[Gina Mazzio RN 01.0 - 03.0] Bone Set

by JJ Lamb

  On top of that, he paid way over scale for their services. He might have spent his career dissecting dead bodies as an ME, but that didn’t mean he knew nothing about human behavior.

  Damn, I don’t have time for this if I’m going to stick to the schedule.

  Things were already screwed up. Emma Goldmich was supposed to have been out of his hair by now. If Mazzio and Lucke hadn’t met her on the elevator, things would have proceeded as methodically as a metronome clicking out its beat. Now, everything was out of whack.

  And all because of two California nurses. Damn!

  Chapter 17

  Rocky and Pete looked at Ethan, then at each other as they entered his office. It was strange the way they sat down like a pair of puppets, quick, but jerky.

  “Tell me, what do you think of the two new nurses?”

  “Lucke? Smartass Californian,” Pete said, without hesitation.

  Rocky chimed in, “Same for Mazzio only with a New York accent.”

  Ethan leaned back into his desk chair, looked across his desk at their snake-like eyes. “Okay, so the two of you don’t like them, but neither one of you like much of anybody. Is there anything that stands out?”

  “That Harry seems to always have his nose in the patients’ friggin’ charts.” Pete said. “Every time I turn around, he’s digging into their records for something.”

  “So?” Ethan said. “Nurses have to read the charts. No other way to document the care given, or to even know the history of a patient.”

  “Well, there’s something unnatural ‘bout it,” Pete said, “his body’s all tensed up like a cat with an eye on a mouse. He’s lookin’ for something.”

  “And I hate that skinny-assed bitch,” Rocky said. “One of these days I’ll show her a thing or two.” He gave them a dirty laugh. “The bitch might even like it.”

  “Woman!” Ethan said. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call women bitches?”

  Rocky ignored the comment; his eyes narrowed until the whites of his eyes were barely visible. “Yeah, well they’re all bitches as far as I’m concerned, no matter what you call them.” He seemed to blow out tension, relaxed, and elbowed Pete. They both snickered.

  “Just keep your hands to yourselves! Otherwise, keep a close eye on them. Let me know if they do anything unusual.”

  With all the problems Ethan had encountered since becoming involved in the Zeilint drug study, hiring a professional staff for Comstock Facility hadn’t been one of them. That is until Gina Mazzio and Harry Lucke walked into the Comstock satellite.

  Nurses understood that a contract was a contract, were fully aware that they couldn’t walk away from a legal agreement without consequences, serious consequences. They also knew the large payments they received were because the facility was part of an unusual experimental drug development program, and that staffing was set at a bare minimum. Except for Delores, every nurse had left after three months—with fat wallets. And that was the way Ethan deliberately planned it.

  “I’m going to need the two of you tonight,” he said.

  The two orderlies sat across from him like a pair of cocky fools.

  “What time?” Rocky asked in his smart-ass, alpha dog way.

  Ethan ignored the attitude and looked at his watch. “In a couple of hours.”

  They both nodded, got up, and left.

  * * *

  Ethan thought back to how he hooked up with the two incorrigible orderlies.

  He’d gone searching for staff at the Silver Mine Saloon in Virginia City one Saturday night. He wanted cheap, local help to train, not only as orderlies, but to do whatever else was necessary to carry out his plans.

  He was sizing up the local talent when Peter and Rocky wandered in, slid onto the two stools next to Ethan, and ordered up a couple of boilermakers. When they’d tossed those down, Ethan offered to buy them another round.

  The pair accepted without even asking who their new friend was, or why he was buying them a drink.

  Ethan struggled to keep from laughing out loud at the two of them, but after scoping out the town, he realized he was out numbered by the many misfits and low-life characters that roamed the streets looking to start trouble just for the hell of it. He decided it was better to keep his mouth shut than end up on the floor with a broken nose, or perhaps hauled away and dumped in some ditch by the side of the road.

  Hell, I’d rather spend hours cutting up a corpse than look at these two cretins for more than a few minutes.

  On the plus side, he’d certainly come to the right place to snag the sort of people he needed to do what had to be done.

  Each of the two was built like a brick shit-house—strong and square, and just as dumb.

  They look like they were spawned from the same mold; they’re even dressed alike, right down to their dirty jeans, plaid shirts, and scuffed Acme boots.

  Rocky was by far the one with the most marbles. But he was also the one who would fight a house fly for violating his space.

  Too damn aggressive for his own good.

  Because of that, Ethan wanted to hire only Peter. But the more he talked to them he realized the two men came as a matched set. Having grown up in the same foster home in Winnemucca, they’d continued to live together after taking up residence in Virginia City. There would be no taking just one of them.

  Ethan had been sorry ever since.

  * * *

  Gina and Harry sat at their mini kitchen table, looking at a beautiful mixture of fresh, raw vegetables, topped with vinaigrette dressing.

  There was none of their usual back-and-forth chatter; they were both poking at their salads, not really eating much of anything.

  The meal sat there glaring at Gina.

  With a spark of annoyance, she realized that they were still in their work scrubs. After twelve-plus hours, she felt grubby and glued together; Harry’s duds still looked fresh—not only that, they matched his baby blue eyes.

  Can the guy do anything wrong?

  After work, they almost always headed straight for the shower, not wanting to eat without really cleaning up after their shift. As a nurse, she never knew exactly what she might have gotten into, or what she’d been exposed to on the units. Even with the constant washing and disinfecting of her hands, she was still vulnerable to every microbe that existed. Gina and Harry never felt right until after they’d scrubbed themselves thoroughly in the shower.

  Throughout her career, Gina tried not to spend too much of her time thinking about the God-awful pathogens she might be breathing, or the microbes swimming through the body fluids she had to deal with. But every now and then, she wondered why she was so willing to be in the defensive line of stopping disease and suffering.

  She and Harry had talked about it many times and came to the conclusion that their choice of occupation had nothing to do with helping people. They were just plain crazy.

  They both looked up at the same time and started talking, stepping on each other’s words.

  Gina laughed, “You go first.”

  He took a quick sip of his water before answering. She watched the ice cubes wash up against the lip of the glass, and then bump his nose.

  “You were right, doll,” he said after swallowing. “There’s definitely something not right about this place.”

  Gina’s surge of relief came with a rush of warmth. She was up and around the table, kissing his lips, his cheeks, then back to his lips again. “I can’t tell you how much better I feel,” she said with a wide smile. “I mean, I’m the one who’s always so god-awful distrustful. Sometimes I feel like an idiot.”

  He drew her onto his lap. “Truth be told, you are a little strange … but damn, you’re beautiful.”

  “What made you change your mind?” She nuzzled his neck waiting for him to go on.

  “Several things. But what nailed it was a missing computer page, the one that covers questions and answers from the trial participants. No sign of that page … anywhere!”

&nb
sp; Gina pulled her chair next to his. “Why would you expect it to be there? These people are the failures. They’ve been dropped from the study. I’m surprised you found anything. Besides, how do you know there was even a questionnaire like that?”

  “Tomorrow, take a look for yourself. The clinical study packet is in the computer. Not only that, there’s an index that describes each section of the packet. The final question-and-answer page is listed in there, but it doesn’t exist. At least not for my patients.”

  That could be just a glitch of some kind,” Gina said.

  “Well, I’m not finished,” Harry said. “Here’s the biggy—all the patients are listed as in remission.”

  “That can’t be true. Ethan said these people had failed the protocol.”

  “I know. I can’t get away from that either,” he said. “And these people seem to come from all over the country. The paperwork establishes that they have been participants, but are now in remission because of AZ-1166. That doesn’t sound like failure. That sounds like the drug was a success.”

  “Mmmmm. We certainly can’t confront Ethan,” Gina said. “He’s the one who lied to us in the first place.”

  “I keep thinking there might be some plausible explanation … but what could it be?”

  “Maybe we could ask to see the actual study protocol,” Gina said “I mean, after all it’s a logical request, considering what we’ve been told. We could have misunderstood Ethan … maybe these people are in a different phase of the study at this particular facility.”

  “Failed does not mean the same as in remission.”

  Gina pulled her salad across the table and took a few bites. She felt Harry staring at her. “I mean, it is possible we just don’t have all the information.”

  Harry started laughing, and then he couldn’t stop.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You,” Harry said, “being the voice of reason.”

  “Ha, ha! That’s not funny, Harry Lucke.”

  Chapter 18

  “Here are some pills for you to take,” Delores said, then up-ended a medicine cup to spill out two identical pills into Rhonda’s palm.

  Rhonda fingered the small tablets. “Have I taken these before?”

  “No, they’re a new medicine for your arthritis … they’ll also help you sleep. You’ve been very restless ever since you arrived. Anyway, Doctor wants to start you on these.”

  Rhonda carefully picked up each pill, held it close to her face, tried to set its identity in her mind, then swallowed it with a generous gulp of water.

  * * *

  How long ago did I take those pills?

  Still can’t sleep.

  She couldn’t stop her mind. She had questions, so many questions. But the worst part was having the same horrible words keep repeating, and repeating in her head: I’m blind!

  No matter how many times she said or thought about those terrible words, there was no acceptance … only cold sweat and a pounding heart.

  During the daylight hours, she could see something, and though limited, it gave her a sense of time, a sense of space. In the black of night, everything changed—she turned into a cornered animal, trapped in a box with no way out.

  What if the eye surgery fails?

  What if they can’t even do the surgery?

  What if I can never see again?

  Negative questions nagged at her, stole her peace.

  When she’d had Alzheimer’s she never thought about things like that.

  Or did she?

  What she did remember was the day she was driving her car and couldn’t visualize where she was going, or even how to stop the vehicle. She’d thrown herself from the moving car into the street, heard her own screams as she hit the pavement. After a night in the hospital, she went back to her apartment and things became normal again.

  But they really weren’t. And they never were again. She’d finally accepted her reality. It was then that she talked her cousin into being her guardian and signing her in as a participant in a clinical study her doctor had recommended.

  It was like magic. After being on the medicine for only five months, the Alzheimer’s was gone! But so was her vision and her arthritis had increased to the point where her hands felt like clubs.

  And then everything happened so quickly.

  The pharmaceutical company said they were moving her to Nevada for special treatments for her problems. But if the cure was in the pills they gave her, she never saw any improvement in the time she’d been here. In fact, not only had her vision and arthritis gotten worse, so had her mind. It seemed to be slipping again … gradually, but she noticed the difference.

  It was so hard to be in this place. So many patients seemed to be in such terrible pain—arthritis, spasms, leg cramps, chest agony. She’d hear them coughing, crying in the daytime; the same throughout the long nights. They all begged and begged for something to alleviate their misery.

  The doctors she’d worked for never allowed their patients to have this kind of constant pain. They wouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

  No one should have to suffer like this.

  She started to drift off … sounds were diminishing … melting, melting away. Going home … she would be going home soon … soon.

  * * *

  “Did Delores give her the Ambien?” Pete asked, pushing an empty gurney.

  “Gave her a double dose,” Rocky said. “Told her it was a new medicine for her arthritis.”

  “That was pretty smart.”

  “Delores is smart all right … but I’m fucking smarter … and stronger!” He raised his right arm and flexed the bicep. “She knows better than to mess with me!”

  “That’s for sure,” Pete said loudly, giving his buddy a look of admiration.

  “Sh-h! We need to keep our voices down.”

  As they continued to move through the unit, Rocky glanced at his watch: 10 PM. They waved at the overnight duty nurse, standing in the station drawing up a medication, and at the orderly working at the computer. Neither responded with anything more than a slight nod.

  Outside Rhonda Jenkins’ room, Rocky touched a finger to his lips. He pulled a tourniquet and pre-loaded syringe from his pocket; the one that Ethan had given him.

  “M-m-m-m! Good ole knock-out juice,” he whispered to Pete as they pushed the gurney into Rhonda’s room.

  “Dark in here … can’t see what I’m doing.”

  “Turn on the light, dummy,” Rocky whispered. “Not gonna make any difference … she’s fucking blind.”

  Rhonda was lying on her side, turned away from them. Her breaths were shallow and very slow.

  The meds, as predicted, had totally knocked her out.

  “Take her arm. Try not to jolt her!” Rocky said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t want her screaming her head off and waking up all the other moaners and groaners.”

  Pete lifted the exposed arm; Rocky studied it, looked for a bulging vein. But there wasn’t even a hint of one in her stick-thin limb.

  “Shit, can’t ever grab a break.” He slipped the rubber strip around her arm and tightened it. She muttered something but was too out of it to make any sense. “Hold her arm good.”

  Pete held Rhonda in place while Rocky searched for a vein. “Damn it, there’s nothing here!” He snapped the tourniquet open and retied it tighter. “Nothing! Shit! Where the hell are they?” He poked until he thought he felt something in the crook of her arm. “This better work.”

  The minute he jabbed the needle in, she began thrashing around, trying to break free from Pete’s grip.

  “She’s fuckin’ strong for an old buzzard,” Pete grumped, trying to hold her down.

  Rhonda suddenly sat up straight, started to scream; Rocky slugged her hard on the jaw and she fell back onto the bed, out cold.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  * * *

  Gina checked the bedside clock: 2:30. The red-orange numbers seemed to hang free form in the inky darkness. Sh
e eased out of bed and dressed quietly. Harry was a heavy sleeper and she knew if she was careful, she could get out the door without waking him. It only took a few minutes before she was outside the apartment, a broom in hand.

  She headed for the stairs and used the broom handle to gently redirect the two overhead stairwell security cameras so they were unable to record her presence. Although they might guess it was her, they wouldn’t be able to prove it. She walked cautiously down the stairs; at each landing she repeated her silent attack on the security cameras.

  Tightening her sweater around her, she tried not to think about what would happen if she was caught in the basement again. This time, there could be no cover up. She’d been told she wasn’t supposed to be there; it had been made very clear. Besides, what was she doing there in the middle of the night? No way to explain that away.

  When she reached the basement, she rested the broom in a corner, took out her ID card and shoved it into the slot. The door opened with barely an audible click. As much as she wanted to leave it open, she closed it so the light from the staircase was blocked out.

  Harry’s going to kill me when he finds out about this.

  The elevator was several feet down the corridor. She positioned herself, remembering what it was like when she was here last time—if she went to the left, it would take her down the long corridor to the kitchen. Once again she eyed the entrance to the tunnel straight ahead, almost hidden from this angle. She turned right. The corridor was about ten feet across, but she felt safer leaning, flattening her body against the wall as she edged forward.

  The dimmed lights and the silence made everything seem strange; scenes from bloody slash movies popped unwanted into her head. She swallowed hard, forced herself to keep from jumping at every shadow, from expecting someone to rush out and try and kill her.

  Cut it out! Stop imagining things!

  She stood still, closed her eyes, and allowed her heart to slow down.