₪ CHAPTER 20
Gina slipped and slid across the steamy bathroom floor, poster-nude for a one-legged search-for-balance dance. Dripping wet, it was all she could do to keep from falling flat on her face. Disgusted, she reached for a bath towel and stretched it across her rear-end before sliding it up to her back and shoulders.
“What a dork,” she muttered. “Almost all down and break my neck in my own stinking bathroom.”
She ran a palm across the foggy mirror and stopped to stare at her reflection: Feathers of black hair lay flat against her forehead, bloodshot eyes stared with a “whaddayawant” kind of glare. To top it off, a huge zit was blossoming on her chin.
“Ugh!”
She shrugged on scuzzy flannel PJs and toed into the red rabbit slippers Harry had given her last Christmas; the little beady eyes rolled around in silly cartoon fashion before settling into a blank stare.
After turning out all the lights, she padded around the apartment, listening to the silence. She tilted her head and isolated different street noises, heard the staccato ticking of her Regulator clock, paused as it chimed the quarter hour. She walked on across the deep-pile living room carpet that surrendered just whispers of sound.
The hot shower warmth she’d gratefully absorbed was quickly disappearing; allowing an invasion of cold sweat. She hugged her flannels close to her to stifle chills that swam up from the base of her spine to the top of her head.
Had it only been a little more than a week since her life had been turned topsy-turvy? She counted off eight days on her fingers.
Eight days since that first invasive, ghoulish phone call.
When she finally made it to her bed, she kicked off her slippers and gently touched the picture of Harry next to the telephone.
Seven days of a broken engagement.
“Dammit! I miss you, Harry Lucke.”
She glanced at the clock as she crawled into the rumpled sheets, annoyed that she’d broken her promise to make the bed every day.
She counted every gong as the clock chimed eleven.
If she didn’t get some shut-eye soon, tomorrow she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything.
But she wasn’t sleepy.
“What else is new?” She snuggled down into the bedding, bringing her knees to her chest, closed her eyes, and tried to think of nothing. Her eyes popped open again when she heard the musical bong-bong-bong-bong.
11:15.
So it’s going to be that kind of night.
Even fully awake, she was still startled when the telephone rang. On the third ring, she picked up.
“Hi, Gina. It’s me.”
Harry. Her gut reaction was to hang up. Instead, she lay back and stared into the night.
“Please talk to me.”
“It’s late, Harry. I’m not up to talking to you, or anyone else right now.”
“You know we’ll have to figure out this mess sooner or later.”
She bit her lip, refused to speak.
“Gina, if you change your mind, call me. Anytime. Please?” There was a long pause. “At least think about it.”
What she really needed was to stop thinking about it, or anything else.
She hung up without saying ‘goodbye,’ stared into the darkness; it was like a solid wall – flat, unyielding. Nothing filtered through. Somewhere in the background she was aware of the clock rhythmically chiming off the time – 12; 12:15; 12:30.
* * *
Crooked, broken streets. Raw garbage slopped around her ankles, lashed at her face, left a thick smear of stinking, rotting flesh over her arms, her legs. The nothingness made her ears ring, blackness curled its tentacles around her, consumed her, squeezed away every breath. She tried to fight it, but the blackness held on, a powerful emptiness that was swallowing, swallowing her fingers, her arms, her shoulders, her head.
* * *
A high-pitched scream melded into the ringing of a telephone. Gina bolted to a sitting position, a hand flat against her beating chest. She struggled to disengage from the dream, fell across the bed and grabbed for the phone; her body shook uncontrollably.
“Hel-hello.”
Silence.
“Harry, is that you again?”
Pain stabbed through her head; her heart boomed in her ears.
“Harry? Harry … talk to me.”
Wheezing, heavy wheezing. A raspy, wavering voice stuttered something she couldn’t understand.
Her spine tingled with fear. “Who is this? What do you want?”
“Save me!” the voice whispered.
Gina trembled, stared into the dark, didn’t answer.
“Please! Save me!”
She dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, braced herself over the toilet, and heaved until there was nothing left but the clutch of spasms.
“Ohmygod! Ohmygod!”
She rose to the sink and splashed handful after handful of cold water onto her face, her neck, her shoulders until her PJs and the bathroom tiles were soaked. She fumbled for a towel, rubbed it hard across her face, threw it on the floor to mop up the splattered puddles. She took in long, deep breaths; the accelerated thrumming of her heart pounded in her ears.
She flipped on the bathroom light. “I’m all right … all right.” She repeated the words mantra-like at her mirror image while rubbing hard at her arms, up and down their length.
Why is this man plaguing me?
Pepper Yee! She had to call the detective … immediately. If Yee didn’t do something this time, she would become the cop’s second skin. Something had to be done.
Resolve settled her stomach. She flipped off the bathroom light and stepped into the hallway, hesitated, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadowy corridor.
At first she thought it was dizziness – everything seemed to be moving. But like the black apparition in her dream, a billowing shadow separated from the wall.
She rubbed hard at her eyes, inched back as the dark cloud morphed into two arms reaching out to grab her.
She screamed, kicked.
“Let me go! Let me go!”
She was trapped, couldn’t move forward or back. Her head roared; she twisted, squirmed
“Gina! Stop! It’s me, Harry!”
When she finally recognized his voice, she went limp, began to sob.
He buried his face in her hair. “Don’t … don’t be afraid.”
She took a deep breath. “Harry! Oh, Harry He called again.”
“At work?”
“No, dammit. Here! Tonight!”
“Did you call the police?”
“I was on my way to do that when you scared the shit out of me.”
He started walking her toward the living room. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. I think he’s looking for help. I … I feel like such a fool freaking out like that. But it’s the second time he’s called here.”
“Second time?”
“I didn’t tell you about the first call because … because we were fighting.”
Harry took her hand; she reluctantly allowed him to lead her to the sofa. They sat down together.
He wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her to him. “Maybe if we’d gotten married when we were supposed to–“
Gina flung his arm off and jumped up. “I don’t believe you, Harry Lucke. A maniac is stalking me and all you can think of is marriage? You’re an idiot!”
“You’re right.” He stood up to face her. “I am an idiot … an idiot for loving you, living with you, wanting to be with you forever. And you know what? That’s all I’ve been thinking about for more than a year.”
“Face it, Harry. That may never happen.”
Disappointment clouded his eyes, new lines etched their way across his forehead. And she saw stubbornness in the set of his jaw that told her nothing had really changed.
₪ CHAPTER 21
“Shit, this is one real mother-fucker,” Paul Lucke shouted down to his brother as he struggled to ste
ady a dolly carrying a strapped-on refrigerator. The weight of the load was starting to defeat him as he tried to muscle it up a makeshift ramp and into a U-Haul van. But the whole load was inching backwards and he was going to be squashed when it let go.
“Damn it!” he yelled. “How about a little help?”
Harry jumped up onto the ramp and leaned into the fridge. “You said you could handle it.”
“Forget what I said. Just push!”
“I warned you: keep this up and you’re going to create one big, raging hernia.”
Harry and Paul grunted in unison, shoved harder, and finally coerced the hefty appliance onto the level platform of the van.
Bent over, hands on thighs, they were speechless as they fought to gain control of their rasping breath and aching muscles.
“Talk about a great entrance,” Paul finally said.
“Always happy to help out my puny older brother. Man, you must be getting old.”
“Take you on any time.” Paul Lucke’s laugh was loud; a sound that filled the air with uninhibited joy. He grabbed Harry in a bear hug, pounded on his back.
“How’s the old married man doing?” he said. “Must have left a dozen messages at your place. Ready to hunt you down.”
“Don’t ask. Haven’t wanted to talk to anyone. Especially you.”
“Fuck you, too, you little twerp.”
“I knew you’d ask a lot of in-your-face questions I wasn’t ready to answer.” Harry reached into a pile of blankets and began covering the fridge.
“Do you ever plan on telling me what’s going on?”
“We’ll see.”
“Whatever,” Paul said. “And besides, you do look kind of beat, little man. And I don’t mean from using those Twinkies you call muscles.”
Harry raised both arms and leaned into the walls of the truck to stretch. He was done in.
“The Oakland docks don’t give you enough work that you have to lug this stuff around?” Harry said. “Hell, if you’re short on cash, just tell me. I’m always good for a fiver.”
“Generous bastard.” Paul pulled a blue bandana from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “It’s for mom and dad. They bought it from someone on Craig’s List.”
“So what’s it doing here?”
“Gave my address. Guy dumped it off.”
“You shoulda kept calling. I would have called back sooner or later,” Harry said.
“Yeah, sure. And maybe you’d be in Reno, or New York. Hell, you’re harder to catch than an ass-nipping baboon. Are you ever in town? Some job.” He grabbed Harry’s arm. “Come on, let’s get a beer. Got a couple of cold ones inside.”
Harry followed his brother into the two-bedroom condo. It was a mess, as usual. When they walked into kitchen, the smell of dirty dishes and garbage made Harry want to turn tail.
“Neat as always, Paulo.”
“Shit, since Annie left, I just don’t give a rat’s ass.” He reached into the fridge for the beers.
The open door gave Harry a view of spattered cartons of take-out – Chinese, Italian, deli, and some without identity. The odor wasn’t too great either.
Harry twisted off the bottle cap, tossed it into an overflowing trash bag, and took a long swallow. His gut immediately balled into a knot. Alcohol on an empty stomach never sat well.
“What a pair,” Paul said. “So you’re obviously on the outs with Gina, huh? Tough one. Seems neither of us can hang onto a woman.”
That wasn’t something Harry was ready to own up to. He stared at his brother and finished off his beer with one long pull at the bottle.
“What did you do to screw things up this time, Harry?” He set his beer on the counter, slapping away some old onion peels to make room. “Shit! I like Gina and her goofy Bronx talk.”
Harry started straightening up the area, ran some soapy water in the sink, and began washing the piled up dishes. Paul didn’t offer to help, but after several pieces had drained on the rack, he reluctantly began to dry.
“I disappointed her, Paulo,” Harry mumbled.
“Oh? Like you fucked-up-and-forgot-to-pick-her-up kind of disappoints?
“No. More like the not-trusting-her-judgment kind. Problem is, she’s into one of her suspicious phases … thinks there’s a boogeyman going around doing bad things to nurses at Ridgewood.”
Paul put an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Little brother, you’re fucked.”
* * *
“Thanks for dropping by and making me put this miserable place in order,” Paul said. “Of course, it’s only going to be a mess again in a couple of days, if that long.”
“The hell it is,” Harry said. “If I’m bedding down here for a while, I need neat.” He pushed Paul’s feet off the end of the coffee table.
“What do you mean bedding down here? No one invited you.”
“I don’t need an invitation. You’re my brother, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you better think seriously about making up with that Italian beauty.”
“She won’t talk to me.”
“And you’re planning to move in here when?”
“Soon as I can get my clothes out of the trunk of my car.”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful.”
They lapsed into silence. The weak afternoon sun had disappeared and it looked like the promised rain might happen soon. Harry watched the second hand revolve on the clock Paul had bought at a garage sale for two bucks. It inched around the dial. His brother’s head was nodding; he was starting to drift off, too.
“Did I ever tell you how I met Gina?”
Paul rubbed at his neck and straightened. “You mean when she encroached on your I’m-in-charge-here-territory in the ICU?” He laughed. “Yeah, you told me a million times.”
“She was so cute, talking like a typical New Yorker -- her hands going a mile a minute.”
“And ready to knock your block off, right?” Paul said.
“Right. She’s never been one to back away from a fight. Remember that union rally where the nurses took on Der Swartzenegger.”
“That California Nurses Association is nothing but a bunch of rabble-rousing troublemakers. Damn unions.”
“Knock off the phony right wing crap, bro,” Harry said. “Where would you and your dockworker buddies be without the all-powerful International Longshore and warehouse Union?”
“Yeah, but we really deserve the bucks we get.”
“Oh, yeah? And nurses don’t? Besides, if I remember correctly, the ILWU wanted the nurses to affiliate with them at one time.”
Paul pulled at his curly hair, dark like Harry’s, and gave his brother a big, lopsided grin.
“So, tell me again, little brother, what the hell was that Sacramento rally all about again?”
“Thought you remembered,” Harry said.
Paul gave him an evil eye. “Talk to me about sex, I’ll give you the most minute details. Talk about political rallies and I can snore with the best of them.”
“The Terminator was calling them a special interest group.”
“Yeah, I remember. Them and the cops and the firemen. Big mistake. They all hounded that fine movie-making man until his public image sank like the setting sun. Poor guy had to back pedal big time to re-gain all the ground he lost on that one.”
“My little hell-raiser was smack in the center of that fight.”
“So were you, buddy. Huggin’ and kissin’ all the pretty nurses.”
“Just the one after I met Gina. And don’t forget, your smarter, little brother is one of those ‘pretty nurses’.”
“Would I ever?” Paul tossed a section of the newspaper at him. “So what are you going to do about the Bronx bombshell?”
Harry took the newspaper, folded it neatly, and stacked it on some magazines on the coffee table.
“I wish I knew.”
* * *
The brothers delivered the refrigerator to their parents’ home later that evening, catching the first
edge of a new storm system.
Paul said, “Told you we shouldn’t have taken the time to clean up my place. Now we’re going to get soaked.”
“A little rain will do you some good. Wash away some of that cynicism. Make you a better man.”
Paul howled, “I’m already the better man.”
The elder Luckes came out of their run-down, faded blue and white Queen Anne to give their sons a menu of unnecessary directions on the best way to get what was now called the “white terror” up the steps and into the house.
Ike Lucke, dressed in faded jeans and a stomach-rounded t-shirt, came down the steps and was ready to push with his one good shoulder. His t-shirt immediately clung to his upper body, wet with rain. After only a couple of steps he was starting to grumble.
“Pops, will you please go back inside before you get blown away?” Harry said, as they put the makeshift ramp in place so they could unload the refrigerator. The elder Lucke scowled and ignored him. Their mother was getting ready to trudge back inside, but not before she had a thing or two to say to her sons:
“We expected you earlier.” Her face was set in a prune-like frown. “And Ike Lucke, you better get yourself inside before you catch your death of cold.”
“Can’t let nursie-boy injure those delicate fingers,” Ike said, patting Harry’s head.
Harry and Paul said as one voice, “Cut it out, Pop.”
The elder Lucke ignored both of them, yelled to his wife, “I’m just fine, Dorothy. These boys need some help.”
Their mother, dressed in a pair of drab green, holey pants, stained with the same yellow that was freshly painted on the kitchen walls, led the procession inside and pointed to where she wanted her sons to put the new/used fridge.
“So you can help Paul and Harry with that heavy refrigerator, but the shoulder was too painful to help paint the kitchen?” She said it with a smile at the corners of her mouth.
The men were drenched but none of them complained as they sat at the kitchen table. Each had a cup of steaming English tea in front of them, and there was a pile of chocolate chip cookies on a bone china plate decorated with tiny, painted pink roses – it sat in the center of the oak table.
Sin & Bone: A Medical Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 2) Page 12