by Buzz Harcus
"I checked at the visitor registration for their names after you left. Neither had registered. They shouldn't even have gotten past the receptionist. She was probably flustered when the doctor allowed their late visit." She suddenly gasped. "Oh. The man, Stan, called him by name. Uh, Ming, I think. Yes, it was Ming."
"Ming?" Harry mulled the name over in his mind. There was no Ming that he could recall in his past. Ma, yes; Ming, no "Had you ever seen him before? How old was he? Any idea?"
She shook her head. "Like they say about those Orientals, they all look alike. But I never saw him before. Age? Probably in his late twenties, maybe thirty."
Harry chuckled at her remark. "I know what you mean when you said they all look alike. I was stationed in China many years ago. It's true."
She laughed.
"What about Joe's personal effects?" Harry asked. "His bible, address book, savings book, check book, letters, anything like that?"
"Mr. Drezewski took everything. He was insistent that he take it now, inferring we'd steal from the deceased. I did have him sign for everything he took."
"What things?"
"Mr. Gionetti was an indigent patient. He literally had nothing of value. The bible was ours, one per bed. All he had was his wallet, a few dollars, an out-of-date driver's license, social security card and a folded scrap of paper with a telephone number on it. I think it was a local number. His address book was apparently blank because the bearded one, Stan, commented snidely that even his name wasn't in it. That's it. Nothing of value. Mr. Gionetti was a pauper."
"You didn't happen to see the telephone number?"
"Just a glance. It was a local exchange. 793, something. I can't recall the last digits." Then she laughed. "I have a hard time even remembering my own telephone number."
Harry smiled at her remark. But the first three digits were the beginning of his exchange. It might be his number. Joe had called. All they had to do was check the phone book or contact information. It was that simple
"And you said they'd hold an autopsy on the body?"
"Yes. Although someone like Mr. Gionetti was dying of cancer, there might be extenuating complications that actually caused his death. We routinely autopsy each deceased person to determine the exact cause of death. It's doubtful that we'll find anything unusual, but we must autopsy."
Harry nodded. He was sure they'd find Joe had been murdered. Most likely smothered or choked. He had no further questions to ask. "Thank you, again, Miss - Maggie," he said.
"If I can be of further help to you, please come back," she replied reaching out and taking his hand. "Anything at all." And her hand slid lightly from his, her soft fingers trailing down his fingers.
Harry smiled. He'd caught the meaning, the invitation from the touch of her fingertips. He stole one last glance at her bosom. Dolly Parton eat your heart out, he thought. He glanced over at the guard who was still watching him, the smirk still on his face. "And thank you, too, Mr., ah -"
"Swanson, Mel Swanson," the guard replied touching his fingers to the brim of his visor. "Sorry about your friend."
"Mel, Maggie," Harry repeated the names, acknowledged with a smile and then he was walking back toward the entrance of the hospital.
Chapter 20
LUCKY SANDY TONIGHT
Outside the wind had subsided and the sky was a blue-black, punctuated by millions of bright, white stars. Earlier in the day the weatherman had forecast an additional six inches of snow that night. He had added that the next day would be bad with drifting snow and many school closings. Hah! It was clearing. Never trust a weatherman.
Harry observed his parked car for several seconds. From his vantage point everything seemed to be okay. He moved quickly to the car. No strange footprints around it. He unlocked his door and glanced inside. No hidden visitors. Watch out for paranoia, he warned himself.
The engine was still warm and started immediately. He sat back letting the car idle while he tried to sort things out in his befuddled mind. If Joe had told them where the money was, they should have been long gone. But they were still here. Either they were sticking around to silence him so he wouldn't go after the hidden cache, and the thought scared him, or, and it struck him all of a sudden like a bolt of out the blue; they didn't know where the money was; Joe hadn't told them!
Once again, he drove past his street looking down the block toward his house. The car was still there. He couldn't go home. "Lucky Sandy," he chuckled driving on, then heading north on Center Road. He drove over to her apartment complex pulling into the parking lot where he found an empty space next to her gray Mustang. Shutting off the engine, he looked around the lot, now almost a conditioned reflex. "Christ!" he muttered, "I'm really getting paranoid. They'll be jumping out from the shadows next to get me." He retrieved his pistol from under the seat, and slipped it inside his belt before getting out of the car.
He glanced toward the apartment complex. Sandy lived on the second level at the back corner. He could see her bathroom light on. She always kept a light on. Just a habit left over from her childhood she had responded when he asked her about it.
Her apartment faced out on a two hundred acre field. On warm summer days they enjoyed strolling about the apartment in the nude, touching, rubbing, caressing each other, arousing subtle erotic feelings, then making love in front of the open patio door, their passionate rhythm in tempo with the gentle undulating movement of the golden, wind-swept wheat.
Harry jiggled through his keys until he found the key to the security door, and then let himself inside the building. Next, he got out the special key she had made just for him - passionate purple with a circle of lovemaking positions stamped into the metal. He gave a light chuckle. She had said, "No nookie without a new key."
Quietly, he made his way up the stairs to the second level, and then down to her apartment. Slipping the key in the lock, he turned it and quietly eased the door open. "Damn," he muttered under his breath, "she didn't throw the deadbolt again." How many times had he talked to her about it? Throwing the deadbolt was for her own protection, especially in this crazy drug-centered town. It only took a second, and it could save her life. He closed the door behind him and slid the bolt shut.
The light from the bathroom shown softly through the apartment. He stood still for several seconds until his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, and then he moved across the living room to the bathroom. Her freshly washed dress, bra, panties, slip and stockings were draped over the shower curtain bar drying, drops of water still spattering on the tile floor.
Peering into her bedroom, Harry could see Sandy lying half under the covers. A heavy quilt was thrown back toward the foot of the bed. She kept the room at 72 degrees - to hell with the government. If she wanted heat, she'd have it! Crap on dialing down to save a couple of bucks, especially considering the way the
government wasted billions.
She was wearing a thin, lacy nightie, the sexy brown one with the spaghetti straps he'd bought her for Christmas. The right strap had slipped down over her shoulder exposing one full, firm breast peeking out from under the thin nylon covering, it's pouty nipple standing mischievously erect.
Harry felt a sudden overpowering urge to take her. Quietly, he crossed to the bed easing gently down on the edge of the bed without disturbing her. He licked his lips, then leaned forward and softly swirled his tongue around the turgid nipple. Sandy emitted a soft, low moan responding to his touch, which brought a smile to his face. Suddenly, without warning, she sat bolt upright, in the same movement cracking Harry sharply across the side of his face with her hand, knocking him off the bed where he landed unceremoniously on the floor. Before he could regain his balance, he was looking down the business end of a snub-nosed .38 pistol that Sandy had grabbed from under her pillow, and now held firmly, aimed at his head.
"One damned move and I'll blow your head off!" she hissed. Harry froze, still in a crouching position. He knew she meant business. With her free hand, Sandy reached over an
d yanked the cord on the bed lamp. Light flooded the room. "Harry!" she exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
With a sheepish grin, Harry rose shakily to his feet looking down at her. "I, uh, missed you tonight, and, uh, well, I got horny,"
"Horny!" snapped Sandy, glancing at the clock on her nightstand. "Horny! Harry, it's one o'clock in the goddamned morning - the middle of the night!" Her dark brown eyes flashed with anger. "You must be nuts!" She still held the pistol on him only now her hand was trembling. She shook her head. There was a slight catch to her voice when she spoke again. "I could have shot you, might have killed you."
"Could you lower the gun please," Harry said.
"Oh!" she said and then dropped the gun in her lap.
Harry looked at her, at the tousled chestnut-brown hair falling in cascades around her shoulders contrasting sharply with the milky
whiteness of her exposed breast.
Suddenly realizing she was exposed, Sandy plopped her breast back inside the nightie and yanked up the thin strap. "I'm a working girl, Harry," she said. "I've got to get some sleep. This is Saturday already. A bank loan officer has to look perky on the job. You missed your chance last night, so go away. Get the hell out of here! Go home! I don't give a damn what you do with it, but you aren't getting anything tonight. Understood? This working girl needs her sleep! Good night!"
She shoved the pistol under her pillow, yanked up the covers, snapped off the light and rolled over on her side with her back toward him.
"Good night, Harry," she said coldly.
Harry looked at the dimly lit form. He knew he'd blown it for the night. But, damn, he couldn't go home either; not with a welcoming committee camped outside his door.
"Good night, Harry," she repeated icily, jerking the covers up over her head.
"Ahhhmmm, can I use your phone?" he inquired in a syrupy voice.
"Sure. Just leave a quarter." Her muffled voice was still cold.
Boy, she's really pissed, he thought as he left the room heading for the kitchen. He snapped on the light by the sink. Sandy kept a listing of emergency numbers pasted over the wall phone. He skimmed the list with his index finger looking for the number of the city police. It was 911, the universal number. Picking up the phone, he dialed.
"Central dispatch. Officer Johnson. May I help you?" a voice responded.
"Yes. I'm the security guard over at the VA hospital. One of our patients died mysteriously this evening and the two men who had visited him last, a middle-aged guy with a salt and pepper beard, and an Oriental guy, were seen leaving the room in a big hurry. Well, there wasn't much I could do as they left, but, anyways, I never gave too much thought to the incident until now. I just got home from work and I saw them two characters parked in a car about a block down the street from me. My wife says they've been parked there for over two hours. She's scared. Her neighbor friend in the house where the car is parked out front, has called my wife several times. She's scared to death. I'd appreciate your checking them two out. It'd sure give my wife peace of mind. 'Course, there's probably nothing to it, but I'd appreciate you fellas checking out that car. Okay?"
"No problem, sir. We can dispatch a patrol car over there in a few minutes. Now, what's your name and address, and the location of the car?"
Harry hesitated. What the hell was the name of the security officer? "Swanson. Mel Swanson," he said barely recalling the name in time. Then he gave an address in the next block up the street from his, then his neighbor's address across the street from his house, the location of the car.
"Thank you, Mister Swanson. We'll check it out for you," the officer said.
Harry smiled as he hung up the phone. They might catch Stan and the Chink and hold them for investigation in the death of Joe. At least by taking them into custody, it'd allow him time to get home, get a suitcase packed, close out the house and get out of town. Surprisingly, he had made up his mind to go for the money after seeing the car still parked there. He seriously doubted they knew the location of the money or they'd have been long gone. There was no doubt in his mind he was the only one who knew the exact location, and now the money would be all his.
As an after thought, he sifted through his change, extracted a quarter, and left it next to the phone. She'd get a chuckle when she saw it.
Flicking off the light, he started past her bedroom taking a moment to glance at her huddled form. He smiled. Vividly he recalled the way she sat up in bed, the way that supple, tantalizing white breast with its pouty nipple had protruded invitingly from her nightie. She loved to have her breasts caressed, nipples teased roughly to tautness. He'd begin slowly, his tongue swirling around and over the tender buds, nipping gently, biting ever so lightly. Soon her breathing would change, gasping, softly moaning, responding to his demanding tongue, to his now exploring hands. And his mouth would move over the warmth of her perfumed, satiny skin, exploring all the erogenous curves and valleys of her inviting, responding body. Legs would splay wide to his exploring touch. And, shortly, she would reciprocate with equal, lusting intensity.
Harry rubbed his hand across his groin; he was hard as a rock. What the hell, he shrugged. Softly, he crossed back to the bed and slipped out of his clothes. Naked, he reached forward pulling the covers down and lightly kissed her exposed shoulder trailing kisses up her neck. The fragrance of her perfume added to his excitement. Gently, he tugged at her shoulder easing her over on her back, a sigh of exasperation escaping her lips. Harry ignored it, continuing soft, wet kisses along her neck as his hand slipped the thin straps down over her shoulders exposing her beautiful coral-tipped breasts. Tenderly, he trailed kisses down across her breasts seeking one, then the other, rolling turgid nipples between his lips, nipping gently.
"Ohhh, Harry," she moaned softly, aroused, her breath warm in his ear. Rising up, he kissed the fullness of her lips, felt them part and their tongues began a gentle duel. His hand moved under the covers, up under the hem of her nightie. Her body responded willingly, her breath coming in short, rasping gasps, legs parting to his touch.
"Are you going to rape me?" she gasped reaching out for him.
"Uh, huh," he replied as his kisses intensified, his tongue searching, demanding.
"Ummmmm, then get under the covers," she murmured between heated kisses. "I like getting raped under the covers in the winter."
Harry grinned as he crawled under the covers, easing over on top of her. "Is this what you had in mind?" he whispered.
"Yes, you horny old fart -" came her muffled reply as he entered her, driving deeply, and then she wrapped her legs around him.
Chapter 21
PACKING FOR CHINA
Harry awoke with a start. The dream was all too real! Stan and the Chink had caught up with him but he escaped by running up an endless staircase. He recalled vividly it had no railing. He ran upwards, ever upwards, his chest heaving, his body strained to the max, trembling, his legs feeling like lead weights. Still they pursued him, gaining. He knew when they got too close he'd have to jump or they'd kill him.
Gasping, perspiring profusely, he sat up abruptly in bed. He shook his head. He knew if he jumped, he'd die. Someone said they had read in a dreams interpreted book that if you jumped in a dream you'd never hit bottom, but would die of fright. The comment had always stuck with him. Glancing around in the darkness of the room, he realized where he was: Sandy's place. Then it all came flooding back to him, the death of Joe, the car parked at his place, and Sandy, the warmth of her perfumed body. He glanced at the luminous dial of her clock on the nightstand. It was 3 a.m. He ran his hand across his brow; it was wet with sweat. He let out a long sigh of relief. He was alive. He saw Sandy slept on, undisturbed at his sudden awakening.
He hated to get out of her warm bed but he had to get home for a few minutes to get clothes and papers. He had to go to China. It would be for them. Quietly, he eased out of bed and got dressed. He slid the .22 Ruger into his jacket pocket, slipped into his boots and let himself out of
the apartment. He'd be back before she realized he was gone.
The hallway was clear. Stopping in the entrance foyer for a moment, he zipped up his jacket, pulled up his collar and pulled on his gloves Outside, the parking lot was dark, the sparsely spaced street lamps providing a minimal of lighting across the lot. A sharp wind cut through his clothes. It was probably bringing in more storm clouds. He hurried to his car, unlocked the door and got in. It was frigid. The engine was sluggish, turning over begrudgingly several times before catching hold.
As Betsy warmed up, he turned on the radio and adjusted it to a local station playing "oldie moldies." "Well, nightowls," the announcer exuded in a staccato delivery. "It's really cold out tonight. How cold? Glad ya' asked. As the key bird says, 'Key, key, key-rist, it's cold out!" He laughed at the joke. "Right now the temperature stands at a frigid minus ten, that's ten below zero, and people, that is really cold. On top of that we have winds gusting up to thirty-five miles an hour bringing the windchill factor to, I guess, around minus forty degrees. Now, that's really cold!" He laughed again.
Harry reached for the knob to change stations but hesitated as the strains of an old familiar tune came to his ears. "Well, we'll try to warm you up with some good old music right now," the announcer continued. "Here's an all time old favorite. 'I'd like to get you on a slow boat to China,' and that's the place to be today, I guess, what with our government opening up trade."
The music flooded the car. Harry laughed. How appropriate. He turned up the volume. Turning on his lights, he headed his car toward home singing along, pleased that he could remember most of the words of the song. Approaching his street, he again crossed it first looking down toward his house. The car was gone. Good. He circled the block and came back up his street. Nothing out of the ordinary. Police probably routed them out of the city or have them in jail. I hope they're in jail for Joe's murder, he thought.
