by Wally Duff
“He does.”
“Do you need any help on this? I would love to work with you on it, but I don’t have the time.”
“I know you don’t, but it sure would be nice if you could help me figure out what the heck is going on.”
“Is it okay if I have Brittany Simon call you tomorrow? Maybe she can help you with the research.”
Carter is oblivious to my envy of Brittany, who’d assisted me and the Hamlin Park Irregulars with our last story when Tony had been shot. He sees her as a talented reporter who can help me. I see her as young, single, and aggressive, like I was when he first met me. But that was before I’d been blown up, fired from my reporting job, got married, had a child, shot a terrorist at O’Hare, and been almost beaten to death by an abortion clinic bomber.
“If she has any interest, tell her to call me,” I said.
“I will.”
“By the way, my incisions are feeling a lot better.”
“The doctor said it would take six weeks for full healing to occur.”
“But remember, they’re tiny because he did the procedure with a scope.”
The injuries were the result of the abortion clinic bomber hitting me with the butt of his gun. I was thankful to have survived, but so did the bomber.
“That will be difficult to eradicate from my memory since it was a dire emergency.”
I snuggled into his arms. “I’m saying the rest of my equipment wasn’t damaged.”
“Does that mean…?”
I snuggled deeper into his open arms. “Does it ever.”
58
Tuesday morning, I met Janet at XSport Fitness to discuss the visit with Fertig. We didn’t have time on Monday afternoon because she left to meet with Tony to work on a case.
Janet had recently joined the club when she met me and the rest of the Irregulars after Tony was shot. She jumped on the treadmill and began running. I stretched before I started because until now I had only been walking in the neighborhood. This would be my first time jogging.
“You didn’t tell me about Fertig’s sunglasses,” Janet said.
“Sorry, I forgot,” I said.
“Does he think he’s Bono?”
“Up close it looks like they could be the same height.”
“Bono might even have him by an inch or so.”
“Probably, depends on which cowboy boots he has on.”
“With the money he makes, you’d think he’d have a better haircut.”
I began a slow jog. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was your bill for Fertig’s office visit?”
“One thousand dollars for his consultation, and an additional three thousand five hundred dollars for the lab, ultrasound, and MRI.” She turned up the speed. “Cash in advance.”
Yikes!
“Sorry I got you into this. I had no idea it would cost that much.”
“It didn’t.”
“Did you have a coupon or something?”
“Frankie had his guys talk to the office manager. She gave us a refund and threw in a one-month bottle of Fertig’s supplements.”
“Did they do that because you’re a cop?”
“No.”
“His guys must be good at negotiating.”
“You have no idea.”
“What did you do with the supplements?”
“Frankie has a guy who can analyze them for us. I want to know what’s in them that costs six grand a year.”
“Let me know when you get the results.”
“I will.” She paused. “Should we call Fertig to go out with us?”
“We’re married.”
“There is that, but I think we should do it.”
“Why?”
“The guy thinks he’s God, right?”
“This guy knows he’s God.”
“I’ve never been out for drinks with God. It might be interesting.”
59
“I have to meet this man,” a female voice behind us said.
“Brittany, what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Carter briefed me on the Fertig story this morning, and when you didn’t answer your cell, he said you might be here working out.”
Brittany Simon has long, straight, blond-streaked hair, which was pulled into a pony tail, way too cute dimples, and an athlete’s body. Her skirts are always short enough to display her toned legs.
Today the skirt was a light gray one. She matched it with an off-white sweater and gray ankle boots. Each time we meet I feel like I’m her mother, even though I’m only twelve years older than she is.
I stopped jogging on the treadmill. “Brittany, I think you remember Janet Corritore.”
“I do,” she said. “Nice to see you again, detective. You were a great help on the abortion clinic story. Are you working on this one?”
“Fertig’s an interesting guy,” Janet responded, a perfect non-answer.
Brittany was too good a reporter to miss that.
She pushed Janet a little harder. “Do the police have an interest in him?”
“Us?” Janet said. “None at all.”
“Huh?” she asked. “For some reason I thought you did.” She turned to me. “What about you, Tina?”
“You know, probably not, but I might change my mind if I had the right person to help me do more research on him.”
“And that’s what you need me to do.”
“It would be great if you could work it into your schedule, but if not, I completely understand.”
“I’ll check into it. It might be fun. Is there anything I need to know?”
“All I have is what I found on the Internet,” I said. “I haven’t had time to do anything else.”
I wanted her to help me, but I wasn’t ready to tell her what I already knew. I wanted to see what she would find out on her own.
60
Wednesday morning, I did my errands in the mommy van while Carter watched Kerry before he left for work. My last stop was at the Costco on North Clybourn. They have a terrific meat department, along with discount everyday items like trash bags that I always seem to run out of.
My cart was full, even though I stopped to buy only a couple of items. It was the middle of the week, but the lot was jammed, and I had to park what seemed like a mile from the store.
I stashed my backpack on top of my purchases and pushed the cart around looking for my van. I finally found it and was digging around in my backpack hunting for my keys when a man appeared. He was there before I could react.
“Cute little girl you have at home,” he said. “Handsome husband too.”
He was average in every way; height, weight, facial structure, and clothes. He was the kind of guy you saw and yet didn’t remember, because he blended into the background.
He moved in front of my cart. “We need to talk.”
“I think you have the wrong person,” I said. “I don’t know you.”
I tried to push the cart past him, but he stopped it with his hands.
“But I know you, and I got some advice. Stay home with Kerry. Be a mommy and forget things that don’t concern you. That goes for your friends and their kids too.”
My heart began racing. “Who are you?”
“Nobody important, as long as you and your friends stop snooping around in locked doctor’s offices.”
I slipped my hand into my open backpack and wrapped my fingers around the Glock handgun I always carry with me now. “I think you better leave.”
He pushed the cart back into me. “Not until I’m sure you’re going to mind your own business.”
I pulled out the Glock and held it in both hands in front of me. “If you ever come near me or any members of my family again, I will use this.”
He laughed at me. “Oh come on, lady. Give me a break. You’re not gonna shoot that thing. It has glitter on the barrel.”
That happened two weeks ago when I was multitasking — cleaning the gun after doing crafts with Kerry on the kitchen table. I acc
idently laid the barrel in a glob of glitter and glue. It kind of personalized the gun, and I never cleaned it off.
“You didn’t do enough research on me,” I said, as I jacked a round into the chamber and pointed the glitter-covered barrel at his chest. I kept my finger on the trigger guard.
“What else do I need to know?” he asked.
“I hate to be laughed at, especially by a man.”
He leaned over the front of the cart and reached out for the Glock. “Give me that gun before you hurt yourself.”
When he saw my finger slip to the trigger, he flipped open his jacket. He had a gun in his shoulder holster.
I motioned at his chest with my gun. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. If you pull that gun out, I’ll have a reason to shoot you.”
He stopped and held up his hands. “Okay, you win this time, but it doesn’t end here. If you keep doing this kinda crap, it’s gonna get ugly for you and your kid.”
He turned around and walked away. I lowered the gun. He took three strides and stopped. He looked over his shoulder at me. “I’m gonna keep watching you.”
Raising the gun again, I pointed it at his face. I remained silent. My heart hammered in my chest. He smirked at me and began walking again.
I kept the gun pointed at his back until he disappeared into the sea of parked cars.
61
I waited until Carter left for work before I called my two cop friends. If my hubby learned about my encounter with a man who had a gun, he would insist that I stop working on this story.
Janet Corritore and Tony Infantino sat with me in our family room. Kerry played with a puzzle on the floor.
I told them what happened, except for me pulling the Glock on the man. Janet wrote it all down. Tony didn’t.
“What I can’t figure out is how he knows who I am,” I concluded.
“Was wondering the same thing,” Tony said. “Been breaking into joints again?”
“Once.” I paused. “Actually twice, but I think the first time didn’t count.”
“Better tell us about it,” he said.
I did.
“You missed security cameras in Fertig’s office,” Tony said when I finished.
“If Tina did, it has to be Fertig who hired the muscle,” Janet said.
“Or it could be Mrs. Warren, and maybe the two of them are working together,” I said.
“Got any coffee?” he asked.
“It’s in the kitchen. There are donuts in there too.”
He went into the kitchen.
“There’s more here, right?” she asked, after he was out of the room.
I nodded. “For sure.”
“I’ll drop by after my shift. We can talk about it then.”
62
Late on Wednesday afternoon, Janet sat in the kitchen drinking a fresh cup of coffee. Kerry sat in her booster chair and ate sliced apples and peanut butter. I told the detective the rest of the story.
Janet put the cup down on the table. “Was the gun you pulled on the guy the one I saw the night Tony was shot?”
“It was.”
“Do you need to tell me anything about it?”
“Probably not, because it’s not exactly mine.”
“Whose is it, exactly?”
“A man who used to live across the street.”
“Did he move away?”
“In a manner of speaking. He left his gun with me before he departed.”
“He won’t want it back?”
“No, because he won’t be returning.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He kind of died on this kitchen floor.”
She picked up the cup and finished her coffee in one gulp. “Do I want to know what happened?”
“Probably best that you don’t. The FBI cleaned up everything.”
“Everything except the gun.”
“They didn’t want it, and a girl needs protection.”
“She does, but it helps if the gun is registered to her. It’s a felony to carry around an unregistered gun.”
“That’s why I didn’t say anything to Tony earlier. I didn’t think he would understand.”
“You assumed I would, even though I’m a cop.”
“I did, but I also consider you a friend.”
She smiled. “Let me see the gun.”
I retrieved the weapon from its hiding place in the laundry room and handed it to her.
She turned it over in her hands. “Glitter on the barrel? It didn’t have that the last time I saw it.”
“Kind of an accident while I was multitasking.”
“You didn’t try and clean it off?”
“I kind of like it.”
“It’ll be hard to sell looking like this.”
“Not having it registered makes it even harder.”
“Frankie’s boys can take care of that.”
I gotta meet her husband.
63
Wednesday night, while Carter put Kerry to bed, I sat in front of my computer and went over my notes. Shanda and Alexis had already covered the issue about male doctors and their interaction with female drug reps and female nurses.
Knowing Eddie, he probably fooled around with drug reps and nurses too. What was his take on that?
And I wanted to tell him about Peter Warren and find out what Eddie thought about doctors and suicide.
Finally, I needed to know more about doctors selling vitamins and supplements in their offices.
I called him at home. I had my list of questions on the computer screen in front of me and started with what I thought was the easiest question.
“What do you think about a doctor selling vitamins in his office?” I asked.
“A non-issue.”
What?
“Why?”
“Stuff like that happens all the time. I told you doctors are always trying to find a way to make a buck. In ENT, some doctors dispense hearing aids. Others own balance centers to treat dizzy patients. Eye doctors sell eyeglasses. Doctors own surgery centers. Ain’t no story there, Tina.”
Delete that from the list.
“What’s the deal with doctors and female drug reps?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
“Things like being jerks to them when they talk about their products, or hitting on them.”
“Wow.” He took in a deep breath and then exhaled. “How much time do you have to talk?”
“Is it that bad?”
“Way worse. If you include female nurses in this, we could talk about it for hours.”
64
“There’s one last item,” I said. “Remember that eye doctor I couldn’t get an appointment with?”
“Yeah, the guy who did LASIK surgery,” Eddie said. “Took only cash, no insurance.”
“Dr. Peter Warren.”
“How did that go?”
“The appointment went fine, but he’s not doing so hot.”
“Is he sick?”
“Dead would be a better term.”
“He died?”
“He drove into a bridge abutment.”
“Suicide?”
“Apparently.”
“Doctors with drug reps and nurses. Now you want to know about doctors and suicide. Are your friends involved in all of this?”
“They are.”
“Maybe I should email my thoughts to you. It might be more efficient.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you come visit this weekend, and we can discuss this with them? I mean, it’s not like you have a lot on your calendar right now.”
“You got that right. I’ll find a babysitter for Gracie and book a flight.”
“Great.”
Silence.