Bone Crack: A Medical Suspense Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 6)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  “Yeah, parents can be a real pain in the ass. ” Harry watched Paul chew his steak slowly and glance up at him every few seconds..

  “All right, Harry.” Paul let his fork drop to the plate. “Spit it out! You’re holding back and it’s not about your wedding plans. I’m here for you, man ... long as it doesn’t have anything to do with putting up any money. In fact, I was thinking of calling you for a short-term loan.”

  “You’re so full of bullshit, Paulo, don’t know how you can stand living with yourself.”

  “Cause no one else will have me.”

  “And you have no idea what causes that?”

  “Gee, not a clue.” He snorted a laugh. “Anyway, what’s the favor?”

  Harry stalled by taking another bite of his burger, chewed it long past the time necessary to swallow it. “I need your help and I don’t know exactly how and what to ask for.”

  “This has got to be a first—you being tongue-tied. “

  “It’s complicated,” Harry said.

  “Everything’s complicated. Just lay it on me.”

  Harry thought about it, but there was no easy way to do it. “Gina’s got a problem and we need to find someone who knows how to hack computers.”

  Paul’s mouth dropped open. “You need to hack into someone’s computer?”

  “Exactly,” Harry said.

  Paul sat back in the chair and laughed. “Well, that sounds like the Gina I know. Always getting you into some kind of shit.”

  Harry gave his brother the barest outline of the situation. “And we need to get into the bookkeeping files of this doctor we think is cooking the books.”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Paul said.

  “Come on, Paul. Think about it. The guy’s not only cheating his patients, he’s putting their lives at risk.”

  Paul leaned over the table, brought his voice just above a whisper, “You know we could end up in jail if we go down that road.”

  “But we’re damn sure that this doc is responsible for the murders of two people, maybe even a third.”

  “Harry—”

  “—not only that, he’s probably responsible for the rape and knifing of a nurse—a friend of Gina’s. We just can’t let people get away with things like that.”

  “Whoa, little brother. This is serious. Shouldn’t the police be called in? ”

  “Realistically, yes. But in this circumstance, no.”

  “Oh, it’s like that is it?”

  “Yeah, it’s like that. Anyway, you know computers, Paul, and I’d bet a bundle that you know someone who can get this kind of job done. Thing is, we need proof or the police will just bury it.”

  Paul leaned over the table, brought his voice down to just above a whisper, “Do I need to repeat this: We could all end up in the slammer if we go down that road.”

  “Yeah, I know, bro. But this is important. Gina’s trying to keep people from dying.”

  There was a long pause. Paul took a bite of his steak, chewed it slowly. “Tell you what, I do know a couple of computer nerds down at the docks. Let me ask around, see what I can find out.” He cut into his steak again “It’ll be up to one of them whether to jump in or not.”

  “We really need your help, Paulo.”

  “Alright, alright already. You know I’m always here for you, little brother.”

  “Thanks. I owe you, man.”

  “Not yet. But if this works out, you will. Big time.” He shoved his empty plate away, burped, and said, “I’ll give you a call after I check with some guys, okay?”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Chapter 32

  Gina was spooked. She went through the apartment double-checking the latch on every window. Along the way, she opened the front door to the extent of the chain, peeked out, and relocked it at least three times. She was scared and that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t go away.

  Harry was still out with Paul. She wanted to call him, tell him about the man outside, how she’d seen him at Ridgewood staring at her in the cafeteria when Harry was rushing back to ICU. How after that she’d sort of forgotten about it ... until she got home and he was standing there right across the street from their building.

  She knew if she called Harry, he would come straight home, whether he was finished talking to Paul or not. That would leave them in limbo with the plan to hack into Tallent’s computer—they needed help from Paul. She didn’t know anyone with those offbeat skills, didn’t even know where to begin looking.

  She slipped out of her clothes, carried her pajamas and slippers to the bathroom, and turned on the water to take a hot, hot shower. Tuva the cat trailed after her with a constant meow for her dinner.

  After speaking to Lolly, Gina finally realized just how much things had once again gotten out of hand. She was scared, knew she wasn’t safe. The shower scene from Psycho flashed in her mind. She locked the bathroom door before stepping into the shower. No one was going to surprise her in the shower stall with a knife.

  Stop it, you idiot!

  She was probably as safe in her locked apartment as anyone could be. But she still couldn’t stop worrying.

  The bathroom was steaming and the mirror was fogged over. Gina looked down at Tuva. “Why aren’t you a big German Sheppard?”

  Gina could swear the cat crossed its eyes at her.

  “Comedian!”

  She stayed under the water, allowing it to beat down on her back for a long time. After she toweled off, she slipped into the warm pair of pajamas and her slippers, padded out to the kitchen—Tuva on her heels again, still meowing.

  “All right! I’m getting your dinner.”

  She’d just finished feeding the cat when the phone rang. She hurried into the living room and picked up. “Hello.”

  Someone was breathing heavily at the other end.

  “Hello!”

  The screen said unidentified caller.

  “I don’t like these kinds of games.” She slammed down the phone.

  Gina stood there, chilled all over, knowing it was going to ring again.

  But it didn’t.

  Thoughts of Lolly and what had happened to her kept rioting in her head. Lolly! All of it had to be related to their night excursion into Mort Tallent’s office.

  And that man she’d seen earlier was probably the one who hurt Lolly and sent her flying back home to the Bronx.

  * * *

  It was dark by the time Vlad came back again to scope out the nurse’s apartment building. The lights were on in every window he could see. He watched residents take their keys and go inside. Everyone carefully waited for the door to click shut behind them.

  He could see security cameras over the entrance, positioned to cover every angle. And it was obvious that all the trees were kept pruned so there were no limbs near the windows.

  Too bad! That would have been an easy way in.

  He walked up to the entrance as though he belonged there and tried the door. Locked, as he’d assumed it would be. He was focusing on the entryway behind the large glass panel in the solid wood door when he felt a presence near him. He twisted his head around and looked up at a huge bear of a man.

  “Can I help you?” the man said gruffly.

  “Oh, I was going to visit with a cousin of mine who’s supposed to live here.”

  “What’s the name?”

  Vlad did something he rarely did: he backed away from the scowling man. He quickly looked up at the stone-carved number above the entryway.

  “Now that’s a bummer. I got the wrong building.”

  “What number were you looking for?” the man demanded.

  Vlad pretended he hadn’t heard the question, turned quickly, and started walking away.

  * * *

  Vlad was irritated that he’d had to park several blocks away from Mazzio’s building. And it took extreme concentration not to look back over his shoulder to see if the giant was following him.

  Should never have been c
aught off guard like that.

  Something small and hard was jammed into the small of his back.

  “You feel that?” a voice said behind him.

  Before Vlad could respond, he was faced by a second man, who thrust a large hand in the middle of his chest and shoved.

  He was about Vlad’s height, maybe a little taller, and much heavier. Vlad kept trying to get a better look at the man, but the street light kept dimming and blinking, like it was about to blow out. Then for a long moment he could see clearly—it was one of the bouncers from a place where he liked to play Pai Gow. Last time he’d lost―big time.

  “What’s your problem,” Vlad snarled.

  A hammer-like fist slammed into his nose. Vlad staggered, felt blood streaming down across his lips, saw it drop to the sidewalk in big globs.

  “Give me anymore shit, and that guy with a gun in your back is going to blow you away.” He waited a beat. “Do hear what I’m saying, smart mouth?”

  “Yeah ... I hear.” Vlad was dizzy and his legs felt weak. That had never happened to him before. “Whattaya want, you and your friend?”

  “Fuck’s sake! Are you stupid? We want the money you owe. We’re not here looking to dance with you.”

  Hands held high, Vlad was about to risk popping the guy in front of him in the mouth and take his chances with the one jamming the gun into his back, but his body was limp and too slow to respond.

  He looked around. The street was deserted. Not one soul out for a walk.

  “Okay. Okay! Give me a moment to get my wallet out.”

  “Not a chance, buster. We’ll take care of that for you.”

  From behind, one hip was patted, then the other. “Nothing here,” said the gunman. The man in front reached into Vlad’s inside jacket pocket and pulled out his tri-fold wallet, gave him a steely-eyed glare, and opened up the folded leather. “Well, looks like we got something here.” He flipped through the bills and said, “Gotta be five grand in the wallet.”

  “That’s a start,” said the gunman. “Where’s the other twenty, loser?”

  “Listen...”

  Vlad never finished. A huge fist, wrapped in brass knuckles, slammed into his face. He tried to pull back but the bouncer hit him again. He dropped to one knee, and then went all the way down. As he rolled over, he glimpsed another one of the Pai Gow brutes standing over him, pointing a semi-automatic.

  “Bang, bang,” the man said and laughed. He kicked Vlad in the ribs, stooped down and went through his pockets. He found Vlad’s keys to his apartment and car, kicked him once more, and was gone.

  * * *

  Tuva finished her tin of boutique cat food while Gina stared at the table and her cooling bowl of homemade soup. She loved soup, especially her own Italian–style mix of vegetables and noodles. This batch had been sitting in the fridge for a couple of days—all the seasoning had now inundated everything, making it lip-licking wonderful.

  She’d planned on finishing off the soup with Harry tonight, but here she sat, toying with it, letting her spoon dip through the mixture without raising it to her mouth.

  What do I do now?

  Everything that happened to Lolly kept running through her head.

  At the very center was Tallent. His misuse of medical power that hurt patients while at the same time lined his pockets with their money. Of course, it was all supposition. Still, she just knew it was true.

  Had he been responsible for the murders of his bookkeeper, Maria Benz, and her mother?

  Had he been the one who caused his ex wife’s death? That was the scuttlebutt at Ridgewood.

  Was he actually a murderer? Or was it the man who assaulted Lolly and was now following her?

  Anywhere she started, it all ended with Morton Tallent, MD.

  Chapter 33

  “Hi, Marcia. This is Gina Mazzio.”

  Marcia started laughing. “You don’t have to tell me who it is. Two words out of your mouth and that Bronx accent burns up my land line.”

  “Nah, you’re just teasing ... like Mulzini does ... just to get a rise out of me.”

  “That, too. You want to speak to him?”

  “How’s he doing?”

  The line went dead for a long moment. “The truth? He’s depressed as hell. Thinks his life is over. In general, miserable and not too great to be around ... all the time.”

  “Poor Mulzini.”

  “Heck. Poor me! I’ve never seen him like this.” Marcia lowered her voice. “He usually gets a big kick out of watching me paint—teasing me until I have to throw him out, but he hasn’t come into my studio once since he saw the doctor.”

  “Mulzini not teasing is strange.”

  “I’m really worried about him.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t bother him.”

  “Gina, you could be just what he needs.”

  * * *

  “Yeah, Bronx, what do you want?”

  “Happy to hear your voice, too.” Marcia was right: Mulzini wasn’t himself. “Called to see how you’re doing.”

  “Mazzio, this is Mulzini. Remember? So stop the song and dance. I know you, and you never call without a reason, good or bad.” Mulzini finally gave a quiet chuckle. “Who’s trying to kill you now?”

  “Hey, that’s not fair.”

  “The hell it’s not.”

  “Well, it seems ...”

  “Stop beating around the bush and tell me about it.” Mulzini’s voice had picked up volume and she could tell he was interested.

  She was careful, told him about her suspicions, without naming Mort Tallent.

  “Mazzio, you’re always good for a belly laugh.”

  “What do you mean?

  “I’m serious,” he said. “How do you do it?”

  “Okay, Mulzini, I don’t like where you’re going with this. But, I’ll ask anyway: do what?”

  “Always find the creeps in this world.”

  He was laughing so hard, she wanted to hang up on him.

  “Man, if they’re out there—you’ll find ‘em.”

  “Yeah, well if the cops would find them first and get rid of them, I wouldn’t have this kind of trouble always falling into my lap.” Gina had started out joking, but now she was close to tears.

  “Hey, it’s all right. Like Marcia says, sometimes I go overboard. I’m sorry, kid. But a doctor?”

  “They may not be the usual suspects, but it could only be him.”

  “Who’s the doc?”

  Gina hesitated, finally said, “No names. Just looking for a fresh take on the situation. You know, a hypothetical.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Well, just suppose you’re one of those greedy people who puts money ahead of everything else.”

  Mulzini laughed. “Lots of those around.”

  “Are you going to let me tell this or not?”

  “My lips are zipped.”

  “This particular doctor has been pushing procedures on patient to line his pockets—”

  “—so what else is new?” he said. “He just wants to make the big bucks like everyone else.”

  “Mulzini, you’re not thinking it through. Pushing surgeries on patients who don’t really need them can kill them. There are all kinds of risks with any procedure.”

  “I get what you’re saying, kid, but the worst thing in this scenario is an occasional death and unethical behavior. It sure doesn’t float my boat.”

  “What if there was murder involved?” Gina lowered her voice. “What if this person killed someone to cover it up.”

  “You’re talking about Dr. Mort Tallent’s bookkeeper and her mother, aren’t you?”

  Gina didn’t know what to say. “Well, I—”

  “—you’re going to have to get up a lot earlier to slip something past me.” He barked out a terrible grunt. “Think I’m in a vacuum just because I’m not in the office?”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you go to him to be treated?”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Mazz
io: I like the guy. He treated me like a thinking person, not like some geek he was going to cut up. I’m a good judge of character and he seemed on the up and up, not that I’m ever going to like anyone passing tubes through me.”

  “Catheters,” Gina said.

  “Catheters, schmatheters. It’s all the same.”

  “What if you’re wrong, Mulzini? Wouldn’t it be better to change doctors? If you won’t do it for yourself or Marcia or Dirk, do for me. Do it so I can sleep nights.”

  “Do you know what it took for me to go to a doctor in the first place? I mean for something other than to pull a slug from my tender body? I’m not changing anything. I want this over and done with so I can get on with my life.”

  “Mulzini—”

  “—if he is guilty, like you seem to think he is, you better believe I’m going to be treated with kid gloves—he wouldn’t want anything to happen to a cop.”

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how illogical that kind of thinking is. Besides, there’s more to it—”

  “—Mazzio!” His voice had turned loud and mean. “I don’t want to hear anymore about this scenario you’ve cooked up. I always enjoy hearing from you, but not this time.”

  “Mulzini—”

  “—goodnight, Mazzio!”

  * * *

  Vlad woke up, nose flat against the sidewalk, stuffed behind plastic trash cans. Every part of his body ached when he tried to sit up. He took in the stink of garbage with every breath, reminding him of the years he lived on the streets.

  He tried to get up from the ground, but his legs refused to support his body; it took several minutes hanging onto a refuse bin before he could take a step.

  When he started to move, pain radiated across his chest and his head was shooting flames until he thought he would go blind. He tried to slow his panicked breathing as he reached into his pocket and found his cash-empty wallet. His ID was still inside, although his only credit card was gone.

  They’d dumped him behind the trash, down the street, from Lolly’s friend, Gina Mazzio.

  His phone was on the sidewalk and it took every bit of strength to reach down and snatch it up. The window was badly scratched but it looked usable.