Sin & Bone: A Medical Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 2)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  She’d looked at him with, what was it?

  Betrayal?

  Her eyes screamed: I know you. How could you do this?

  Squirming in his seat, he tried to focus on something else, but he couldn’t block the memory of those questioning, accusing eyes. They haunted him:

  Why? Why me?

  If he could have told her, would she have understood?

  She was a nurse, like Mother. Nurses were supposed to understand, Father said. Nurses knew life wasn’t a Disney fantasy. And if he could, he would have helped her, would have helped all of them. He closed his eyes, shut down the image, and forced his mind back to the present.

  The other CHEMwest NorCal reps had his attention again. He concentrated on each person, spaced around the table, as though set equidistant on a three-dimensional chessboard. St. George could visually define the territorial borders each had mapped out.

  The women were clones of each other. Young, seductive, but still business-like in their dark suits and expensive, muted silk blouses. There was little to differentiate one from the other. St. George sometimes wondered if they checked with each other in the morning before going to work. On any day no two ever wore the same color blouse. He studied each in turn, focused on the brunette who sat directly across from him.

  You think being a woman gives you a leg up, don’t you, Martine Yamada? How many of those docs have made it into your panties? And you’re still not top dog, are you?

  He wondered if she remembered their one night together. She turned her head just then, almost as if she knew what was on his mind. He nodded and gave her a quick thumbs-up, but she averted her eyes and began rearranging the pencils in front of her.

  The men were beardless, with close-cropped hair. All of them dressed in custom tailor-made suits, with rep ties that were expensive, subdued, and conservative. He took satisfaction in the fact that he was the only one with even the slightest offbeat appearance: his red, gelled hair often brought snide remarks, especially from Merz. But he knew that man was never going to mess with success. St. George brought in enough money to leverage some individuality, as long as it didn’t get out of hand, and he continued to be a winner.

  8:00

  Robert Merz burst through the door, quickly covered the length of the room with long strides, and took his seat at the head of the table.

  “So, Marti,” Merz said without any preliminaries. “I see your stats are still hovering over the toilet. What’s the problem?”

  Yamada’s skin lost all its color. “I’m on it, Bob. You’ll see a big turn-around next month.”

  “What’re your criteria for handing out these expensive perks?” Merz said sharply, consulting his notebook computer. “Let’s see, two trips to Paris for the good doctors Grandemange and Farkas at Ridgewood, yet, their orders aren’t worth mentioning. Looks like you’re trying to frost the cake before it’s baked.”

  “I just need a little more time, Bob.”

  St. George looked at Marti’s animated face.

  Did he feel sorry for her? He considered that for a moment.

  In a fair world, all the reps should have occupied the same playing field, but the fact that Marti was so young and beautiful should have nudged the odds in her favor. Yet here was Merz roasting her over the coals.

  “Time?” Merz leveled a finger at St. George. “Does Eddie ask for more time? No! He does his job, stuffs the big bucks not only into CHEMwest’s pocket, but into his own.” He swung the finger around and leveled it at Yamada. “Get with it, little girl.”

  Merz moved on without missing a beat. “So, Archie,” he said, taking a quick glance at his open laptop.

  The moment was filled with tension; everyone held their breath. Archibald Jervis had been low man on the sales stats for three months running. Merz had been increasingly harsh following the posting of each month’s results.

  “Archie, when are you going to finally show me those big guns you keep bragging about?” Merz said. “Right now you’re only shooting blanks.”

  The sales manager loosened his tie, getting ready for battle, then sat upright in his seat. “Between you and Marti, CHEMwest NorCal is going down the chute faster than a snowboarder.”

  Jervis did not change expression. The wide smile he’d walked into the room with took up the same spread of space from cheek to cheek.

  “Man,” Merz said, “don’t just sit there with that shit-eating grin. What’s going on in that overly-educated head of yours?”

  Jervis flushed, then his skin turned pasty, but the smile remained. A sheen of perspiration oozed on his forehead and St. George could smell the fear two seats away.

  “You can’t know what a nightmare it is out there,” Jervis said.

  Merz leaned forward in one quick, threatening motion. “Are you kidding me? It’s my business to know exactly what’s going on out there.”

  “I didn’t quite mean it that way.”

  “Well, how the hell did you mean it?”

  The tone of Merz’ voice caused St. George’s chest to clamp down.

  No. He’s not Father. You’re safe here.

  St. George pulled his inhaler from a jacket pocket, took two solid puffs. For several seconds he tried to quash the wheezing that squeaked out into the room. They all turned their attention from Jervis to stare at him. Their eyes were merciless, did not waver until his chest eased and silence returned to the conference room.

  “Well, Archie? I asked you, just what did your dire comment about what’s happening out there mean?” Merz demanded.

  “The fact that we left the negative results from the latest clinical trials off the informational insert is making the docs suspicious of our big money maker, Longinal,” Jervis said. “They’re not putting in orders like they did in the past.”

  “I see.”

  “Those class-action suits against us aren’t doing us any good either,” Ellen Carrie blurted.

  “And it doesn’t help being accused of having the FDA in our pocket, either,” Monique Larkin said. “We’re getting a whole lot of static about corporate policy that tends to make the job twenty times more difficult.”

  “What a bunch of whiners. Do you stay up nights thinking up this bullshit?” Merz said. “You’re all supposed to be professional sales people. Sales mean selling. Sell the goddam products!”

  “We’re trying,” Yamada said.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Merz stood, leaned over, rested his palms on the table. “You need to sell more. Do you hear me? More! MORE!”

  Goose bumps rose on St. George’s arms. He stared hard at the manager. Agitated coughs from other reps rippled throughout the room. Some started to get up, assuming the meeting was over.

  “No, no, no!” Merz shouted. “Stay right where you are.” He turned his attention directly to St. George.

  “I’ve got a biggie for you that’s going to make your month, Eddie, maybe even your whole year. And you’ve earned it. If you think your cohorts are envious now, they ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Merz let his eyes roam from St. George to each of the others in turn. Those who had left their seats quickly sat back down. Everyone’s attention was hard on the sales manager.

  “As we’re all painfully aware,” Merz said, “the patent will soon expire on CHEMwest’s successful and highly profitable lung cancer inhibitor, Pneucanex.”

  “Zyloctine, right?” said Terence Hawks.

  “Forget the generic. Let’s stick with our trade name: Pneucanex,” Merz said.

  This should be interesting, Eddie thought. Merz, in a rare weak moment, once confided that he was often at loss as to how to deal with Hawks, CHEMwest NorCal’s only Afro-American detail man. “Really want to get him out of the middle-of-pack in stats,” Merz had said, “but I’m afraid if I push too hard I’ll get hit with a discrimination suit or some other anti-black nonsense.”

  “How long before the altered version of Pneucanex is ready?” Larkin said. “And what’s the new name?”

&nbs
p; “Hold off! I think I can answer all your questions so you don’t waste any more of my time,” Merz said.

  “Essentially,” he continued, “the new polymorphic form of Zyloctine – to give it its full, legal, generic name, for the moment – is ready for field trials.”

  “Thank God!” said Yamada. “When can I start telling my customers?”

  Merz glared.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Marketing is in the process of putting together a series of pre-launch events, to be closely followed by a launch program to heighten interest and enthusiasm for the altered product.”

  Merz nodded at several of the reps. “I know many of you have commented that you would like to see marketing come up with a new name for the Pneucanex replacement, and I don’t totally disagree. However, what we have is a recognized, mature brand. While we all might have preferred a brand new drug, with a brand new name to fight lung cancer, we go with what we’ve got.

  “So, as they say, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it – the new name will be Pneucanex-CW.”

  He held up a hand to stop the moans. “Live with it!”

  “And what does the tacked-on CW represent?” Yamada asked.

  “And what’s the name of the company you work for, Marti?”

  “CHEMwes… Oh! Sorry.”

  “Now, back to you, Eddie,” Merz said. “A week from Wednesday there’s going to be a nice little ceremony at Ridgewood General involving the head of their Oncology Department, the president of CHEMwest, an economically challenged lung cancer patient, and as much of the local and national media as we can turn out.”

  “And my part in this?” Eddie said.

  “You’ll be point man -- responsible for delivering the first batch of Pneucanex-CW to Ridgewood. Marketing is putting together a script for you on how to interact with the patient and all the dignitaries involved. Got that?”

  “Yes.” Eddie was about to say something else when he felt his cell phone vibrating in its holster.

  Father!

  “Good,” Merz said. “Now not a word of this to anyone outside of this office or you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

  ₪ CHAPTER 7

  Harry Lucke’s focus on a travel brochure was interrupted when the winter rain came crashing down on the roof of the oceanfront cabin Gina and he had planned to share during their four-day honeymoon.

  He stared at the colored pictures of Florence, a city Gina had talked about incessantly the past couple of years.

  Would serve her right if I took off for a riotous couple of weeks in that fabulous city and came back speaking Italian like a native.

  He flung the literature out into the middle of the room; it hit a Barcalounger and dropped to the floor.

  “Who am I kidding?”

  What would he do in Italy without Gina Mazzio by his side except wander the streets and moon the days away?

  Can do that right here. Save a few thousand bucks.

  He moved to the window and stared out at the panorama of the Pacific Ocean. The water was gray and moody with tumultuous white caps – thunderous waves crashed against the rugged shoreline. The random, natural violence suited his mood.

  He grabbed a Gortex hooded shell and went out into the rain; the wind-blown drops pelted his face, trailed down under the collar of his corduroy shirt. His feet sank as he trudged along a narrow strip of sand that wove in and out of strewn boulders. The driven rain stung his face – it was what he needed to clear his head and think about his life with or without Gina. He sat down on a wet rock and watched the clouds merge with the ocean.

  This time, he feared, his Bronx bombshell had become too much for him. Maybe he needed time away from her.

  Usually he could adjust to her mood swings because the flip side brought him the most loving person he’d ever known. It had been that way since the day they met, almost three years ago when he was working Ridgewood’s ICU. She was floated in from Oncology to help cover an overflow of new admissions.

  They’d clashed right from the start–

  * * *

  “We need him hooked up now!” Harry yelled.

  Gina was struggling with a gurney that was caught in the elevator door. “I just got him here,” she yelled back.

  “Move!” Harry insisted. “Can’t you see this guy’s hypoxic?”

  She glared at him. “Just tell me where you want him and I’ll perform like the puppet you seem to think I am.”

  He leaned over and read the identification card clipped to her scrubs. “Pop him into the slot next to the nurse’s station for now, and for God’s sake hook him up to the O2. Got it?”

  Without a word, she spun on her heel.

  At the end of the shift, Gina cornered him in the elevator.

  “Who the hell did you think you were talking to? Don’t ever yell at me like that again! Understood?” she said. “Not if you want to leave this place in one piece.”

  “If you can’t keep up, you don’t belong in ICU.”

  “Look, buster, I don’t belong in ICU. Got it?”

  “Oh, yeah. That much was obvious.”

  “Like I said, don’t ever mouth off at me again. I’ve probably got as many years in nursing as you have, and I expect some respect, especially from another RN. Capisce?”

  “Hey, I was hassled. I’m sorry.”

  “Come over to Oncology tomorrow and let me return the favor.”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Damn straight.”

  They turned their backs on each other as the elevator made its descent. Despite their clash, Harry hadn’t been able to keep from sneaking a glance at her now and then. He found her very attractive. And once he thought he’d caught her looking at him, or perhaps it was only wishful thinking on his part. He had to admit that for being out of her element, she’d caught on quickly and appeared to be a damn good nurse.

  As the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open, he allowed her to step out first. She didn’t look at him as she moved briskly past him.

  “Ms. Mazzio?”

  She stopped, turned toward him. “Yeah?”

  “In an attempt to make up for my knuckle-dragging earlier today, I would very much appreciate it if you would allow me to take you to dinner.”

  Her steely glare relaxed, she burst out laughing, and agreed to go out with him.

  At dinner, he apologized again. “It’s a family thing,” he said.

  “Apologizing?”

  “No, acting boorish.” And before he realized it, he was telling her about growing up in San Francisco where the men in his family worked the port docks loading and unloading cargo.

  “Part of their Saturday night entertainment was to pick on me for going to nursing school.

  “And the women?”

  “Cook, clean, patch up the men, and have babies.”

  She laughed.

  “You find that funny?”

  “No,” she said. “A picture flashed in my mind of you in your scrubs exchanging punches with some bearded guy in filthy jeans.”

  “You mean, with a background like that, how’d I ever decide to become a nurse?”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  He told her about the football scholarship to the University of New Mexico, how he’d majored in sports training, and how that led to thinking about becoming an MD.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “The scholarship wasn’t hefty enough. It wouldn’t cover medical school, so I gave nursing a try. Came back to San Francisco for my first job.”

  “No girlfriends along the way?”

  “A date here and there, nothing serious. Most gals aren’t too crazy about a guy who’s always too broke to take them anywhere.”

  “You make pretty good money now,” she said.

  “Haven’t met anyone I want to spend it on.”

  Before long they were seeing each other exclusively; then they moved in together.

  * * *

  But there was a well of dep
ression from her disastrous first marriage; memories would sprint to the surface at the drop of a wrong word. She would lash out, leave him feeling helpless. At times she would cry, become fearful -- not want to leave the bedroom, much less the apartment. It was hard to be objective, to figure out what was real or imaginary.

  He’d gone into their relationship with his eyes wide open, understood from the beginning what he was facing – it would take a long, long time, if ever, before Gina would fully trust him, or any man.

  Harry looked up at the sky, let the rain wash away his despair.

  He wasn’t sure exactly what happened Friday night – they were talking, then all of a sudden they were arguing, and then, bam, he was out the door with a half-packed suitcase.

  One thing he knew for certain: the wedding was definitely off.

  What was it they’d been talking about? He forced his memory to respond: A telephone call. One that came in just before Gina got off work. Some jerk-off trying to pull her chain. That took him back to other times when he Hadn’t taken her seriously: the bone marrow incident, her work on the union contract. Both had caused terrible rough spots in their relationship, particularly after Alan Vasquez almost fired her

  Mazzio was a serious woman – didn’t want to be considered a light weight. Treating her that way wasn’t even like him. It was a stupid mistake!

  And now, some creep on the telephone was pushing her buttons, causing her to sense danger.

  Real or imagined?

  “Cutting up women? I don’t think so, Gina,” he’d said in their apartment living room.

  Wrong move again, Lucke.

  Still, she should have just given him hell, allowed him to apologize, and gone on with their plans.

  Or, if she flat out didn’t want to marry him, she should just say so and be done with it.

  He walked back to the cabin, picked up the brochure he’d tossed aside, and put it in his suitcase next to his laptop and smart phone.

  What was he going to do with the two-week break he’d arranged with the traveling nurse registry? The plan was to either work on their apartment, or look around for a new, larger condo. He certainly wasn’t going to call in and make himself available for a new assignment right away, and when he did, maybe he would request someplace far, far away, like maybe Alaska.