by Buzz Harcus
Standing inside, he waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He moved down the hall and across the lobby toward the reception area. No one was on duty at the desk. He looked around; the lobby was deathly quiet, the odor of antiseptic lingered faintly in the air. He heard the whirring of the elevator. "At least they're working," he said starting for the elevator.
A nurse rounded the far corner of the hallway, her shoes squeaking on the highly polished floor. She stopped abruptly at seeing Harry. "Ohh!" she gasped, then, quickly, in an authoritative voice, demanded, "What are you doing here? Visiting hours were over at 8:30." As she spoke, her bold facade began to crumble and she slowly edged her way backwards hoping to reach the safety of the corner
and a chance to dash for her life.
"It's okay, nurse," Harry said raising his hand in a friendly gesture, speaking in a reassuring tone of voice. "I'm Harry Martin. I was here earlier this evening to visit one of your patients, a friend of mine." He moved slowly toward her stopping under one of the center hall lights so the nurse could get a better look at him. "I just got some good news I want to share with him. It can't wait. It'll only take a minute, just a minute, that's all. Honest"
"What's your friend's name?" she asked, closely scrutinizing Harry just in case she might have to identify him in a lineup later for rape or god knows what.
"Joe. Joe Gionetti. He's in Room 302."
"Oh. Oh yes, Mister Gionetti," she acknowledged. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, but at the same time, a look of sorrow crossed her face. "Mister Martin, I - I'm sorry, you're friend died unexpectedly this evening."
"What?" Harry stood stunned, staring at her, not wanting to believe what he had just heard. She stepped forward touching his arm. "It was a shock to all of us."
"Not Joe, " he whispered. "He was in good spirits when I left him earlier. You must be mistaken. Joe. Joe Gionetti. Room 302."
"I'm sorry." Her hand held tightly to his wrist. She looked up into his face with searching eyes. "It was a shattering blow to all of us. He seemed to be making such good progress, was responding well to chemotherapy. I'm so sorry."
Harry felt sick to his stomach. "Not Joe, " His voice grew husky. "He said the doctors had given him six months, maybe more, maybe a year. Hell. He had a lot of living to do yet!" He slumped back against the wall. "Joe had a lot of living to do yet, a lot of living. You must have him confused with someone else. Joe was okay when I left him. He was okay."
"I'm sorry. It was Mister Gionetti. Apparently he choked to death. We really won't be sure until they autopsy." She pointed toward one of the lobby chairs saying, "Won't you sit down. You look ill."
He shook his head. "I'll be okay, just a minute, it's just such a shock."
"It was to us, too," she said. "I was on duty when one of his two friends came running down to the nursing station for help. By the time I got there with a couple of others he was dead. It was tragic We tried to revive him but couldn't get a pulse or heartbeat. Both of his friends said they did all they could for him before we got there. They felt badly."
"Friends?" Harry said the word softly. "Friends?" The word cut through his muddled thinking like a knife. He stared hard at the nurse, looking at her as though in a daze. Joe was dead. Friends? What friends? Joe had said nobody visited him. Nobody knew he was in the hospital. Joe had called him, one of his arch-enemies, for help. Who were his friends?
"I thought I was the last visitor tonight. I left his room shortly after 8:30, well beyond the end of your visiting hours. In fact, a nurse reminded me that visiting hours were ending just as Joe and I finished talking. Who were his friends and how'd they get in to see Joe after hours?"
"They came just after visiting hours and, well, because they had come from such a long distance, Chicago, the doctor allowed them to visit Mr. Gionetti for a few minutes."
"But who were they?" Harry pressed.
The nurse hesitated for a moment. "One was an Oriental man who's name I can't recall. But the other man, his cousin, was a Stan," and again she shook her head.
"Stan!" Harry exclaimed. A chill rocketed through his body, his mind in a sudden panic. There was only one Stan, Stan Drezewski! And he was from New Jersey, not Chicago! "Was it Stan Drezewski?" he asked.
"Yes, I think that's his name."
"Mr. Martin, Mr. Martin -" she was shaking his arm - "You don't look well at all. Are you sure you wouldn't like to sit down for a few minutes? I could get you a sedative."
"No." Harry shook his head. "I'm all right, really, just shocked." Yet his stomach was churning, his mind in a knot.
Why was all this happening all at once? Why had Joe called him tonight of all nights? He had known for years where he lived, his
family, his kids, Sandy. Why call him tonight? He must have known Stan was dogging him.
Somehow, Stan had found out where Joe was hospitalized and had come to find out where Joe had hidden the money. He must have found out, then killed Joe. It had to have happened that way. It was murder.
"Can I get you a sedative, water —" the nurse asked shaking him, getting his attention.
"Huh? What? Oh. No. I'm-I'm okay, shocked, but okay," he assured her forcing a smile onto his face. She smiled back. "I just wanted to make sure -"
Harry looked down at her. She was fairly attractive, probably in her mid-thirties, slightly overweight, large-breasted, which the harsh overhead light tended to enhance because of the starched, white uniform.
"What did his cousin, Stan, look like?" he asked, turning his eyes from her breasts to her face.
"An older man, maybe in his fifties, bushy eyebrows, dark, deep- set eyes and a bushy salt and pepper beard and mustache. He was about your height. I think he was wearing an old Mackinac hunting jacket. Ummm, that's all, although his voice was harsh, demanding," she shrugged.
It was Stan. He had found out where Joe was, came here to find out where the money was hidden, then killed him. It had to have happened that way. Damn, Harry thought. Damn!
"Did Joe try to get in touch with you when they arrived?" Harry asked. "Did he try to ring you, press the call button or something? Was he alive when the two guys arrived?"
"Yes. I had stopped in to see him after visiting hours, just after a man had left —"
"That was me," Harry interrupted.
She acknowledged with a nod of her head, and then continued. "He seemed in unusually good spirits, even gave me a thumb's up sign and wink when he saw me. He did look tired, though. He was watching the last of some educational program on television, something about China." She paused for a moment. "When I left
his room I noticed two men standing by the nursing station. I told them visiting hours were over but they showed me a pass from the duty physician. I cautioned them that Mr. Gionetti was quite ill and not to tire him. The next time I saw Mr. Gionetti was when one of the men came running for assistance. You know, it might have been the excitement of seeing so many visitors in one night. He was frail and -"
"But he didn't make any attempt to use the emergency call button? It seems to me that a man on the verge of death would have made an effort to use the button."
"Well, " she responded, then snapped her fingers. "I do recall they said they had been talking to him when he suddenly had a choking spell. They tried to help him but he collapsed. That's when they came running for help."
Harry recalled the wrenching, gagging coughs that racked poor Joe, yet it was too co-incidental that Stan should suddenly appear on the scene and Joe, just as suddenly, ends up dead. They had to have found out where the money was hidden, killed him and fled. What gnawed at him at the moment was whether they knew about him?
"Mister Drezewski said he was Mister Gionetti's only living relative," the nurse said. "He apologized that they didn't have enough money for a decent burial. I told him the hospital would make the necessary arrangements. He asked that a Catholic priest give the last blessing."
Harry nodded. "Joe should have a proper burial."
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"We do this routinely," she replied.
Harry felt a loss and yet, he couldn't shed any tears. It was just the sudden loss of a human being, and knowing deep inside he'd been murdered. Damn Stan. And who the hell was the Chink?
"Uh, was anything said about me visiting Joe earlier before those two arrived?" Harry asked.
"No. Not unless Mr. Gionetti mentioned you to them."
Let's hope not, Harry thought, not those two. "Well, thank you for the information about Joe. I'm sorry about his untimely death," he said, starting to back toward the entrance.
"If I can be of any further help, please come back. I'm Margaret
Lendowski. I'm usually on duty at this time every night."
"Thank you, Mrs. Lendowski."
"Miz Lendowski," she quickly corrected.
"Miz Lendowski," Harry repeated, "You've been very kind. I may take you up on your offer if I need any additional help or information."
"Maggie. Call me Maggie." She smiled warmly, inhaling deeply at the same moment, accentuating the fullness of her bosom.
"Maggie -" He turned, heading back out the entrance of the hospital. Poor Joe. He'll never have a chance to spend his money. Then it struck him; neither would he! "Shit!" he muttered under his breath as the sharpness of the winter night engulfed him. He pulled his collar tight around his neck. The best thing to do is forget about the money, China, the whole damned thing. Pretend it never happened. If Stan and the Chink know where the loot is, let 'em have it. They're probably well on their way already. No sense in asking for trouble from those two. He gave a philosophical shrug. Oh well, it was fun dreaming about going to China and picking up a cool two million dollars.
The wind blew sharply whipping through his jacket, chilling him. He bent forward, head tilted downwards against the wind. "That's it!" he suddenly exclaimed. "The two guys I almost bumped into in the parking lot earlier - Stan and the Chink!" The thought panicked him. If they had recognized him, he might be dead, too.
Chapter 19
THE STALKING BEGINS
The darkness of the night, the howling wind and blowing snow and the ever changing shadows added to the panicky feeling clutching at Harry. He quickly unlocked his door, checked inside for any unwanted visitors, then jumped inside, locked the door and jammed his key in the ignition. The engine sprang to life which gave him a feeling of relief. He had to get out of here, go home, rest and forget the whole damned incident.
"Damn!" he exclaimed as he turned on Weiss Street. "Sandy! I forgot all about Sandy!" He glanced at his watch. It was 11:45, too late to stop by her place. He'd call her in the morning and apologize, even set up a date for tomorrow night.
As he headed for home, his mind became keenly alert sifting through the events of the evening and the strange twist of events to this moment. Joe's death bothered him the most because he knew Stan had caused it. He'd skip calling Peter. No need to go to China now; no need for a job on board ship. It had been one hell of a bazaar night.
The windshield wipers swung ineffectively back and forth across the frosted windshield as a thin coating of ice built on the glass. The defrosters didn't work worth a damn. He had vowed all fall that he was going to get the defroster fixed before winter set in, and here he was with the same damned defective defrosters. Harry hunched forward squinting through the small oval opening in the icy windshield. "A few more minutes and I'll be able to crawl into bed and sleep off this damned bad evening," he muttered.
As he slowed to turn into his driveway he caught a glimpse of a car parked across the street from his house. His headlamps caught the silhouette of two people seated inside. Almost simultaneously, he noticed his living room light was off. Someone had been inside, had tripped the string and unplugged the light, something the intruder wouldn't have noticed, but it alerted Harry that something was wrong.
"Damn -" he swore for he had already turned on his directional indicator to turn. Quickly, he applied pressure to the accelerator pedal and continued past his driveway, not speeding up perceptibly, but enough to keep his momentum going. He shielded his face, pretending to scratch his cheek as he moved past the parked car. Slowing, he wheeled into his neighbor's driveway on the corner. It was a circle drive that came out on the side street. Harry applied his brakes, the red taillights turning the fresh snow blood red, and slowed down almost to a halt. Shutting off his lights, he eased the car slowly on down the driveway onto the side street out of view of the parked car. After a half block, he flicked on his lights and headed the Pinto for State Street and freedom to breathe, and think.
Wheeling into a Wendy's all-night diner, he stopped at the drive- in speaker, ordered a large black coffee, and then drove around to pick it up. As he waited for change from his fiver, he thought of the parked car. He was sure the two persons were Stan and the Chink. They must have found out about him from Joe. Just how much had Joe told them?
He accepted his change, and then drove to the far end of the lot easing his car in amongst several others, blending in so as not to be seen from the street. Shutting off his lights, he sat in the darkness and sipped at the steaming brew.
If they had gotten the location of the money from Joe, why were they still in town? Why were they at his place? He took another sip. On the other hand, if they didn't get the information, but knew he had visited Joe, then they probably figured he knew where the money was hidden and they'd have to get the location from him. One murder had already been committed. The stakes were high and it was obvious that these guys wanted the money at all costs.
If that's the case, he thought, then he had a better chance of getting the money before them. One thing was certain: Joe had definitely been on the level about the hidden money. He was dead because of it.
"Okay, Harry, what're you going to do?" he asked himself aloud. "You either shit of get off the pot. If you want the money, you go for it. If not, you might end up like Joe."
Mentally, he clicked off his options. He was sure he could get on board the ship through Peter. His passport and sailing papers were in order. With the construction business in a slump, and with vacation time available, he was sure his boss would let him off for two or three months with no problems.
He continued sipping at the coffee, his eyes constantly scanning State Street and the parking lot around him, watching for any vehicle like the one hed seen parked in front of his place.
If the money was still there, and if he could get his hands on it, it'd buy a lot of happiness for him and Sandy, and pay off a lot of bills, but not if he was dead.
Gulping down the last of the coffee, he dropped the empty cup over on the floormat, flicked the headlamps back on and slowly eased onto State Street. Traffic was light. The snow had stopped. He drove back toward his place cutting diagonally across his street about a block behind where the parked car would be. It was still there.
He headed back to the VA Hospital. There were several questions he had to ask, and he needed answers.
The parking lot was barren except for the several staff cars still clustered together in a dark mass. Harry scanned the area carefully. He parked close to the cluster, shut off the engine and lights, and then scanned the area again. "Christ. I'm getting paranoid," he muttered as he hurried across the lot to the hospital entrance. He was surprised at finding the door still unlocked. Letting himself inside, he stopped momentarily to let his eyes adjust to the dimness, and then started briskly down the hallway hoping to bump into the same nurse as before.
"Can I help you?" a deep male voice asked from the shadows behind him. Harry stopped in his tracks, turning slowly toward the voice. A security guard stepped out from the shadows adjacent to the entrance, his hand resting on the butt of his large service revolver.
"Uh, yeah," Harry replied. "I was in here just a little while ago, came back to visit a friend of mine, but the night duty nurse said he'd died. I was so shocked that I left without getting all the details. Is it possible for me to talk to her for a minute?"
"Sure.
I guess so." The guard advanced closer, hand still resting on his revolver. "Can you give me the nurse's name or describe her?"
"Ummm, it was Miz, - she emphasized the Miz part - but, jeez, I can't recall her name. She was about five foot seven, dark hair, dark eyes, probably in her mid-thirties. Good figure and well endowed," he said, making a gesture with both hands as though holding up a couple of melons. "The overhead light really bounced off her, uh -"
The guard chuckled. "When you said well endowed, I knew you meant Miz Lendowski."
"Yeah. She's the one!" Harry replied with a grin.
The guard laughed again. "Yeah, she makes working on this night shift worth all the effort." He eased his hand off his pistol. "You wait here. I'll fetch her." He headed down the hallway, heels clicking on the hard polished surface.
Harry waited, running several questions through his mind, and then glanced up at a hall clock. It was 12:30. At that moment he heard the squeaking of rubber soles accompanied by the clicking of hard leather heels. Turning, he saw the smiling, well-endowed Miz Lendowski.
"Hi," Harry waved cordially as the two approached. "Sorry to bother you again, Miz Lendowski."
"Maggie," she replied, beaming. "I knew you were quite upset when you left earlier. I hope you're feeling better."
"Much better, thank you."
She had stopped only inches from him. He couldn't help but glance down at her breasts, amply highlighted by the overhead light.
"I, uh, wanted to check a couple of things over with you," he said forcing his eyes from her breasts, glancing quickly down the hall, and then over to the guard who was grinning, watching him. Harry turned back to the nurse, who also wore the faintest sign of a grin. Damn. He felt like a schoolboy caught gazing at forbidden fruit. Even his comment had come out stupid - check a couple of things! Christ! "What I mean," he said clearing his throat, "is that I need some answers. You mentioned Stan Drezewski and the Oriental. Did he have a name?"