Five minutes later we were pulling into the emergency entrance of a nearby university hospital. Anita jumped out and ran inside. She came back with an orderly and a stretcher. I staggered out of the car and climbed onto the stretcher.
“Jesus, where’d you find this guy?” he said, turning his head away.
“That’s not your problem. Just fix him up,” she snapped.
He wheeled me into the emergency room. Anita followed hard on his heels. An admissions clerk approached me, took one look and decided I had no useful information to tell her. Anita said, “I’ll give you whatever information you need.”
The orderly pushed me through the doors into the surgical suite. A doctor and nurse were waiting inside for me. They both winced when I was presented to them.
“Get some air deodorant over here,” the doctor said. The nurse quickly sprayed the whole area. They both donned gloves before they touched me.
“All right, let’s see what we’ve got here. Hold still, fellah, I’m going to remove this bandage.”
I looked up at the guy. Short, chunky, with a thick black beard, hook nose and heavy-lidded eyes. He looked like a pirate. His name tag said Wasserman. A pirate named Wasserman? Maybe not.
He took the handkerchief off slowly, then quickly pressed it back into place. “Got a little pumper here. We’re going to have to ligate it. Let’s get an H and H on him. I want his vitals and start an IV. Get me some four by fours, a mosquito clamp and we’ll sew things right up.”
“Hold it, guys.” the other nurse said as she walked in. “You won’t believe it, but that woman outside wants a plastic surgeon called in. Skrepinski’s on his way down.”
“Christ, are you kidding?” Wasserman wailed. “All right, let’s just close the bleeder off.”
In the next couple of minutes the nurse stuck me more often than Jack had. I had an IV in my arm, and as if I could spare it, they had taken more blood. Dr. Wasserman returned, slowly removed the gauze pad he’d put on over the slash, irrigated the area and then said, “The next thing I do will hurt a bit. Just look away and—”
“Jesus,” I groaned. While he was talking to me the sneaky bastard had clamped off the artery.
He closed it off quickly and taped a gauze pad across my face. “Okay, you won’t bleed any more from that. The plastic surgeon will be down shortly.” He stripped off his gloves, tossed them into the trash can and pulled the curtain around me.
I lay there trying to evade the throb of my face. I imagined my face as a launch pad, loading my mind into a rocket and then blasting off into space. I never made liftoff. Finally, Dr. Skrepinski arrived.
He looked like a good advertisement for his own work. His unlined face with its perfect features and even tan bespoke a man who appreciated vanity in his own life. He flipped through the chart, reading it aloud to himself. “Facial laceration, mandibular edge to nares of the nose, approximately four inches. Transverse facial artery severed and ligated. No involvement of the parotid duct gland or the masseter. Very good.” He turned to look at me, the flesh and blood equivalent of all those fancy phrases.
“So you don’t want the Heidelburg U. varsity letter, eh?” Cute. He went on. “How did this happen?”
“I fell.”
“Of course. Are you allergic to any medications? Any history of heart or lung diseases? Are you taking any medication?”
“No, no and no.”
“Fine.”
The nurse reappeared. He looked up and gave her her marching orders. “Set up a sterile plastics set: twenty-six gauge needle, one-half percent Xylocaine, Betadine, six-oh nylon.”
“Have you ever had a tetanus shot before?” the nurse asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t remember when.”
She placed a syringe and a small vial on the doctor’s tray. It was all silverware and nothing to eat.
“Okay. Let’s make sure you haven’t severed any muscles or nerves. Turn your face to the left. Now the right. Open your mouth. Close it. Clench your teeth. Smile. Grimace. Excellent.” He washed out my mouth with alcohol and I hadn’t even said a bad word yet.
“Okay. I’m going to make some injections into your face, oh, say, about half a dozen. They’ll burn for a second like a bee sting, say, then your face will go numb and I’ll fix you right up. You’ll look as good as new.” He stopped for a second and looked surprised that he had wasted that promise on someone like me.
“Okay. Don’t move now. Hold on to the stretcher and turn your eyes away.”
I gripped the side of the stretcher and tensed up. This was worse than messing with Jack. The needle loomed in the corner of my eye, a steel hummingbird moving towards my face. I was ready to run or scream. I closed my eyes and the bee stung me. Quickly the rest of the hive arrived. My face filled up with ice and its contours softened and disappeared.
“The worst is over. Just relax and we’ll sew this right up.”
He swabbed my face, covered everything but the slash with sterile towels and went to work. When he finished and took off the towels I looked at the E.R. clock. He’d been working on me for an hour and a half.
“Okay. We’re done.” He stripped off his gloves. “Come to my office in three days and we’ll remove the stitches then. I’ll order something for pain if you’d like. Keep the area clean and dry and take a bath before you come to the office.” He wasn’t smiling.
“Right and thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” With that he was gone.
The nurse came in and undid my IV. She gave me a card with follow-up care instructions and the surgeon’s name and address on it. I had to ride in a wheelchair out to the car. Anita pulled up and she and the nurse hoisted me out of the chair and into the car.
At home Anita helped me into a bath, trashed my clothes and scrubbed the places I couldn’t reach. Snugly between clean sheets, I slipped effortlessly into sleep. My last sight was of her undressing before the mirror. She was stroking her nipples and smiling.
Chapter 19
I woke up around ten. My face had been returned to me, complete with throb and burn. I struggled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Brushing my teeth was a terrifying idea. I gargled gingerly instead and went into the kitchen. Anita was sitting in the eating nook, looking out at the street with a cup of coffee cradled in her hands.
“Morning,” I said.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. Clean for starters, which is wonderful. My face hurts but not too bad.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee, put a lot of milk in it and hesitantly sipped it. As I sat down, Anita pulled a business card from her purse.
“Here. Wanda said call her at this number.” I pulled the phone over to the table and dialed the number.
“Hello.”
“Wanda Manlove, please.”
“This is Wanda Manlove speaking. Can I help you?”
“Leo Haggerty calling.”
“Very good. I like your work very much. I had a friend check out ‘our friend’s’ condition. Broken nose, concussion, shattered knee and elbow. He’ll be in a wheelchair for two months. Seems you can’t use crutches when your arm and leg are broken on the same side. What a shame. Six months in casts, then six more of rehabilitation. Word is he’ll never recover full use of either. He couldn’t pimp ice cubes in August around here.”
“Okay. I delivered. Now it’s your turn.”
“Where and when?”
“Your place in an hour?”
“Fine.” She hung up.
My face was starting to hurt. I went back to the bathroom and popped a couple of pills. Anita was in the doorway, still with a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Listen, I want to thank you for getting a plastic surgeon. I wouldn’t have thought of that and the other E.R. doctor looked like he’d just as soon have sewn me up with a shoelace.”
She shrugged. “Why get your face messed up if it isn’t necessary. Besides, I can afford it. And now you owe me one. I like the idea of you owing m
e one. Never can tell when I’ll need your help.”
“How do you know I’d pay you back?”
“I don’t. But I think you will. I consider it another investment. I’ve done very well with mine so far.”
“I’m sure you have. Buy low and sell high.”
“That’s not nice. Why not get dressed and I’ll drive us over to Wanda’s?”
“Sure.”
Twenty minutes later I was being let into their apartment. Anita started to follow me in when Wanda said, “Anita, I’ve run out of cigarettes. Would you mind getting me some?” Wanda’s look said, Start with raw tobacco. Age it six months.
“Sure, Wanda. Whatever,” she said sarcastically.
I sat down with my old friend the wooden drunk, crossed my arms and waited for her to start. Wanda took the throne chair, lit a cigarette and blew a long plume of smoke.
“First things first. Stand up. I want to make sure you aren’t wired.”
“You must have some story to tell.”
“Stand up.”
“No problem.” I stood up, hands high. Wanda patted me down very well.
“Okay. Sit down. What do you want to know?”
“For starters, were you in the room with Malcolm Donnelly the night he died?”
“Yes.”
“How did he contact you?”
“Lobby phone, I guess. I tell clients never to use their room phones.”
“Did you know him before?”
“Yeah. He was a regular. We’d gotten together a few times. Mostly, he was a contractor. He hired me out to entertain clients.”
“What kind of clients?”
“Government types, military guys. Malcolm was a contracting officer with some consulting firm. They had lots of government contracts. I was a little ‘gift’ he used to close a deal. Hell, he even wrote me off as a deductible expense on his contracting costs. Anyway, he called me up, asked me to come over and bring some gin with me. He wanted the usual—an overnight.”
“The usual?”
“Yeah. After he’d nail down a contract, he’d want to celebrate. So he’d tell his wife he had to travel. Someplace not too far away so he didn’t need a lot of documentation. We’d get a hotel room, spend the night and celebrate. Things must have been tough on Malcolm these days. I hadn’t heard from him in quite a while.”
“Did he write that off too?”
“Knowing Malcolm, I’m sure he did.”
“What do you go for, by the way?”
“Don’t ask. You can’t afford me.”
“Humor me.”
“Five hundred a night.” She stubbed out her cigarette.
“Okay. So he called you up. Then what?”
“So I picked up the booze and went over to see him. I presumed he had something to celebrate. I went through the lobby, took an elevator up, knocked and he let me in.” She lit up another cigarette and crossed her lovely legs.
“Then what?” I crossed mine.
“He looked like hell when I got there. I mean like he was sick or something. It must have come on him real quick because he sounded fine on the phone. I began to worry. Let me tell you, business is off all around. This AIDS shit has done more for chastity than all the sermons in history. I was afraid he was sick like that. I was ready to bolt.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was flushed, you know, and sweating. His hands were shaking. He said he felt hot and he loosened his tie. I sat down and asked him if he wanted a drink. He said no. Anyway, he was pacing all around and looked real tense, uptight, you know. He didn’t look like he was up for anything. So I told him we’d do it another time, but he said no, he’d be okay. Then he sits down and makes a phone call.”
“What’d he say, exactly?”
“All right, let me think.” She put her hands to the sides of her head and closed her eyes. “He said, ‘Doc, this is Malcolm. I feel like hell. This is worse than ever.’ Something like that, yeah. Then whoever was on the phone said something and he said, ‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ Then the other person said something, and then Malcolm gave him the address and the room number.” She pulled out another cigarette. “He asked me for the gin. I took the bottle out and gave it to him. He poured himself a drink and downed it. Then I saw him take out a bottle of pills. Anyway, I went into the bathroom to change. He was a garter belt freak. When I came out, he was out in the chair. So I figured, fuck it, this is a waste. I got dressed and split. That’s it.”
“Why’d you ask around about him?”
“I just wanted to be sure he hadn’t gotten it into his head to talk to security about me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Some johns get pissed if you leave them. It’s like you’re supposed to stay around at their beck and call, no matter what shape they’re in. I didn’t want him to finger me to security, if he was pissed. I do a lot of business out of there.”
I uncrossed my legs, stood up, looked down at her and began to clap. “Bravo. An excellent performance. You’re a hell of an actress, but then that’s the heart of the work, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean? I told you the truth!” She recrossed her arms and legs in a huff.
“Like hell you did. Actually, you probably were telling the truth right up to the end there. That last part was right out of the Twilight Zone.”
“I don’t have to take this shit.”
“Oh yes you do, darling.” I walked around and then turned back to her. “What time did you go into his room?”
“A little after five, I guess.”
“And you left when?”
“I don’t know. A half hour later. No more.”
“Isn’t that interesting. Right around the time of death. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you one more chance to get your story straight. Then I call the police, and give you to them. Maybe they can pin his death on you. Even if they can’t, your low-profile lifestyle is over. I’ve got some friends at the paper. Maybe we can make you page one, with photos.”
“You double-crossing son-of-a-bitch.”
“Not hardly. You’re lying to me. I know you are. You wouldn’t respect me if I let you get away with that.”
“Fuck you.”
“You cost too much, remember.” I went to the phone and picked it up.
“All right, damn you. That’s not what happened.”
I put down the phone. “What did happen?”
“When I come out he was in the chair. He wasn’t out though. He was dead.”
“Did you go over to look at him?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Then what?”
“Then I split like I said.”
“You sent Francine around to see if you’d been tagged coming in or going out?”
“Right.”
“But not because of Donnelly talking to anyone.”
“No. I was worried about a murder rap. I just freaked out. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I kept thinking about that woman and Belushi. I did give him the drink. Anyway, I sent Francine down the next day. After she told me no one saw me, I calmed down and thought about it some more. There was no way they could tag me with murder, but an investigation like that would be hell on business. I just wanted to keep out of it. I mean, it’s too bad the guy died and all, but it wasn’t my fault. Why not just walk away from it, right?”
“But you didn’t just walk away from it, did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that you were so shook up about seeing that dead man, that you freaked out, right?”
“Yeah, it was awful.”
“I’m sure it was. It must have been a nail-shattering experience. So you got dressed and split right away. Only first you took the five hundred dollars from his wallet. Not too freaked out to rob a dead man, were you?”
Her eyes burned into mine. “So what if I did? You can’t prove it. That money was owed me. It isn’t my fault he died before I could earn it. Anyway
, he was just a john. He didn’t give a shit about me. Why should I be broken up about him?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea why. But even war has its rules, Wanda. One of them is that you shoot looters on sight. Even your own side’s.” I made a gun out of my hand and pointed it at her. She gave me the finger as I walked out.
In the hall, as I waited for the elevator, I tried to figure out a reason for Wanda to bring a typed suicide note with her for her liaison with Donnelly and came up short. It just didn’t fit with the rest of her story. There was no reason for her to take the pills and leave the gin she’d bought. No, Wanda didn’t make the big board. According to Wanda, Marta Vasquez couldn’t have killed her husband. So she had no reason to plant a suicide note after the fact. It was time for Marta Vasquez’s name to come down. However, someone named Doc had just gone to the head of the class.
Anita stepped out of the elevator and stopped right in front of me.
“Your business with Wanda done?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. By the way, I met your girlfriend this morning.”
I didn’t like the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Jesus Christ. What did you tell her?” I almost didn’t want to know.
“I told her you were in bed. You’d had a rough night and I’d brought you home and tucked you in.”
“Great. Thanks a lot. Shit.” My mind was whirling uselessly, like a disengaged gear, as I tried to calculate how much damage she’d done.
“It was the truth.”
“But not the whole truth. If you’ve fucked this up for me—”
“Shh.” She put her finger against my lips. “Don’t make idle threats. Besides, you owe me one. And I like you. A lot. I can be a lot of fun.”
“Why don’t I believe that?” I said as I hurriedly backed away from her into the elevator.
Chapter 20
I called Samantha immediately and got her machine. I left a long message anyway asking her to call me on my car phone at any time. Then I called Marta Vasquez and asked her if she knew of any friends of her husband’s who were nicknamed Doc. She said she’d never heard him call anyone that. I asked her to get together his address book, all his credit card statements, check stubs and health insurance claims for the last year. I told her I’d be over to get the information from her.
A Tax in Blood Page 10