card, there’s a slot on the elevator panel … I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  “Go on,” he said, ignoring the rest of his dinner.

  “It’s really pretty creepy down in the basement, but I wandered down one corridor and found the kitchen. I was just peeking inside at these two guys in the kitchen, and I guess they heard me.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I kind of freaked out … so I ran … you know … to get out of there. But they caught me before I could get back into the elevator.” The silence in the room was closing in on her, she could barely breathe. Her voice sounded small and timid to her. “I only wanted a sandwich. What’s wrong with that?”

  “I don’t understand why you can’t try to stick with the program … do your job and stop looking for trouble.”

  “I wasn’t! I only wanted something decent to eat.”

  “You could have come here to grab a bite. You didn’t have to wander around, dig into places you have no reason to be.” He paced around the room before coming back to her. “This is exactly how you almost froze to death in that butcher’s freezer in San Francisco.” He grabbed her elbows, then pulled her into his arms. “I almost lost you then. I can’t go through that again … do you hear me?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I do, Harry. I really do.”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything like that again? Please, Gina. Please!”

  She wanted to say something comforting … something to reassure him. But her voice was lost and the room remained smothered in silence.

  Chapter 13

  Carl Kreuger was grumpy, or, as his wife would say, he’d gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Man, he hated that trite, stupid, hackneyed, ridiculous expression. But he loved his wife—she was the best thing that ever happened to him—so it was a good thing he was usually more of an “up” kind of guy and didn’t often have to hear those inane words.

  No matter what his wife said, getting up on the wrong side of the bed had nothing to do with the black cloud hanging over his head today. No, it was the third friggin’ time in six months that his transfer request to move from the FDA’s New York Office of Criminal Investigation to its Los Angeles division had been turned down.

  Shit, I hate New York City and every last one of those pushy, funny-sounding people who live piled on top of each other … and think nothing of it.

  His attitude was stupid, he knew that. But when he left the FBI in Albuquerque to hitch up with the FDA’s special investigative unit, he’d thought moving to New York was a dream come true. So did his wife. The difference between them: she loved the big city.

  Oh, if I didn’t adore that woman life would be so much less complicated.

  He scooted down into his chair, would have crawled under the desk if he thought he could get away with it and still have a job. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.

  He scanned his schedule for the day. Right at the top of the list was a 10 o’clock appointment with a Tuva Goldmich. His secretary’s note said something about a drug study problem.

  Drug study, drug addiction, drug control, drug trial. And on and on. Sometimes I think if I hear that “D” word one more time, I’ll yell my head off. Poor attitude for an FDA criminal investigator, that’s for sure.

  Well, he’d better get his rotten attitude under control if he wanted to bring home the bacon.

  Ugh! Hate that one, too.

  He stood, lifted his jacket from the back of the chair, poked his arms through the sleeves, crossed the office to his small closet, and checked himself in the door mirror. He immediately cinched up his rep tie and ran a hand through his short blond hair. He looked all right, except for that volcano welling up on his cheek threatening to erupt like Vesuvius. It never failed. Any emotional problem and zits blossomed like daffodils in springtime. Not so pretty, though.

  To squeeze or not to squeeze? That’s the question.

  Before he could give it any more thought, he was out the office door to the reception area. There were three people waiting; only one was a woman.

  “Ms. Goldmich?” he called out to the woman and smiled.

  The petite, brown-eyed brunette stood and walked up to him with a nervous gait, but she held out a hand and shook his firmly. “Call me Tuva, please.”

  “I’m Carl Kreuger.” He chuckled. “But you can call me Carl. Why don’t we go on back to my office, Tuva?”

  She followed him down the narrow corridor. Once they were in his office and seated, he waited a moment. What she said in the next few minutes would either really motivate him or put her request on the bottom of his work pile. Didn’t know why it was that way, but that’s the way it was.

  “Tell me about the problem.”

  Tuva Goldmich crossed her ankles, tucked them under the chair. She looked off into the distance before meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure how to start.”

  “Tell me why you’re here.”

  “My mother—”

  “—-her name?” he interrupted.

  “Emma Goldmich.” He wrote the name on a memo pad. “She’s been a participant in a national drug study for Alzheimer’s ... has been for the past year.”

  “A national study? Are you certain?”

  “That’s what they told me.”

  He held up a finger for her to wait while he searched through the “A” file in his computer for ongoing drug studies for that specific disease.

  There was a long list of different Phase I investigations, where fewer than one-hundred volunteers were being tested with a new drug “Which pharmaceutical company are we talking about?”

  “Zelint.”

  He scanned the pharmaceutical companies until he found it—a small company with very few active studies in the works.

  Looks like they’d completed Phase I … used fewer than one hundred healthy subjects for their new drug, AZ-1166.

  “Sorry, “he said to Tuva. “Just give me another minute.”

  And they also completed Phase II—with a few hundred volunteers

  Before he could stop himself, he let out a long whistle. “Zelint is the only Phase III study in that disease category at this time.”

  “What does that mean?” Tuva said.

  “It means that
Zelint Pharmaceutical’s study will provide evidence for the safety and effectiveness for the Alzheimer’s drug your mother has been taking. Then the drug will be considered for FDA approval. If they approve it, it will be released to the public. That’s when they move into Phase IV for post-market monitoring.”

  “How many people are in the Phase Three study, the one my mother’s in?”

  Carl looked at the numbers. “Over a thousand across the US.”

  How did the company managed to keep this away from the news hounds?

  Tuva sat up taller in her seat.

  “This could be a real break-through for the treatment of Alzheimer’s.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I think your mother’s lucky to be in this study.”

  “I had to be talked into it by our primary care doctor. I was resistant to signing her into the study because she had to be moved into a special facility for constant observation. But it was worth it. After a few months, it was actually amazing. She became my mom again.”

  “I hear a but in there,” he said.

  “Well, her mind definitely improved but the rest of her has gone downhill. I mean, she’s always had arthritis. Some days were better than others, but she managed to take care of herself once she got moving.” Tuva pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.

  “Did your mother have a job”

  “She was a professor of fine art … she retired three years ago.” Tuva looked away. “Within six months after taking the test drug, her Alzheimer’s was in remission, but her arthritis exploded. It got so bad she could barely stand. She was in horrible shape.”

  “Did the investigators think it was from the test drug?”

  “No. They insisted it was part of the same symptoms she’d always had. But that’s not true. She was so much worse. I told them that, told them there must be something wrong with the drug they gave her.” She gave Carl a forlorn look. “I mean, isn’t that possible?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Carl said.

  “The investigators were very nice about it. They said they were going to help her, move her to a special facility in Nevada where they would treat her arthritis and give her advanced medical care.”