Bone Dus

by Bette Golden Lamb

  Almost immediately the cell phone in her purse blared Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue.

  Gina said to Jenni, “I guess you and I are never going to talk.”

  “Hi, doll.”

  Gina’s legs gave way when she heard Harry’s voice. She sat down hard onto a kitchen chair.

  “Hi, Harry.” There were several beats of silence before she said, “How are you?”

  Jenny stood, waggled her fingers at Gina, and went off to her room.

  Thinking about you,” Harry said. “Wondering about you. Wanting you.”

  It had taken time, but Gina had finally sorted things out. Harry had not only left, but told her he was signing on for an additional stretch. At that moment, she’d accepted that the two of them were never going to make it. It had almost stopped hurting ... until now.

  “Why did you sign up for more time in Tucson?”

  “You know why,” he said softly.

  “Is it because I wouldn’t marry you or that you ... needed to stay away from me?” Gina could hear the catch in her voice and her chest was so tight she could barely breathe.

  “I’m pretty confused right now, Gina. That’s why I planned on staying.”

  “Well, my head is a mess, too.” Her throat kept closing. She could barely swallow. “Maybe it’s time to be grateful for the four years we had together and let it go.” Tears were running down her cheeks and she swiped at her nose. “Time to let us go ... move on.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want, Gina?”

  “What I want?” Gina’s voice was rising. “I never wanted you to leave. You slapped me in the face with your ultimatums. Marry me, or else.”

  “I just want us to be together ... maybe it’s better if we skip that whole marriage thing for now.”

  “Oh, I’m not going through that whole useless scenario again: I’m crazy because Dominick is out to get me ... and that he would kill you too.” Gina was shouting. “I’m just not going to go through any of that again. Do you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I think I finally do.”

  Then Harry was gone. Really gone.

  Chapter 10

  Harry liked Tucson General, liked to spend his dinner break chatting with staff members from the various departments. But he was lost in his own thoughts, couldn’t even begin to think of food or light conversation right now.

  He pocketed his cell phone and walked in a daze into the cafeteria.

  Gina was finished with him.

  Finished.

  He sat down across the table from Abby, who usually matched his dinner hour so they could spend some time together shooting the breeze. Not tonight. Casual conversation wasn’t going to do it. He looked at her and he didn’t have to say anything. She already knew.

  Been crying my heart to her, ignoring the more-than-friends body language, all because of Gina. Shit!

  “I can tell from your face you called your fiancée.”

  “Yeah.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then it spilled out before he could stop himself. “It’s over.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. I know how much she means to you.” Abby reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

  “I really thought she’d come around when I left, but her brother Vinnie warned me ... said when Gina was finished, she was finished.” He looked around the room to slow himself down. “Vinnie also warned me that I didn’t fully understand Gina’s fear of her ex, said I’d have to know the man personally to understand.”

  “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you understood the creep all too well.” Abby took a bite of her enchilada; red sauce dripped onto her plate.

  “I just wanted her to get on with her life, not be held hostage by a bad past relationship.” He couldn’t sit still anymore. “Hey, Abby, I think I’ll head on back to the unit.”

  She looked surprised.

  “I know it’s weird, but I’ve got to get my head into something else. I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Dominick was back in the El Peso after work. Manny the bartender looked him square in the eye. “No more of your shit, Machado.”

  “Hey, sorry. Yesterday was a rough day.”

  “Yeah, man, I hear you. But we don’t manhandle women in this establishment. Got it?”

  “Yeah, comprendo.” He edged onto a bar stool. “How about a draft, señor. And hit me with a shot of tequila, too.” He took several crumpled bills from his shirt pocket and spread them out on the counter.

  Manny waited a beat before he drew up the brew and placed it in front of Dominick. Then he poured the tequila and snatched up some of the money.

  Dominick downed the shot in one gulp and drank half of the beer. He saw the woman he’d been with the night before sitting at the other end of the bar. “Hey, baby, how about I buy you a hit?”

  “I had enough of your ‘hits’ last night. Get lost, loser!”

  Dominick smacked his lips at her, then made suggestive sucking sounds. She turned away.

  Just another Gina.

  “Manny, how about another?” He was feeling the booze tonight, more than usual, which was good because he’d already decided he was going to get blotto.

  The bartender hesitated before filling his beer mug and reaching for the bottle of Cuevo. He filled the shot glass to the top. He set some lime and salt in front of Dominick, who pushed them away. “Come on, man, you know I don’t like fruit with my booze.” He raised the shot glass to the woman. “Here’s to ya.”

  She continued to ignore him.

  I don’t give a rat’s fuck about you, whore.

  “Hey man, if you’re driving, maybe you’d better shut it down and head on out,” the bartender said.

  “Nah,” Dominick said. “Hit me one more time and then I’ll call it a night.”

  Manny set up the drinks and took the last bill from the counter.

  Dominick downed the shot, gulped the brew, and stood up next to his stool.

  “Hasta la vista, putas.”

  He headed for the door.

  * * *

  Dominick climbed into the ‘95 shabby pickup truck he’d bought from a down-and-out Mexican. It ran fairly decent for an old bitch. He patted the dashboard.

  You look like hell––fenders beat up and all, but I’m not going to the Ritz or any place special ... and your price was right.

  His head was spinning from all the drinks he’d practically inhaled. He sat still and let everything settle down. But damn, he was starting to feel good.

  Really good!

  He tried to latch the seatbelt, but couldn’t get his hands to work the two ends. He shrugged and headed for the highway yelling, “Whoopee, motherfucker!”

  The highway was practically deserted. He accelerated until the speedo read 50, which seemed to be where the engine was most comfortable, the one loose fender stopped rattling, and the rest of the truck’s body stopped giving off weird noises.

  At least it’s a Chevy, not some dumb Feeeaat like Nursie Gina drives.

  He was belting out a stupid country-western song that he didn’t even know all the words to, when he closed his eyes for half a second. With a sudden whump he was thrown into the steering wheel.

  “Oh, my God!” He screamed in pain as his ribs cracked and his chest was crushed. Wild bursts of red, orange, and flashing lights blinded him. There was a blast of sirens with a buzz of voices echoing. Excruciating pain pushed him into nothingness.

  His mouth barely moved; he heard a choked voice mumble, “Where am I ... who ... what ... don’t ... hurt .... pain ... stop ... stop!”

  * * *

  Dominick’s eyes were slits, almost swollen shut; when he tried to move, a scream curled in his throat. Someone was tearing his neck from his head while his chest was clamped in a vice.

  He knew he was in a hospital—that putrid smell was all around him. His eyes hurt as he tried to distinguish someone across the room in another bed.

  He guessed he probably
had the same tubes and wires, sending out signals to make wiggly graph lines on two or three monitors attached to him—like in the movies when some poor shlub was checking out.

  No. Not that bad. Not that bad.

  Man, it feels like a six-hundred-pound Sumo wrestler is sitting on me.

  Son-of-a-bitch!

  He couldn’t see where the nurses were and his pain was getting worse.

  “Hey,” he called out. “How ‘bout some juice for this pain?”

  Some guy moved toward him with a syringe in his hand. “Hi, Mr. Machado. I'm going to give you some medication through your IV line. It’ll take away that pain you’re starting to feel again.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You got rear-ended. You were in a pretty bad accident. You’ve been lucky. My name is Harry Lucke, and I’m your nurse. I’ll be taking care of you.” With that the guy pushed the needle into the IV line.

  Dominick’s head started to spin again, but the pain was already much better. “Harry Lucky?”

  “Why does that name sound so familiar ... familiar ... familiar...?

  He was barely able to get the words out. “My neck ... hurts.”

  The nurse’s voice was so far away and as he spoke, it faded even farther away.

  “Your neck took a real beating in the accident, Mr. Machado. Hard to believe, but nothing was badly damaged...”

  What happened? Did he tell me?

  The voice was floating in and out, in and out. “Wuz ... your name ... again.”

  “Don’t worry about it now, Mr. Machado. Get some rest.”

  Dominick barely heard him. He was falling, falling, falling. Down, down, down.

  Chapter 11

  The full moon was shining brightly on Gina’s bed. Well, really her and Harry’s bed. The light was eerie, mystically beautiful. It made her feel less lonely.

  Harry. What will I do without you?

  He’d seen her through so many crises. And her brother Vinnie loved him. And if Harry hadn’t bonded with her brother, Vinnie might not be alive.

  Harry was the one who got Vinnie into a special program a friend ran for vets with PTSD. Vinnie had been in it for a full year now and the word suicide hadn’t been mentioned in a long, long time. Living with her friend Helen had also given Vinnie a real sense of security. He was even back to razzing Gina, giving her a bad time like he did when they were kids.

  She reached out for the pillow next to her, Harry’s pillow. She slid it to her and hugged it to her chest. Than she wrapped her legs around it and started crying.

  * * *

  Russell had been working on two sections of bone for three hours. His shoulders were killing him and his scalp was so tight it felt like flaming fingers snaking through his hair.

  He had to stop.

  Pulling the cord from his iPod, he put down his favorite carving knife and stood up. When he yanked out the ear buds, it killed the heavy metal with its booming heartbeat. The silence left him uneasy.

  The half-full tequila bottle reminded him of his mother, made him angry. It had been untouched when he started.

  Downed too much of that shit carving away and listening to the music.

  He stood on wobbly legs and looked at the two chunks of bone. He brushed the loose flakes off the work space and grabbed onto the table to keep from falling.

  As the dizziness eased, he noticed he’d disturbed the piles of dust bunnies on the floor under his work area. A squadron of them, covered in bone dust, now marched around the room.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d cleaned, or done anything to spruce up his pad. No way. Impossible. It wasn’t a great place, just a studio apartment, but it was his. He’d clean it when he damn well pleased. As long as he could pay the inflated rent, no one was going to take it away from him ... dirty or not.

  A flash of anger spiked.

  If Eddy had cut the hip like he was supposed to, I wouldn’t be near as done in. The idiot was right there, right in the mortuary, handling all those stiffs, and he was too chicken to do what he was paid to do. High school buddy, my ass. Just some jerk afraid the boss will catch him. Wuss.

  He reached for his cell phone and punched in Eddy’s number. It rang four times before there was an answer.

  “Hey, Russell. Somethin’ wrong?”

  “You ever do that again and it’s your leg that’s gonna get cut up, ya hear me?”

  “Hey, man, cool it. No need to get so stirred up. Wasn’t much left to do.”

  “Don’t let it happen again ... or you’ll be sorry.”

  With that he threw the cell across the room onto the sofa; it bounced and teetered at the edge of a cushion.

  A faint breeze tickled Russell’s neck. He did a 360, taking in all the shadowed corners in the room. He grabbed one of the knifes from his kit, the one he’d sharpened to an almost needle-like point, and walked on tiptoe to the double-sized closet. He shoved the door to one side.

  Leading with the pointed weapon, he popped his head inside, pushing all the clothes aside until he was satisfied there was no one there. Then he stepped into the bathroom and shook the shower curtain, looked in the bathtub, eyed the small window to make sure it was latched.

  Even though he’d checked both hiding places, plus under his bed after he came home from work, he knew the Presence was here and could breeze in through a crack at any time.

  Just a crack.

  It was always tracking him. He felt its vibrations as it flew through the air and sliced through his brain. That’s what it always did.

  Sometimes he thought he’d cornered the Presence, but like the air, it slid through his fingers and was gone.

  The Presence had first come to him in a dream. That was the day his mom died.

  In his dream he’d covered her mouth with a pillow when she was out cold drunk. That’s all he’d done ... at first.

  Then he’d smashed his hand down between her breasts, expecting her to fight back. She didn’t move ... didn’t try to catch a breath.

  He hadn’t wanted to do it ... the Presence made him do it.

  The Presence also told him she was already dead before he used the pillow ... and maybe she was. Maybe she wasn’t. The memory of the dream always confused him

  When he woke up his mother was gone and the police were at the door.

  “Run over,” they said. “Too much booze in her.”

  Abandoned me. All because she was a damn drunk.

  * * *

  Russell hadn’t liked being a foster kid, but his foster dad, Todd Grotten, taught him how to use tools, taught him how important they were, how independent you could be with them, and how possessing that kind of knowledge could make you very powerful. Yeah, you could use a Swiss army knife, but tools were what made the difference between just plain old whittling and shaping art.

  Sometimes Todd’s stepdaughter, Ellen, would try to butt in and copy what they were doing. Todd would send her packing. Ellen was only a year older than Russell but she could shoot the eye out of a squirrel with a bow and arrow from thirty paces away. She had no use for Todd, or Russell.

  Dad Todd, as he liked to be called, was a real hunter. He’d also used a bow and arrow and could bring down anything that moved in the woods. The two them used every part of the deer, as well as the bones. Nothing went to waste‒–Russell learned to carve perfect bone handles for throwing knives, pocket knives, straight razors, and almost anything sharp.

  Todd tried to be fair minded with Russell. When he arrived after his mother died, he refused to go to school and Todd worked with him, helped bring his schoolwork up to par, encouraged him to get his diploma.

  Yeah, Todd turned out to be a pretty good dad except when he got into alcohol. For such a mild-mannered person, he became a mean, hard-cursing drunk. He beat Russell’s foster mom and raped his stepdaughter.

  One night, instead of shooting the eye out of a rabbit, Ellen put a clean shot through Todd Grotten’s throat .

  Of course, it wasn’t really clean
... the arrow made it damn messy.

  Chapter 12

  Jenni and Gina rode to work in the Fiat. Gina could see that her new roommate was a lot more cheerful than she’d been in a long time.

  They walked down the hall to the station, both laughing about Gina’s car and the antics of the temperamental Italian lady.

  “Hey, you’re actually going to be on time today ... again.” Jenni elbowed Gina. “And your car ran like a dream.”

  “Hah, hah,” Gina said as they reached the nursing station.

  The night shift team leader, Angie, widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Gina, again? Two days on time? And here I thought I’d forgotten what you looked like at report.”

  “All right, all right,” Jenni said. “Leave the Mazzio alone.”

  After the 11-to-7 staff left the unit, Gina and Jenni were going through treatment plans when Russell set his tray, filled with the lab tubes and other phlebotomy equipment, on the countertop.

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Jenni kept her eyes fixed on the computer, but she squeezed Gina’s hand.

  Before Gina could stop herself, she blurted, “Why were you following Jenni? She’s staying with me, so there’ll be two of us watching out for you now, you creep.”

  His eyes became slits. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Just answer the question.” Gina’s eye did its twitch thing.

  “I’m here to do a job, just like you. None of it requires that I talk to you about anything that doesn’t have to do with the patients.”

  With that he turned and headed down the hall to draw blood.

  * * *

  Goddam! Why is that cow butting in? Jenni must have told her about the grocery store incident.

  He stopped outside a patient’s room, his chest tight; he could hear air whistling through his teeth. He clutched the tray handle tighter.

  Of course she did. Well, so what if I was following Jenni. BFD. They have nothing on me ... and it’s going to stay that way.

  But he couldn’t help being angry, and couldn’t get himself to calm down. Gina had no right to talk to him that way. Her with that stupid New York accent. He was so upset his hands were shaking. He couldn’t draw anybody’s blood like that.