Bone Crack

by JJ Lamb

  “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, Mazzio: 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 slu
g 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.

  Bastards probably left it for me to get my ass out of here without bringing the police in.

  Holding onto the bin, he looked at the few numbers he had embedded into his contacts. The number for the health club receptionist, Rosia, popped up. One day he’d allowed her to punch it into his contacts, mainly to get her off his back. He tapped onto her number.

  “Yeeesss?” Rosia answered.

  “Hello.” Vlad’s throat was clogged, he could barely speak. “Rosia, I need your help.”

  “Vlad?”

  “Yes. I’ve been robbed and beaten. Could you come and get me?”

  Her voice was suspicious. “You sound very strange. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the Sunset. I can’t drive. I need your help.”

  “Didn’t I tell you the day would come when you would want me?”

  “Will you come? Please?”

  “Darling, anything for you.”

  Vlad gave her the address. When he hung up, Gina Mazzio’s face filled his head.

  She’s going to be sorry. Very sorry.

  Chapter 34

  Vlad was desperate when he called Rosia—he didn’t think she would agree to come for him. But she not only came, she practically carried him to her car and drove him to her apartment.

  He could barely breathe and every part of him hurt, but the bitch seemed to enjoy it. She sang the whole time they were in the car.

  The moment he crossed the threshold of her apartment, he could smell her cheap perfume, even with a broken nose. It made him stop in his tracks and bend over with the dry heaves. He looked around the small, shabby apartment: the place was a mess with frilly clothes scattered everywhere.

  Rosia was not only tough, she was rough. She dragged him into her small bathroom, studied his nose before readying strips of tape, and then without a word of warning, realigned his broken nose. It crunched into place and she taped it firmly while he screamed curses at her.

  He knew he was filthy from rolling on the ground. She stripped him, shoved him into the shower, and washed him from head to toe, taking a moment to play with his limp penis. She sang throughout it all; sang so loud and off key that he thought he would pass out.

  She studied his bruised and swollen face, the colors covering his broken nose. “Poor Vlad. I’m sorry to say, you will no longer be a beautiful man. Too bad.”

  He spent an agonizing night soaked in sweat and any movement made him want to curl up in agony. Rosia only had one bed, with a mattress so soft he kept rolling against her, making him cry out at each contact. His ribs became separate entities that reacted painfully with every breath.

  When morning finally came, Vlad felt like a wasted old man, triple his thirty-two years. While Rosia fixed him breakfast, she said, “I went through your wallet. I see you have no money, darling.”

  “I had money. The men who beat me up stole every dollar.”

  “But you do have more, right?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s what I thought, otherwise you would be back out the door. I expect to be paid for my trouble. Understand?”

  He understood all right. What she didn’t understand was that he wasn’t so weak that he couldn’t strangle her right in her own apartment.

  * * *

  The alarm went off and Gina crawled out of bed as through she was in a basin full of thick mud; her arms felt like they weighed fifty pounds each.

  Harry, usually the first one up, didn’t budge until she poked at his arm, again and again.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” he mumbled. ‘Five minutes more. I promise.” Then he was back to snoring.

  In a daze, she padded into the kitchen and put together the fixings for the coffee gods and pressed the start button on the machine.

  Then it hit her: This whole business about the man who was following her, that whole business with Mulzini—she’d needed to talk to Harry about it, had waited for him until after midnight, then went to bed and was asleep in an instant.

  The aroma of coffee started to waft its way down the hall and into the bedroom. Gina watched Harry push himself up into a sitting position, grumping with each inch of progress.

  “Oh, jeez, a night with Paulo is enough to kill me.”

  “Beer, beer, beer?”

  “Yeah, and a few belts of tequila in between.” He was inching along as he went into the bathroom.

  After a few minutes, she heard his toothbrush humming away and she walked in as he was putting the sonic brush back into its charging stand.

  “Paul knows someone who might do the hacking for us.” He started washing his face and his words came in fits and starts. “Talk ... will—”

  “—will call us?” Gina finished.

  Harry reached for his shaving gear. “Yeah, that’s the deal.”

  He was wide awake now and looked closely at Gina. “What’s the matter, doll?”

  “It can wait until later.”

  “No you don’t.” He took hold of her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “We said we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other. What is it?”

  “Remember what happened to Lolly?”

  “Of course, how could I forget?”

  “I think I know the man who did it.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and they walked back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”

  “There was this creepy looking guy sitting in the cafeteria at Ridgewood yesterday, just staring at me.” Gina gulped down the returning fear she’d been feeling. “He had no food at his table and he never took his eyes off of me.”

  “Babe, I stare at you all the time. You’re a damn good-looking woman.”

  “I don’t think it was that. It was kinda strange, but I really didn’t get hooked into it ... then. When you dropped me off to go the Paul’s, he was here, across the street, leaning against a tree, and following my every move. Scary!”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “We needed the help from Paul. That seemed more important.” She sat up taller. “Besides, there was no way he could get into our apartment.”

  “I always thought that too,” he said, “at least until last year when that stalker climbed a tree, crawled into our guestroom, and almost killed Helen.”

  “No one’s getting in climbing a tree anymore,” Gina said with a mirthless laugh. “Not unless they’re Spider Man.”

  “I know you, babe
. You were freaked out. Go pull that Bronx-toughie act on someone else.” He pulled her into his arms. “Maybe you should give Mulzini a call. At least run it by him. He might have some ideas.”

  “I tried that, but he’s not doing too well with this upcoming procedure. He needs to help himself.”

  “Wait a minute. Did you tell him about Tallent? That would not be too cool.” Harry was obviously agitated. “In fact, it’s bad enough that the doc has those tapes of you and Lolly sneaking around in his office. Bad-mouthing him to Mulzini might put him over the top.”

  “I didn’t tell him about Tallent. He figured it out himself.”

  Gina watched the blood drain from Harry’s face. “It’s going to look bad when Mulzini goes looking for another doc for treatment.”

  “He’s not going to do that,” Gina said. “Stubborn. He’s not afraid and wants to get everything over with. Right now they could cut him up in tiny pieces and he wouldn’t care as long as he can put it behind him.”

  “I guess we really do need to get into Tallent’s computer,” Harry said. “It’s the only way we can look at everyone’s records, including Mulzini’s, to see if he’s really sick or having a procedure that could kill him.”

  Chapter 35

  Alexander Yurev was growing restless.

  He looked at his watch: 1:00 p.m., on the dot.

  He’d been sitting in his car for three hours, watching and waiting. Still no sign of his target.

  He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment, shook his head in disgust. He’d already gone through half a pack since six this morning. His throat was dry and scratchy. A cough that was once just an occasional thing, had turned into a frequent, everyday hack. He shook his head, pulled out one cigarette, lit it with a gold lighter he kept on the seat next to him, and tossed the rest of pack back into the glove box. He inhaled and held it until he was dizzy. Only then did he release the smoke.

  Was this Vlad Folo really the man he was looking for? Was he the child of Nadya and Ivan Pushkin—dead for twenty years?

  He laughed to himself.