“Sure. Dickerson, right? Scumbag that got whacked the other day. So ask away, Detective. Do your worst.” He checked his watch again, auspiciously this time. “Though I should probably warn you I’m a busy man and I’ve got a busy schedule today.”
Bellinowski was rumored to be in charge of a network of illegal gambling outfits throughout the area, and was probably the biggest loan-shark in Hampton Cove. Chief Alec had been trying to put him out of business for years, but so far he’d dodged that bullet.
“So rumor has it that Dick Dickerson kept some files on you in his safe,” said Chase, deciding to cut to the chase. “And that you weren’t too happy about that.”
“So he might have kept tabs on me,” said Bellinowski with a shrug. “What can I say? The guy loved his celebrities.”
“And you consider yourself a celebrity, is that it?”
“Something like that,” the mobster said with a grin.
“I sure would like to know what was in those files, Yasir.”
“I couldn’t tell you. Probably a bunch of made-up stuff.”
“There’s also a rumor—”
“Don’t believe everything people tell you, Detective.”
“—that you once loaned some money to Van Wilcox. And when he wasn’t able to pay you back at the rates you like to charge he turned to Dickerson who decided to lean on you with some of the information he collected over the years. So you wiped Wilcox’s slate clean, even if that meant taking ahuge loss yourself, and you’ve never forgiven Dickerson.”
“Rumors, rumors,” murmured Bellinowski, looking bored now. “What else have you got?”
“Does this man work for you?” asked Chase, placing a picture of a short guy with a strawberry nose and a purple spot on his upper lip on the table in front of Bellinowski.
He glanced at it.“Possibly. You’d have to ask my personnel manager.”
Bellinowski ran a few clubs in town, one of which, the Club Couture, was currently in vogue with the weekend crowd. He also organized the popular Beach Beats Festival in the summer, which attracted thousands of dance fans.
“What about this guy?” asked Chase, placing down another picture, this one of a tall man with a wispy little mustache.
“Did you really drag me in here to ask me about my staff, Detective? Cause quite frankly I’ve got better things to do.”
“What about this picture?”
Bellinowski glanced at the picture, then frowned.“A rose?”
“You are the current owner of the Happy Petals flower store on Grant Street?”
“You know I am.” For the first time he was looking a little flustered. “Why?”
“I think you know why, Yasir,” said Chase, leaning in. “I don’t know what Dickerson had on you but it must have been enough to make you go after him. So you hired two of your goons to steal a tanker full of duck poop from the Potbelly farm, empty out Dickerson’s safe to make whatever he had on you disappear forever, and then you made him go away forever as well. But not before you made it perfectly clear to him that you were the one that did this, by putting this picture in his safe. So he could have a good think before he died.”
Bellinowski arched an eyebrow.“This is all you got?” He picked up the picture and flicked it from the table. “A picture of a flower? Come on, dude. You can do better than that.” He got up and smoothed out his suit jacket. “Next time you call me in make sure you’ve got a real challenge for me, Detective. This?” He gestured at the file. “Not even theNational Star would print this garbage. No, don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
Chapter 37
Scarlett Canyon was playing a game of Solitaire. It was the only game installed on the computer in Dr. Tex’s office, and what Vesta must have been playing all these years while she pretended to be hard at work.
Frankly Scarlett was bored. The waiting room was empty. The phone hadn’t rung in ages, and Dr. Tex was ensconced in his office. When she took this job she figured she’d have some fun at Vesta’s expense. But dealing with patients all day long and listening to their sob stories and the details of their illnesses was so tedious she sometimes wanted to scream.
And then there was the fact that she’d been so dumb to volunteer for the job, so she didn’t even get paid to sit here and do the worst and most boring job in the whole world. She’d raised the topic of giving her a contract to Dr. Tex but he seemed immune to her promptings, pretending he didn’t understand.
A part of her had figured that working for a doctor she would get to meet a lot of great guys, that she would flirt a bit and maybe date some of the eligible ones but that hadn’t materialized either. So far all she’d gotten were a bunch of old coots who thought they were God’s gift to women and who ogled her boobs so brazenly she sometimes wished she could punch them in the snoot. But a receptionist didn’t punch patients in the snoot. A receptionist just sat there and beamed and entered appointments into Dr. Tex’s calendar.
No wonder Vesta looked like a shriveled old prune. Sitting in this dumb chair behind this dumb desk listening to dumb stories from dumb sick people would make anyone shrivel up and turn into an old hag. It was happening to her, too. She could feel it. Her face was drying out and new wrinkles were popping up each time she looked in the mirror.
It was bad for her karma, too. All this sickness and disease. Soon it would start to rub off on her and she would get sick herself. How Dr. Tex could stand it she didn’t even know.
The door opened and a new patient walked in. This one looking even more hopeless than the others. She had a bandage wrapped around her head, walked with a distinct stoop, had a pair of sunglasses firmly placed on her nose, and a scarf wrapped around the lower portion of her face. As she approached the desk, she even seemed to stagger.
“Can you please help me?” the woman asked in a weak whisper.
“Do you have an appointment?” Scarlett asked, barely managing to keep the annoyance from her voice.
“I want you to help me,” whispered the pathetic creature.
“Just take a seat and I’ll call the doctor,” she said.
Suddenly the woman opened the old coat she was wearing and revealed the dress she had on underneath. The dress was soaked with blood!“Take a look at this,” croaked the woman. “Does this look normal to you?”
Scarlett was one of those people who hated the sight of blood. In fact she abhorred it. She suddenly felt faint now, and a little woozy.“Is that… blood?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” asked the woman. “I got up this morning with a pain in my chest. And when I looked there was all of this red stuff coming out of me.”
Scarlett watched, bug-eyed, as the blood seemed to be pouring out of the woman’s chest, pumping steadily, spurt after spurt.
“Just take a look, will you? I don’t feel so good. And if this is blood, why is it coming out of me when it should be staying in? Is that normal behavior for blood you think?”
“Doctor!” Scarlett yelled. “Doctor—I’ve got an emergency!”
“Just give me your best diagnosis,” said the woman. “Is this a bad thing?”
Just then, the woman uttered a gurgling sound, and collapsed on the floor.
“Doctor Tex!” Scarlett was yelling, then ran around the counter and knelt down next to the woman. She didn’t want to put her hands on her—all that blood!—but still had a quick peek. Where did all this blood come from? “Doctor Tex! I need you in here right now!”
And as she peeled back the layers of clothing with her fingernails, more blood pumped out. The woman was bleeding out! On the office floor! What a frickin’ mess!
Suddenly the woman drew down her scarf. Her lips moved.“Come… closer,” she whispered.
Scarlett drew closer.
“You gotta give me mouth-to-mouth,” the dying woman croaked.
Scarlett flapped her arms.“I don’t know how to give mouth to mouth!”
“If you don’t… I’ll die right here… right now,” the woman said weakly.