Bone Pit: A Chilling Medical Suspense Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 3)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I like New York a lot better than you do. But I’ve done all the museums; Central Parked myself silly; and shopped all the stores. There was no sense my really getting involved in a job since I knew sooner or later we were going to end up back in California. I was beginning to get tired waiting for the hammer to fall, so I started looking around for a job and got that appointment for an interview at Bloomingdales.”

  “But, baby, I thought you really loved being there.”

  “Well, yeah. I like New York; the people are a kick; and its energy is a real turn-on.” She threw her arms around his neck. “But I’m as much an LA kook as you are. And besides, I want you to be happy. I can work anywhere.”

  * * * *

  They unpacked the few pieces of clothing they’d brought and Annie sprawled out on the bed.

  “There’s more to it, isn’t there, Carl?”

  He’d poured them each a glass of the complimentary Zinfandel and took a sip. “Man this is pretty damn good.”

  She gave him that look that always made his heart almost stop.

  I swear, the woman’s a witch.

  He told her about Tuva Goldmich.

  “Don’t try to kid a kidder, Carl. That would never be enough to get you on a plane to come to Nevada. Especially since you don’t gamble.”

  “You’re right, Annie. I mean, I feel for the woman but that whole business with clinical trials is pretty well regulated. There’s probably a good reason she hasn’t heard from her mom.”

  “Well, what is it then?”

  “I spoke to one of the partners at Zelint Pharmaceuticals, the company behind the trials. And, I swear, there’s something off with that operation.”

  “Something off? Merely from a telephone call?” Annie smiled at him.

  “Yeah, I know, that’s pretty lame.”

  “Did you call the regional office of OCI before dragging us half way across the country?”

  “I did, but they’re so backed up with cases they’ll never get to it. Besides, I promised Tuva Goldmich I would follow up. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I don’t want to let that woman down.”

  “Aren’t you the one who told me to never make promises you can’t keep?”

  “I think that’s why I dragged us out here.”

  But she wasn’t listening anymore. She laid back, brought her arms overhead, and gave him that look again. This time it sucked his mouth dry. He slid onto the bed next to her, barely able to breathe. When she lifted his shirt, goose bumps trailed behind her nails as they rode up and down his back; his hand wandered across her smooth skin, found its way to her inner thigh.

  “Have I told you lately that you’re the love of my life?”

  “Never often enough, Carlie.”

  * * * *

  Carl and Annie had walked themselves out traveling up and down the boardwalk in Virginia City when Carl came to a stop in front of a small gun shop. It was tucked in between two much larger buildings; he’d almost missed it.

  “Let’s go inside and poke around,” he said, pulling her in with him.

  “You men and your guns. You have your service revolver and that teeny thing you wear on your ankle at home. Why are we looking at more guns?”

  “Because I’ve always wanted to own one of those western six-shooters.”

  The shop was even smaller than it appeared on the outside. The man behind the counter wore a large western hat and his jacket and shirt had cowboy cuts; a bolo tie held a large, mottled turquoise stone in the center.

  The man’s fingers were large and meaty; all but the thumbs were encircled with silver rings set with turquoise stones, rings like the ones in the showcase where his hands rested. Along side the display of rings was an impressive array of beautiful beaded and turquoise Indian bracelets and necklaces.

  Carl could see Annie admiring all the exclusive Indian artifacts, while he was eying the hefty prices attached to them.

  His gaze traveled up the walls that were covered with antique Colts of every description and condition, mostly excellent.

  “Help you?” the man said in a quiet voice. Carl could sense he was probably the kind of man who never bluffed at poker, and rarely lied.

  “Interesting store you have here.”

  “I like it.”

  “Where do you get all these old-timers?” Carl said, pointing at the guns.

  “Oh, I travel from show to show throughout the Southwest. Pick up one piece here and another there.” He gave Carl a half-smile. “People inherit them … got no use for them … sell their collections to me. I love them old guns.”

  “What’s the price range?” Annie asked.

  He could see the man didn’t much like a woman butting in. Carl wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek to let the owner know where things stood.

  “Well now, I could sell you a Colt SAA. 44 S&W, pre-war, single-action Army revolver for about $75,000 bucks.” His quote was accompanied by something that could be called a dry laugh. “But I’ll have to go into the vault for that one.”

  “Ah, save yourself the trip,” Carl said. “That’s way out of my league.”

  “Is this your first antique Western?”

  “Yep! Always wanted one.”

  “Well, why don’t we start you with a 1917 Colt double action 38?”

  “What are you asking?” Carl asked, holding his breath.

  “Let’s see: polished stainless, no pitting, bore is clean, action is tight, and it’s firm overall. A nice piece.” As he spoke, he reached under the counter and brought out a clean-looking pistol with pearl grips “I’ll let you have it for six hundred and fifty.”

  Carl picked up the pistol, cocked the trigger, and spun the empty barrel. “Action feels good, like you said.” He could afford the money and he really wanted it.

  “Why don’t I throw in a box of ammo?”

  Carl carefully uncocked the hammer, set the pistol down on the counter. “You got yourself a deal. And while you’re at it,” he pointed to a turquoise and red-beaded bracelet that Annie had been eyeing, “let’s have a look at that, too.”

  Annie’s smile was like a beautiful sunrise.

  As they were leaving the shop, Carl turned around and said to the owner, “Say, have you heard of the Comstock Medical facility? It’s supposed to be around here someplace.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  Carl waited, gave him the time he needed to come up with more of an answer. It took him a few moments.

  “If I were you … I wouldn’t send anyone I knew up there.” And there was that dry laugh again.

  “Oh? Anything else?”

  “Thanks for the business. Come back when you’re ready to add another piece to your collection.”

  Chapter 38

  Gina blinked, rubbed hard at her eyes, blinked again. She saw only the emptiness of being totally blind in the dark.

  Confused, she jolted to a sitting position and groped out in front of her.

  What happened? I must have passed out.

  A stale smell of mold settled around her as the memory of where she was hit home.

  “Oh, my God!” She remembered she was in this creepy inkiness below the ground. Buried in a mine, deep in the earth.

  How do I get out of here?

  She started to shiver, rocked back and forth. Her sobs echoed throughout the heavy silence.

  Don’t think about it, Mazzio. Move! Just keep moving!

  Move where? I can’t see a thing.

  She was panting, her breaths a loud rasp that came faster and faster until she grew faint. She was so light headed she knew her erratic breathing had to normalize or she would pass out again.

  Stop it! Get a grip!

  She forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. She pushed herself up onto her knees, and ran her fingers across the dirt. Her purse had to be somewhere nearby, didn’t it?

  A frantic 360 sweep brought nothing but silt that rose up and made
her choke—it hung in the air all around her, clogging her nose and throat. And there was nothing else on the ground but a scattering of rocks that bruised her searching fingers.

  Standing on shaking legs, she reached out to steady herself, touched the mine wall. and felt something crawl across her wrist.

  “Oh God!” She was surprised to hear her voice resound around her. She shook away whatever the creature was and stepped back. At least it hadn’t bitten her.

  She muttered, “Forget that! Concentrate on getting out of here.”

  With baby steps, she shuffled toward the other side—her toe side-swiped something. She crouched and swept a hand across the floor again. Her purse! She clutched it to her chest for a moment before frantically rummaging inside.

  Where is it? Where is that damn little flashlight, that stupid gift they gave us on Nurses Appreciation Day?

  She’d kept meaning to throw the thing away but like most things that went into her purse, it never came out.

  Her hand closed over her cell phone.

  “Thank God!”

  She flipped it open and it gave up just enough light to tell her that the battery was dying. As if she didn’t already know, it advised her that there was No Service. Then it gave up the ghost altogether. The light went out. Blackness quickly surrounded her again.

  Why do I keep forgetting to turn that thing off?

  She rummaged through her purse again, fingers digging into every corner, finding emery boards, keys, lipsticks, a small rock, paper clips and every other useless item you could think of. Then, there it was, the tiny flashlight. She yanked it out and pressed hard on the end of it.

  Nothing.

  Her heart almost stopped.

  What was she going to do without light? Blind, she could only wander aimlessly until she died, if not from fright, from dehydration.

  She closed her eyes and envisioned the metallic red gizmo in her hand. Then she remembered—you have to twist it in the middle for it to function. The moment she did that, a small powerful beam of halogen light slashed through the darkness.

  She wanted to kiss it.

  Holding the light to the ground, she could see where her footprints came from, where she’d fallen.

  If she could only turn around and go back, find Harry, and run away. But that wasn’t going to happen. Rocky would be waiting for her. He’d kill her on the spot.

  She couldn’t take the chance.

  Even if he was gone, he could have locked her in the tunnel. She would still have to find a new way out.

  Gina started moving in the same direction she’d been going.

  * * * *

  Pete hustled Harry along with the stick, constantly poking him in the back. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the orderly made his move. Probably first beat the shit out of him just for the joy of it, then kill him. Or maybe knock him out, lock him up, and leave him to rot. Either way, he was going to be dead.

  Pete’s Maglite led the way, giving off enough light to allow them to move rapidly through the tunnel. Harry tried to study the path, get a sense of where he was being taken. But his mind kept picturing Gina trapped somewhere underground. Every time he thought of her, he wanted to shout out her name. But he knew she couldn’t hear him.

  The Maglite’s beam bounced off the walls, the ceiling, the ground. The mine was in terrible shape. Every step sent up a cloud of powdery dirt. He could see the deterioration of the splintered shoring in the ceiling and realized how close to collapse the passage must be. This was an old, old mine. It would be a miracle if it didn’t disintegrate around them just from the vibrations of their voices or their stomping around.

  The orderly was slowing down and Harry spotted another Y in the distance. One of the entrances was only about three feet high. This had to be where Pete was taking him. He’d probably shove him in that hole and leave him. There was no more time to save himself. This was it?

  In one fluid motion, Harry spun around, yanked the stick from Pete’s grip, and aimed the pointed end at his trachea. Pete’s legs gave way; a look of disbelief distorted his face. He tried to talk, but only high whistling sounds rode his rapid breath.

  Harry had crushed his larynx.

  Jeez, the guy’s an ox. What are you waiting for? Hit him again before he gets it together and kills you.

  Harry looked at Pete’s stricken face.

  Do it!

  Pete was clutching the front of his neck, his eyes wide and terrified. He tried to get up, his high-pitched squeaks filling the tunnel with each attempt. But he couldn’t make it; he kept falling back. Harry knew the man would soon starve for oxygen and die; he was never going anywhere again.

  Harry grabbed the Maglite from Pete’s hand, held it like a bat, and aimed for the orderly’s neck, thinking to finish him off with a final blow.

  But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t look in the man’s eyes. Couldn’t straight out kill him.

  Instead, he grasped the flashlight and walked away.

  Chapter 39

  The pain in Rocky’s hand was vibrating up his arm; his groin felt as though someone had castrated him.

  He limped back to the Y where the tunnels had split, slammed shut a heavy ceiling-to-floor metal gate on the right side and secured it with a heavy-duty padlock that was hanging open in the hasp. That would take care of the Mazzio bitch.

  He started to limp away, but stopped and went back to the other branch of the Y; the one Pete had taken Harry down.

  “Petey, are you in there?”

  There was only an echo.

  He slammed the rusted gate shut and locked it, too, but he screamed with pain from the jarring movements.

  Gotta get outta here. Get some help.

  The trip back to the elevator and up to Ethan’s office was excruciating. He limped into the room.

  “What happened to you?” Ethan said, sitting at his desk.

  Liking' this, aren't you? Nasty fucker.

  Rocky held up his damaged hand. Ethan eyed the two misshapen, discolored fingers.

  “You mean a woman did that to you?”

  Rocky wanted to smash him in the mouth, but he’d probably end up with both hands fucked up.

  “Forget about those two nurses,” Rocky said. “They’re finished. I locked the mine down. Ain’t no one coming out or going in without this.” He reached into his pocket with his good hand and pulled out a key.

  “Where’s Pete?”

  “Fuck Pete. My hand needs fixin’. Now!”

  Ethan gave him a measured look—like he was buying a bull for breeding. “Maybe we better do that … fix those fingers before they swell up anymore. Or, if you want, I’ll take you down to the hospital in Carson.” Ethan shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

  “God dammit! Do something now. Can’t you see I’m dying?”

  * * * *

  “Why do we have to do it here?” Rocky said, looking around the lab. “All those things in the jars … nothing but weird shit.”

  “This is where all the medical supplies are stored … don’t think it would be a good idea for the two of us to go puttering around in one of the second-floor units.” He raised Rocky’s injured hand. “Sit still and keep that arm elevated so your fingers don’t swell up anymore.”

  “I’d like it better on one of the units. I don’t like lookin’ at those things … they give me the creeps.”

  Ethan laughed, but he had that same indifferent look he’d had in the office. Rocky didn’t trust him.

  Ethan pointed at the disgusting organs in the jars. “Think of it as a different sort of beauty all around us. The brain and its parts have an almost poetic, lyrical, rhythm of their own. Cerebellum … medulla oblongata … pons varolii. Don’t you think those words are almost musical?”

  “Nothing pretty about that stuff … or those doctor words. I don’t wanna think about it.” Rocky looked away from the jars; he’d seen too much already. He sniffed at the air. “Smells like there was a fire in here.”

  “I had to p
ut out a fire. I was burning some papers and the flames almost got away from me.” Ethan was now rummaging through his small medicine cabinet. “But it worked out all right.”

  He seemed to find what he was looking for, sat down, and pulled bottle of bourbon from a drawer. He poured a water glass half full, opened the bottle of pills, and dumped most of them into the liquor.

  “What’s that? You ain’t planning on poisoning me, are you?”

  “It will help the pain when I set your fingers.”

  “Listen, old man: I’m not taking just anything you give me. Let me see that bottle! I don’t want you putting me down like you did all the others.”

  Ethan brought the bottle of pills and held it up so Rocky could see the label: Morphine Sulfate 200 mgs. Rocky smiled when he read it.

  “Awright! That ought to do it. And I could sure use a shot of booze, too, right about now anyways.”

  “So what happened to Pete? I haven’t seen him since he took that male nurse away.” Ethan opened one of the drawers and brought out several tongue depressors and tape. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Petey can take care of himself.” He was getting tired of holding his hand up, but it did seem to ease the throbbing. “That puny man-nurse ain’t gonna give him much trouble.”

  “Did you say you locked up the mine shaft where he took Harry?”

  Rocky was starting to have second thoughts about having locked down that mine. “I called out … he didn’t answer.”

  Ethan was looking at him in that funny way again. “Do you suppose you locked him in?”

  Rocky thought about it. “Oh, shit! I was hurting so damn much, guess I didn’t think it out.”

  Ethan nodded. “It will only take a short time to fix those two fingers. So let’s clean your hand first, then we’ll go check on Pete.”

  “Ain’t you gonna give me that morphine? Shit! I really need it, man.”

  “As soon as we clean your hand,” Ethan said.

  Rocky was really worried now. He needed to get back to that mine and let Pete out if he was locked in.

  Ethan finished washing off his hand.

  “How about that drink now?” Rocky said, motioning at the glass with his head.