Made the cops mad, that’s for damn sure.
He chuckled, knowing the pigs had to clean up the gunk.
Pete was doing it again, picking at his face. It really pissed Rocky off he had to sit in this godforsaken cell and watch that boob stab at the mole on his face.
Pick, pick, pick.
How many times have I told the dork to stop doing that? It’ll only give him trouble. Not supposed to pick at those things. What a damn fool.
Rocky looked over at the large clock on the opposite wall. His gaze latched onto the moving hand, traveling to each second where it would pause with a click before moving on. It was almost three in the morning. They’d been in the slammer for two hours.
“When’s Ethan gonna come get us, huh?” Pete said, digging deeper into his face.
“Leave that goddam thing alone, for chrissakes.”
Pete ignored him, kept on pick, pick, picking.
“When’s he gonna get here?”
“Stop your whining. He’ll be here soon enough … not gonna let us off work. So shut up and wait.”
“It smells bad in here. I don’t like it.”
“Well, it wouldn’t stink if you hadn’t puked all over everything, you jerk.”
“I’m not the jerk who beat up the whore. Why’d you have to do that, anyway?”
Rocky sat on the floor, brought his legs up. “She looked like that friggin’ nurse at the Comstock. It set me off.”
“Mazzio? Nah, she don’t look nothin’ like her. Besides, that whore gave me a good blow job.” Pete grinned.
“How would you know? You were stinkin’ drunk.”
“So you say—”
They were interrupted by a guard, who first unlocked Pete’s cell, then Rocky’s. “You made bail, you losers.”
Pete was out of the cell like a shot, but Rocky took his own sweet time, strolling like he was taking a walk in the park.
* * * *
Ethan watched the two men leave the police station and walk toward the SUV. He was fuming, tapping a shoe on the floor in an erratic rhythm.
Looking at those two cretins had his stomach shooting sparks.
Bribing the madam of Nellie’s Nook, along with the sheriff and his deputies, had cost him a bundle of money. And all of it was coming out of his own pocket. David Zelint would go through the ceiling if he even got wind of any of this.
All so he could get those two freaks out of jail.
You’d think two ex-cons would have more sense than to get into this kind of mess and get thrown back in jail.
Pete wouldn’t look Ethan in the eye, but Rocky wore his cowboy hat low, the rim hanging over wraparounds, exaggerating the arrogant sneer on his lips.
Three in the morning, just bailed out of jail, and he’s still trying to look like a punk movie star.
Rocky never lost his pace as he slid into the front passenger side, slamming the door. Pete melted into the back seat on the driver’s side, closing the door with a quiet click.
Ethan turned to glare at Rocky—security flood lights posted around the station lot shone on the man’s face.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?”
Silence.
“If you want to get your rocks off in a whorehouse, that’s fine. But beating up a woman is insane. What on earth could she have done to make you slam her in the face so hard you fractured her nose and cheekbones? She’s going to need extensive facial reconstruction.” Ethan paused. “And who the hell do you think is going to pay for that?”
“You are, Ethan.” Rocky’s steely voice promised more trouble to come. It made Ethan’s skin prickle.
“Why the hell should Comstock pay for your after-hours problems?”
Ethan glanced at Pete in the rearview mirror. He could tell Pete didn’t like Rocky making trouble.
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Rocky said.
“Put your cards on the table right now, so we know where we stand,” Ethan said, leaning into Rocky’s space.
“In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been cutting out people’s brains.”
“I’m a pathologist. That’s what I do! Examining brains is a big part of our study. This is all about science and the study we’re involved in. Not that I expect you to understand.” Ethan sat back, threw his hands up in exasperation. “God, you’re dumb!”
“Not dumb enough.” Rocky gave him an evil grin. “Not half as dumb as you think we are.”
He’s right. I’m the stupid one, letting him get the upper hand.
Ethan had gotten comfortable, not only with the whole AZ-1166 operation, but with the extra time it gave him to research his own projects, meet his own goals.
I took these goons for granted; thought money was enough to keep them silent until I was ready to deal with them.
“You think anyone is going to listen to you two jailbirds?”
“When we tell ‘em how Petey and me bring those dudes into your lab alive, and when you’re through with them, they’re dead, how do you think that‘ll sit? Yeah, I think they’ll listen … even if we are two jailbirds.”
How did I let these lowlifes corner me? This changes everything.
“Are those cards good enough, Doc?”
Ethan sat up, ignored the question and closed his fingers around the steering wheel.
“Hey, boss man; don’t forget to stop at the whorehouse so we can get the truck.” Rocky sneered at him. “You know where that is, don’t ya?”
“Why did you have to bring attention to yourselves?” Ethan turned the key in the ignition and the engine caught.
Pete piped in, “The whore was dressed in a nurse’s getup. Made Rocky think of Mazzio … the new nurse. He don’t like her.”
“So that’s a reason to beat this woman beyond recognition?”
The edge of a smile tugged at Rocky’s lips. “Reason enough, far as I’m concerned.”
Chapter 28
David Zelint’s phone vibrated in his pants pocket, startling him. He didn’t like these meetings; it was all he could do to sit still in his seat and listen to the same questions being tossed at him time after time.
He looked around the conference table at his brother and the three other board members to see if any of them had heard the distracting buzz. No one even looked his way. He slid out his smartphone, checked the screen, saw it was a call from Ethan Dayton.
What now?
It seemed as though he’d been on the phone with that man every single day. Right now Dayton was the last person he wanted to hear from. David had made it clear that he wanted no part of the Comstock operation. That was their agreement. Dealing with the FDA, their manufacturing facility, and the processing of Zelint’s final data of AZ-1166 was difficult enough. But Dayton wouldn’t let him be. David slid the phone back into his pocket.
Well, he’ll just have to wait.
“David, for the umpteenth time, when is the FDA going to look at our stats?” Saul’s words sounded impatient, but his brother’s face was simply benign and questioning.
“They’re supposed to be going over them in the next few days. After that, they’ll decide if we can go to market.”
Two of the other board members wore distrustful expressions; a third shifted nervously in his seat.
What are they worried about? I’m the one who’s neck-high in strategic manipulations to make everything gel.
“What’s taking the FDA so long to review our data?” Saul said, placing a hand on his arm. “I don’t get it—how many companies are as far along as we are? Can’t they see this is a miracle drug?”
“You’d be surprised,” David said. “There are more companies than you can imagine trying to be the first one off the mark. Every company involved in this kind of R & D is hoping for its own AZ-1166. It will probably be the drug of the century. It’s not only great for humanity, but the amount of money that can be made is off the charts.”
“Spea
king of marks,” one of the board members said, “how are our current Good Manufacturing Practices? Will the plants meet the quality standards?”
Again and again and again.
“Oh, come on!” David said. “The FDA has been all over our operations with a fine tooth comb—you can be sure our cGMPs are A-One. Do you really think at this late stage we would allow ourselves to trip over that kind of nonsense?”
Saul smiled. “He’s only asking what has to be asked, David.”
“I guess you’re right. And I hope you’ll forgive me if I get miffed when I have to repeat the same information at every meeting since we started our clinical trials. Questions about our current good manufacturing practices is coming a little late in the game. cGMPs are pretty basic and I’ve answered these same questions too many times not to be a little teed off. I’ve been working with AZ-1166 from its inception; I have too many years into this to make those kinds of slipups.” David took a long sip of water. “Do you think I don’t know that we’ve been sinking all of our money into this … that it’s win or lose for Zelint? Everyone at this table knows that.”
“What if the FDA doesn’t look favorably on AZ-1166?” another board member said.
“You already know the answer to that. But I’m betting that won’t happen,” David said. “In fact, I’m hoping they’ll agree that our drug is so effective, they’ll go along with our stopping the clinical trials immediately and give AZ-1166 to all participants—even the ones who have been on placebos. After that, we should be out in the market in a year ... or less.”
* * * *
David paced back and forth behind his desk. He was so agitated he could barely put his thoughts together.
Just a bunch of slugs. Even Saul seems out of the loop.
He finally sat down at his desk and began to take long, even breaths. He’d almost reached a level of calmness when the phone vibrated in his pocket again.
He knew who it was and the screen confirmed it.
“What do you want, Ethan? Calling me constantly like this is downright irritating. Enough is enough!”
“We’ve got some real problems out here, David.”
“Oh, for chrissakes just lay it on me before I hang up on you.”
“You might stop to realize I’m your only ally here. No one else knows what you’re up to except me … well, me, Rocky, and Pete.”
It took David a moment to really focus on what was being said. “Rocky and Pete? The two orderlies?”
“Exactly!”
“Well, what about them?”
“I’ve needed them and I’ve let them get too close to the operation. They’ve managed to see too much.”
“Like?”
“Like, they know where all the bodies are buried.”
“Get to the point!”
Ethan paused. “Well, they know … everything.”
David was trapped. Ethan hadn’t kept his word, hadn’t kept him out of the messy Comstock operations.
“Ethan, don’t you think it’s time you completed your exit strategy?”
“Yes. I guess it is.”
“That’s always been your end of the deal… so do it!”
Chapter 29
Tuva Goldmich finagled an early lunch so she could get to the OCI offices before noon—that’s when their lunch hour began. She rushed out the door of the building, her legs stretching out into long strides. She was determined to walk the ten blocks to avoid spending money on a cab, that is, if she could have even flagged one down.
Money was real tight and she refused to use her credit cards anymore except for emergencies. Her landlord had agreed to wait a couple of weeks for the rent, but she could see the wheels turning in his head, like: Is this tenant going to turn into a problem?
She’d lived in the apartment for three years and hadn't been late once with her rent, let alone miss a payment. But she knew businessmen had a whole set of different rules. Money was money—pay the rent or you’re out.
She thought about her new job, really a replica of the old one. Another sweat shop, with her being low shmo on the totem pole. But the place did pay better, and the people were much nicer. Plus, all of the other artists were noticeably relieved she’d come on the job—the work backlog was tremendous. She saw the situation as a real plus; there would be lots of overtime in her future. And if all went well, in three or four months she’d be back on the right financial track.
She tried to walk even faster, but her body held back. She still wasn’t sleeping well. She was too worried about her mom, and exhausted easily.
Why doesn’t Mom answer my letters? It’s not like her to ignore me. Something is definitely wrong!
Tuva glanced at her watch—like it or not, she needed to nab a taxi. She walked to the curb, waved, and, wonder of wonders, a taxi immediately pulled up alongside of her.
Now there’s s a first!
She slid inside, gave the cabbie the address, and they were on the move before she’d solidly closed the door.
* * * *
Carl Krueger was in a terrific mood. He’d called in some favors from his former FBI unit and it looked like he might be able to have his old job back. It had taken days and days of hanging on the phone, talking to just about everyone he knew. Of course, that made his work schedule a real mess, but it looked like his persistence was going to pay off.
Finally, he would get back to the West Coast.
He leaned back into his desk chair—it would take a lot of sweet talk to bring his wife over to his side, especially now that she was going to be interviewed for a new marketing position at Bloomingdales.
She knows how unhappy I am here. She’ll understand … I hope.
His phone buzzed. The caller info window showed that it was reception.
Hell with it. Maybe if I ignore it, she’ll try to get someone else.
The call light went out.
He took a deep breath, leaned back, and allowed himself to daydream for a moment. He’d barely pictured a pristine Hawaiian beach, with palm trees gently swaying when the phone did its thing again.
“Oh, shit!’ He reached out and picked up the receiver.
“There’s a Tuva Goldmich here to see you, Mr. Kreuger.”
“Can’t you get someone else to handle it, please?”
“No, she won’t see anyone else … says it has to be you. What do you want me to do?”
“Throw her out the back door.” He could imagine the receptionist rolling her eyes, barely tolerating him.
Finally she said, “I’m waiting, sir.”
The way she said “sir” was definitely a sarcastic slam. “Tell her to grab a seat. I’ll be out to get her in a minute.”
His Tuva/Emma Goldmich notes sat there staring at him from the corner of his desk, the same place they’d rested since Tuva Goldmich’s brief telephone call. The only thing he’d done was print the computer file. Something inside of him had refused to pack it away in his cabinet of active files.
He opened the folder, fingered the papers. Yeah, the Alzheimer’s study. As if he didn’t know.
Even if there’s nothing to it, why the hell haven’t I gotten in touch with the LA regional office to look into this Comstock facility?
He knew the answer: It would take too damn much time. First there would be the telephone calls, then multiple e-mail communications, and last, but not least, the razzing he would get for even initiating an unnecessary investigation. The draconian budget cuts was reason enough right there.
He’d had a lot to deal with. Setting himself up for getting back to LA being his first priority. Life was too short … and would be even be shorter if he didn’t get out of New York soon.
* * * *
Carl brought the Goldmich woman into his office, pulled out a chair for her. But she just stood there glaring at him.
I fucking don’t like the look on her face … she’s the kind of broad who thinks she’s better … smarter than me.
“Mr. Kreuger, you swore you’d follo
w up on my mother’s case.”
Damn princess. That’s what she is.
She was still standing there.
“Ms. Goldmich, you know all of this takes time. And it doesn’t help when you continue to badger me.” He went around the desk and sat down in his chair and looked up at her.
“Badger you? I’m worried about my mother, Mr. Kreuger. I thought you’d help me. Don’t you get it? There’s something wrong. My mother would never ignore my letters. Never!” She finally dropped heavily into the chair opposite him.
“Have you tried calling her?”
“Haven’t we gone over this before? Of course I have. But when I call, they say it’s too late, or it’s too early … or she’s in treatment … or she’s sleeping. There’s always a reason why I can’t speak to her. They won’t even give a good time for me to call. At least when she was in a facility here in New York, I was able to visit her, talk to her almost anytime.”
Carl felt the pangs of guilt sitting right in the middle of his chest. He also felt pretty stupid for getting a burr up his ass about a woman who was simply worried about her mother. He leaned across the desk and looked at Tuva Goldmich’s worried face. Her eyes were wide open. She was really scared.
“I promise, I will speak to the LA office as soon as you leave.”
“So, you haven’t called them yet?” Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“I’m really sorry. My caseload has been unusually heavy; I just haven’t gotten to it.” He stood and walked around the desk and held out his hand. “But I promise, I will call right away.”
She looked up at him for a moment, then placed her hand in his.
After Tuva Goldmich closed the door behind her, he turned to his wife’s picture on the edge of the desk. She seemed to be looking at him with accusing eyes.
Yeah, I know. I’m a boob for a lot of reasons.
Bone Pit: A Chilling Medical Suspense Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 3) Page 16
