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

by Bette Golden Lamb

  Slow to react—almost too slow.

  * * *

  “What are you making for diner?” Vlad asked Rosia. He was dressed in grubby clothes, more of what she’d gotten for him at the thrift shop. “I’m hungry.”

  She wanted to hit him up alongside the head, but those dead eyes of his made her hold back. When he turned away from her in disgust, she grabbed a steak knife from the counter and slipped it into her pocket.

  “I don’t have enough money to feed both you and me.” Rosia fought to keep her voice even. “We’ve gone through all my pantry supplies and I’m broke.” She gave him a nasty look. “We both know you haven’t contributed a cent, so I guess its soup for dinner.”

  His stride was strong again and in two long steps he was at her purse, rummaged in it until he found her wallet. He pulled out the C-note, then also peeled off several more bills, the smallest a ten.

  “You bitch!” He pocketed the money.

  She tried to calm herself, but she was scared. “Look, Vlad, I was happy to help you out, but I think it’s time you left. You’re strong now and I can’t afford to have a ... an extra person hanging on.” She tried to soften her words with a smile.

  He pulled a magnet off the refrigerator that advertised a local pizza delivery joint, tossed it to her. “Order two large ones with everything.”

  “You’ve got all my money. You’ll have to pay for it.”

  He opened the freezer door and pulled out packet after packet of frozen cash.

  “I think you can afford it.”

  He looked at her stunned expression and hated her. He knew the only reason Rosia picked him up that horrible night when he was beaten and down was in the hope she could get money out of him.

  Didn’t work out that way, did it, little Rosia? Instead I’ve got your three thousand dollars.

  Her eyes were wide with terror and her blouse dipped down over those big boobs. He felt a stirring in his groin. He’d never thought of her as someone to have sex with, but now he wanted to see what was under her clothes.

  He started stripping his pants off. “Get undressed.”

  “No, Vlad! I’ve been working all day. I’m too—”

  “—did you hear what I said, bitch?”

  “Come on...”

  Her resistance was making him hard. He’d only wanted to intimidate her, but her fear, the smell of her sweat, was making his blood stir.

  “Did you hear what I said, Rosia? Did you?”

  She was watching him grow—she stepped back, pulled the a puny kitchen knife out of her pocket and held it out in front of her.

  He laughed, pulled off his shirt, and stood naked before her. He was pleased the bruises that had covered most of his body had faded to yellow and he knew in a couple of days they would be gone.

  Her hand was shaking as he grabbed her wrist; the knife fell to the floor. He twisted her arm almost to the point of breaking, stopped when she cried out in pain.

  “Please don’t hurt me anymore!”

  He picked up the knife, bounced it in the palm of his hand. “This is the best you could do to defend yourself? You’re pitiful.”

  “I’m sorry, Vlad. You were scaring me.”

  He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her, carried her to the counter, sat her on the edge with her legs spread apart.

  “Open yourself!”

  “Please—”

  “—I’m the one who needs pleasing, goddam it!”

  She leaned back, spread herself, he tore off her panties, and rammed into her—over and over. She was just a thing to be used until he exploded with a roar.

  Tears gushed from her eyes, just like his mother’s that day long ago.

  He pushed her off the countertop to the floor, grabbed her by the hair, and pulled her toward the bedroom.

  He’d only just begun.

  * * *

  He took a long shower to wash away the blood that covered his chest. It felt good to put on the clean clothes Rosia had purchased.

  Vlad did another search of Rosia’s apartment for anything that might be of use to him. There wasn’t much. He stuffed a few pieces of jewelry, a razor, and Rosia’s money into a used grocery bag—he snatched up her car keys and quietly left the apartment.

  At the doorway to the building, he looked up and down the street but didn’t see anything suspicious. He moved to Rosia’s Chrysler and, keeping low, crawled in on the passenger side. After a moment or two, he scooted over to the driver’s seat, continued to keep his head down, started the car, and slowly drove away from the curb.

  Chapter 45

  Alex found it easy to follow Rosia when she left the health club.

  He trailed her to a sketchy neighborhood; there were homeless people almost everywhere. Many were already setting up sleeping spaces behind garbage cans. He was surprised at the rundown neighborhood because it was only a short distance from where Rosia worked—which was in a decent part of town.

  Alex parked and sat in his car, watching the building Rosia had disappeared into. After a while he wondered if perhaps his instincts were off. He began to question his actions—what was he doing here? Why had he followed her?

  Mostly, it was because of the way the receptionist talked about the man in the photograph she’d shown him. He sensed a connection. Besides, she was his only lead at the moment.

  He was deep into one of the Mission Impossible films, sneering at the definitely impossible stunts, when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner one eye. He snapped his head up just in time to see Rosia’s black Chrysler coming slowly in his direction. When it was along side of him, he saw that it wasn’t the receptionist driving.

  It was Vlad Folo, who turned to stare at Alex for an instant.

  He was angry with himself as he started the car and made a u-turn to follow his target.

  Careless. Fucking careless. If he’d gone the other direction, I could have missed him all together. Then what? Another twenty years?

  But that hadn’t happened and he felt a jolt of pleasure pass through his belly. He’d been right to follow the receptionist and wait.

  The Russian killer was now certain he’d found the damn kid.

  Always in the eyes. They never change. And they were the same eyes that were in the finger-smeared picture he had of the boy with his parents.

  He’d finally found Dimitri Antonev/Karl Pushkin/Vlad Folo. Up until now, he’d outsmarted Alex every step of the way.

  Maybe he could finally complete his assignment and return home to Russia to his wife and children.

  * * *

  Vlad couldn’t dare go back to his old apartment. And even if he was willing to risk it, he knew the twenty-five thousand he’d stashed was no longer waiting for him—the Pai Gow people would have taken it. Unfortunately, the money he’d taken from Rosia wouldn’t last very long. He desperately need the fifty thousand from Tallent.

  He could feel the walls closing in. He detested that trapped feeling. Why had he ignored the signs for so long?

  When he was a little boy, his mother would talk about the signs. It was only after his parents were murdered that he truly understood what she meant.

  The signs weren’t really there—they were nothing you could see, or hear. You felt them in your gut, and they were usually right.

  The signs had been screaming in his brain for a long time. He’d just ignored them.

  I need to run! Get as far away from San Francisco as possible. Maybe get out of the U.S.

  But—he needed the Tallent money.

  With Gina Mazzio dead, he could take his money and run.

  He asked himself again why he was struggling so hard to survive. Why fight it? In the end, did any of it really matter?

  It was an old habit. He knew about habits better than most people.

  * * *

  Mort Tallent was sitting in his darkened living room, staring at the actors moving back and forth across the television screen. The sound was on mute because he wasn’t all that interes
ted in what the characters had to say. Still, he tried to read their lips, a thing he’d picked up as a child when his parents didn’t want him to hear them talking about him, and other things.

  While he watched, he tried again to think about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. If he left medicine, how would he make a living? How would he spend his days?

  Fool, you have plenty of money—if you didn’t work another day, you’d still be raking in greenbacks from investments.

  Those were the very words Annie would say when she tried to talk him into quitting medicine. He could hear her now: “Why do you keep doing something you hate?”

  “It’s all I know.”

  “Mort, you have enough money. Get out while you can.”

  “I’ll go. But I need to wait until the end of the year.”

  It was the same promise he made over and over, year after year. Then one day she stopped asking ... and fell in love with another man.

  Even now, after eighteen months, he still suffered, felt the pain of life without Annie.

  She didn’t have to die—you could have left her alone. Only you couldn’t live with the idea of her being with another man, another man with his arms around her.

  Tallent covered his eyes and tried to block out the mental image of Annie. Beautiful Annie.

  For the hundredth time, he wished he’d never gone to the Time Out Health Club. Wished he’d never met Vlad. He was the one who planted the idea of killing Annie. Vlad pushed him over the edge.

  Vlad the killer.

  Killed Annie.

  Killed Maria Benz and her mother.

  Terrorized Lolly.

  And now he’s going to kill Gina Mazzio.

  The doorbell rang. Tallent opened the front door and Vlad pushed past him.

  “No lights?” Vlad flipped on a light switch and sprawled across the sofa.

  “What’s the matter with your face?” Tallent eased down into a chair across from Vlad. “And you look like a goddam bum dressed in those clothes. Don’t you have any pride in yourself?”

  “Oh, shut up! Your doorman liked the money I gave him to get my ass up here.” He pointed to the TV screen. “Did I ask you why you’re in the dark with a soundless television like some kind of creep?”

  Tallent glared at him, wanted him out of his space.

  “Besides,” Vlad said, “I’m not the one asking for a favor. You sent me a note. And you’re judging me?”

  “Favor?” That struck Tallent as being funny for some unknown reason. He laughed and pointed to Vlad. “You call fifty grand a favor?”

  “If you’re going to be a smart ass, I’ll leave, and let you settle this business yourself.”

  “Man, you really must run through the bucks. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here with your hand out, begging. You must have a very expensive habit of some kind.” Tallent leaned back in his chair. “So, don’t try to play games with me, Mr. Big Shot.”

  Vlad sat silently while they stared at each other. He blinked first.

  “Okay, so who, exactly do you want me to do, that other nurse?”

  “Yes. Gina Mazzio.”

  “I’ll have it taken care of within the next few days. But, I need my money now.”

  “You think I keep fifty-thousand dollars sitting around in my apartment all the time, just in case? Forget it. That’s what banks are for. All I have on hand is, maybe a couple thousand.”

  Vlad sprung up from the sofa and went down the bedroom wing hallway.

  Tallent started after him.

  Who the hell does he think he is walking in here and making himself at home?

  But the moment passed. and Tallent sat back down in the living room.

  What the fuck difference does it make?

  * * *

  Vlad walked on the plush, thick carpeting. He counted three bedrooms. One was fixed up as a den or study, the next one appeared to be a guest room, and the last one was obviously the master bedroom. He thought for a moment about taking it for himself, then decided he’d use the guest room for however long he was here.

  But first he went into the study, where bookshelves lined two walls, a window took up another, and hanging on the fourth wall was an aqua surf board. He didn’t know anything about surfing, couldn’t understand why anyone would want to spend all that time in the water being worried about sharks. He could see, though, that this board wasn’t for decoration—it had seen a lot of use.

  On the same wall were many, many pictures of Tallent and the woman he’d killed for the doc some time back. The doctor looked much happier in all of the photos, many of which showed huge waves in the background.

  So, this was the doctor’s true love ... surfing.

  He turned to the desk and methodically went from drawer to drawer. In the one with a large checkbook, there was also two thousand dollars in a neat, banded stack of new bills. He shoved it into his pocket next to the three thousand he’d taken from Rosia.

  No matter how many times he turned everything upside down in the drawers, it was all the cash he could find. He wondered if there might also be a safe.

  An anger-spiked iciness filled his chest.

  He suddenly picked up a pointed letter opener, walked up to the surf board, and scratched his initials into its waxed perfection. When he finished, he smiled and threw the opener back onto the desk.

  He went back to the master bedroom and looked through the drawers, lifting underwear and socks. In the closet, he chose a knitted sport’s shirt and charcoal wool slacks.

  He stripped out of the cheap, thrift store clothes and threw them across the quilted bedspread. He looked at himself in the mirror and although the shirt was much too roomy, the pants were the right length. He found a belt that he could tighten to fit his smaller waist size.

  * * *

  Tallent watched Vlad come strolling back into the living room, saw instantly that he was wearing his clothes.

  “I see you helped yourself,” Tallent said. “I have to admit you almost look human now.”

  “What would you know about that?” Vlad said and plopped down in a chair. He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, held it up for Tallent to see. “You were right, man. You had only two thousand in the house ... unless there’s a safe hidden someplace.”

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself rummaging through my things—making yourself at home.”

  “It was quite informative.” Vlad stuffed the money back into his pocket. “I’m gonna need to stay here for a day or two, Doc.” He propped one foot up onto the coffee table.

  Tallent started to object. “No—”

  Vlad cut him off. “Once I’ve taken care of that nurse for you, I’ll disappear—you’ll never hear from me again.”

  Chapter 46

  “I’ve got you, you bastard!” He couldn’t stop shrieking with joy as he drove along a safe distance behind Vlad. Again and again, he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away gushing tears of happiness.

  Vlad Folo stopped at a high rise on the edge of Aquatic Park. Alex watched while Folo parked the Chrysler and entered the posh condominium building.

  He circled around the block a few times before finding a parking spot where he could see the front of the building. He got out and walked over to the entryway, looked inside, spun on his heel, and went back to his car.

  Not only was there a doorman, there was also a registration desk. Even if he could get past those two barriers, he had no idea where Folo had gone.

  Alex sat in his car and swore an oath that he would not leave this spot until that miserable son-of-a-bitch came back.

  For the first time in twenty years, Alex was happy.

  He’d lived a monk’s life in run-down hotels, existing on a pittance doled out by Leonid Solovief, his Russian boss. Now, the exile would finally come to an end. He would kill Vlad Folo, take a finger to prove he’d done in Dimitri Antonev/Karl Pushkin/Vlad Folo, and return to Russia.

  He could hardly wait to tell his wife, but first he would call Leoni
d and inform him of the good news.

  Alex took his precious sat-phone from the glove compartment and tried to compose himself. After several deep breaths, he tapped in the numbers that would connect him with Minsk.

  “Da?”

  “Misha? Is that you?”

  “Da, who is this?”

  “Alex ... Alexander Yurev.”

  Misha laughed so long he had difficulty catching his breath. Finally, he said, “Alex, we call you The Lost Russian. The last time Leonid spoke to you, you were still finishing our job of snuffing out the Antonevs.”

  Alex felt his blood turn to ice. “Where’s Leonid?”

  “Leonid is dead, my friend.”

  “What? When did this happen?”

  “In the past summer.” Again the laugh. “All over a piece of ass—imagine, at his age.” Misha roared with laughter again. “Seventy-one years old and still acting like a young stud.”

  “Misha—“

  “—the husband came home while Leonid was fucking the wife.” Again, a roar of laughter. “Bang! Ha, ha! They were both dead. And of course, now so is the husband.”

  “I see,” Alex said.

  It was all so stupid.” The phone suddenly went silent. “Why are you calling today, Alex?”

  “I have found the Antonev boy. He will be dead within hours.”

  “Well, good. It only took you twenty years.” Now the line was silent.

  Alex could feel a jolt of heat in his belly “Who is the head man now?”

  “Me.” Misha’s voice became a snarl. “I am the one you will talk to from now on.”

  “I plan on returning within two weeks. I miss my family.”

  “What family?”

  Alex’s heart was thrumming.

  “You have no family, Alexander Yurev.”

  “But, my wife, Sophie, my sons ... my family.”

  Silence hung between them.

  “Sophie is my wife now, Alex. She’s still a beautiful woman. And your sons are now my sons. Do you understand? They are all mine!”

  It couldn’t be true.

  “You’re a lying piece of shit, Misha. You’ve always been a lying piece of shit!” Pain spiked through his chest. “Every week Sonya and me, we talk by Skype. She’s said nothing to me.”