Laurie sighed. "I wish I could just forget the whole thing. It still gives me nightmares."
Raymond glanced at his watch as he opened the Fifth Avenue door to Dr. Daniel Levitz's office. It was two forty-five. Raymond had called the doctor three times starting just after eleven a.m., without success. On each occasion, the receptionist had promised Dr. Levitz would phone back, but he hadn't. In his agitated state, Raymond found the discourtesy aggravating. Since Dr. Levitz's office was just around the corner from Raymond's apartment, Raymond thought it was better to walk over than sit by the phone. "Dr. Raymond Lyons," Raymond said with authority to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Dr. Levitz." "Yes, Dr. Lyons," the receptionist said. She had the same cultivated, matronly look as Dr. Anderson's receptionist. "I don't have you down on my appointment sheet. Is the doctor expecting you?" "Not exactly," Raymond said.
"Well, I'll let the doctor know you are here," the receptionist said noncommitally. Raymond took a seat in the crowded waiting room. He picked up one of the usual doctor waiting-room magazines and flipped the pages without focusing on the images. His agitation was becoming tinged with irritation, and he began to wonder if it had been a bad decision to come to Dr. Levitz's office. The job of checking on the first of the other two transplant patients had been easy. With one phone call Raymond had spoken with the recruiting doctor in Dallas, Texas. The doctor had assured Raymond that his kidney-transplant patient, a prominent local businessman, was doing superbly and was in no way a possible candidate for an autopsy. Before hanging up the doctor had promised Raymond to inform him if the situation were ever to change.
But with Dr. Levitz's failure to return Raymond's phone call, Raymond had not been able to check on the last case. It was frustrating and anxiety-producing. Raymond's eyes roamed the room. It was as sumptuously appointed as Dr. Anderson's, with original oils, deep burgundy-colored walls, and oriental carpets. The patients patiently waiting were all obviously well-to-do as evidenced by their clothes, bearing, and jewels. As the minutes ticked by, Raymond found his irritation mounting. What was adding insult to injury at the moment was Dr. Levitz's obvious success. It reminded Raymond of the absurdity of his own medical license being in legal limbo just because he'd gotten caught padding his Medicare claims. But here was Dr. Levitz working away in all this splendor with at least part of his receipts coming from taking care of a number of crime families. Obviously, it all represented dirty money. And on top of that Raymond was sure Levitz padded his Medicare claims. Hell, everybody did. A nurse appeared and cleared her throat. Expectantly, Raymond moved to the edge of his seat. But the nurse called out another name. While the summoned patient got up, replaced his magazine, and disappeared into the bowels of the office, Raymond slouched back against the sofa and fumed. Being at the mercy of such people made Raymond long for financial security all the more. With this current "doubles" program he was so close. He couldn't let the whole enterprise crumble for some stupid, unexpected, easily remedied reason.
It was three-fifteen when finally Raymond was ushered into Daniel Levitz's inner sanctum. Levitz was a small, balding man with multiple nervous tics. He had a mustache but it was sparse and decidedly
unmanly. Raymond had always wondered what it was about the man that apparently inspired confidence
in so many patients.
"It's been one of those days," Daniel said by way of explanation. "I didn't expect you to drop by." "I hadn't planned on it myself," Raymond said. "But when you didn't return my calls, I didn't think I had a choice."
"Calls?" Daniel questioned. "I didn't get any calls from you. I'll have to have another talk with that receptionist of mine. Good help is so difficult to come by these days." Raymond was tempted to tell Daniel to cut the bull, but he resisted. After all, he was finally talking to the man, and turning the meeting into a confrontation wouldn't solve anything. Besides, as irritating as Daniel Levitz could be, he was also Raymond's most successful recruit. He had signed up twelve clients for the program as well as four doctors.
"What can I do for you?" Daniel asked. His head twitched several times in its usual and disconcerting way.
"First I want to thank you for helping out the other night," Raymond said. "From the absolute pinnacles of power it was thought to be an emergency. Publicity at this point would have meant an end to the whole enterprise."
"I was glad to be of service," Daniel said. "And pleased that Mr. Vincent Dominick was willing to help out to preserve his investment."
"Speaking of Mr. Dominick," Raymond said. "He paid me an unexpected visit yesterday morning." "I hope on a cordial note," Daniel said. He was quite familiar with Dominick's career as well as his personality, and surmised that extortion would not be out of the question. "Yes and no," Raymond admitted. "He insisted on telling me details I didn't want to know. Then he insisted on paying no tuition for two years." "It could have been worse," Daniel said. "What does that mean to my percentage?" "The percentage stays the same," Raymond said. "It's just that it becomes a percentage of nothing." "So, I help and then get penalized!" Daniel complained. "That's hardly fair." Raymond paused. He'd not thought about Daniel's loss of his cut of Dominick's tuition, yet it was something that had to be faced. At present, Raymond was reluctant to upset the man. "You have a valid point," Raymond conceded. "Let's say we'll discuss it in the near future. At the moment, I have another concern. What's the status of Cindy Carlson?" Cindy Carlson was the sixteen-year-old daughter of Albright Carlson, the Wall Street junk-bond mogul. Daniel had recruited Albright and his daughter as clients. As a youngster the daughter had suffered from glomerulonephritis. The malady had worsened during the girl's early teens to the point of kidney failure. Consequently, Daniel not only had the record number of clients, he also had the record number of harvests, two: Carlo Franconi and Cindy Carlson.
"She's been doing fine," Daniel said. "At least healthwise. Why do you ask?"
"This Franconi business has made me realize how vulnerable the enterprise is," Raymond admitted. "I want to be sure there are no other possible loose ends." "Don't worry about the Carlsons," Daniel said. "They certainly aren't going to cause us any trouble. They couldn't be any more grateful. In fact, just last week Albright was talking about getting his wife out to the Bahamas to give a bone-marrow sample so she can become a client as well." "That's encouraging," Raymond said. "We can always use more clients. But it's not the demand side of the enterprise that has me worried. Financially we couldn't be doing any better. We're ahead of all projections. It's the unexpected that has me worried, like Franconi." Daniel nodded and then twitched. "There's always uncertainty," he said philosophically. "That's life!" "The lower the level of uncertainty, the better I'll feel," Raymond said. "When I asked you about Cindy Carlson's status, you qualified your positive response as healthwise. Why?" "Because she's a basket case mentally," Daniel said. "How do you mean?" Raymond asked. Once again his pulse quickened. "It's hard to imagine a kid not being a bit crazy growing up with a father like Albright Carlson." Daniel said. "Think about it. And then add the burden of a chronic illness. Whether that contributed to her obesity, I don't know. The girl is quite overweight. That's tough enough for anybody but especially so for a teen. The poor kid is understandably depressed." "How depressed?" Raymond asked.
"Depressed enough to attempt suicide on two occasions," Daniel said. "And they weren't just childish bids for attention. They were bona fide attempts, and the only reason she's still with us is because she was discovered almost immediately and because she'd tried drugs the first time and hanging herself the second. If she'd had a gun she surely would have succeeded." Raymond groaned out loud.
"What's the matter?" Daniel asked.
"All suicides are medical examiner cases," Raymond said. "I hadn't thought of that," Daniel said. "This is the kind of loose end I was referring to," Raymond said. "Damn! Just our luck!" "Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings," Daniel said. "It's not your fault," Raymond said. "The important thing is that we recognize it for what it is, and that we understand we can't sit idly by and wait for catastrophe." "I don't think we have much choice," Daniel said.
"What about Vincent Dominick?" Raymond said. "He's helped us once and with his own child ill, he has
a vested interest in our program's future." Dr. Daniel Levitz stared at Raymond. "Are you suggesting...?" Raymond didn't reply.
"This is where I draw the line," Daniel said. He stood up. "I'm sorry, but I have a waiting-room full of patients."
"Couldn't you call Mr. Dominick and just ask?" Raymond said. He felt a wave of desperation wash over him.
"Absolutely not," Daniel said. "I might take care of a number of criminally connected individuals, but I certainly don't get involved with their business." "But you helped with Franconi," Raymond complained. "Franconi was a corpse on ice at the medical examiner's office," Daniel said. "Then give me Mr. Dominick's phone number," Raymond said. "I'll call him myself. And I'll need the Carlsons' address."
"Ask my receptionist," Daniel said. "Just tell her you're a personal friend." "Thank you," Raymond said.
"But just remember," Daniel said. "I deserve and want the percentages that are due to me regardless of what happens between you and Vinnie Dominick." At first the receptionist was reluctant to give Raymond the phone number and the addresses, but after a quick call to her boss, she relented. Wordlessly, she copied the information onto the back of one of Dr. Daniel Levitz's business cards and handed it to Raymond. Raymond wasted no time getting back to his apartment on Sixty-fourth Street. As he came through the door, Darlene asked how the meeting with the doctor had gone. "Don't ask," Raymond said curtly. He went into his paneled study, closed the door, and sat down at his desk. Nervously, he dialed the phone. In his mind's eye, he could see Cindy Carlson either scrounging around in the medicine cabinet for her mother's sleeping pills or hanging out in the local hardware store buying a length of rope.
"Yeah, what is it?" a voice said on the other end of the line. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Vincent Dominick," Raymond said with as much authority as he could muster. He detested the necessity to deal with the likes of these people, but he had little choice. Seven years of intense labor and commitment were on the line, not to mention his entire future. "Who's calling?"
"Dr. Raymond Lyons."
There was a pause before the man said: "Hang on!" To Raymond's surprise he was put on hold with one of Beethoven's sonatas playing in the background. To Raymond it seemed like some sort of oxymoron. A few minutes later Vinnie Dominick's dulcet voice came over the line. Raymond could picture the man's practiced and deceptive banality as if Vinnie were a well-dressed character actor playing himself. "How did you get this number, Doctor?" Vinnie asked. His tone was nonchalant, yet somehow more threatening because of it. Raymond's mouth went bone-dry. He had to cough. "Dr. Levitz gave it to me," Raymond managed. "What can I do for you, Doctor?" Vinnie asked. "Another problem has come up," Raymond croaked. He cleared his throat again. "I'd like to see you to discuss it."
There was a pause that went on for longer than Raymond could tolerate. Just when he was about to ask if Vinnie was still there, the mobster responded: "When I got involved with you people I thought it was supposed to give me peace of mind. I didn't think it was supposed to make my life more complicated." "These are just minor growing pains," Raymond said. "In actuality, the project is going extremely well." "I'll meet you in the Neopolitan Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst in a half hour," Vinnie said. "Think you can find it?"
"I'm certain I can," Raymond said. "I'll take a cab, and I'll leave immediately." "See you there," Vinnie said before hanging up. Raymond rummaged hastily through the top drawer of his desk for his New York City map that included all five boroughs. He spread the map out on his desk, and using the index, located Corona Avenue in Elmhurst. He estimated that he could make it easily in half an hour provided the traffic wasn't bad on the Queensborough Bridge. That was a concern because it was almost four o'clock: the beginning of rush hour.
As Raymond came flying out of his study, pulling his coat back on, Darlene asked him where he was going. He told her he didn't have time to explain. He said he'd be back in an hour or so. Raymond ran to Park Avenue, where he caught a cab. It was a good thing he'd brought his map along because the Afghan taxi driver had no idea even where Elmhurst was, much less Corona Avenue. The trip was not easy. Just getting across the East Side of Manhattan took almost a quarter of an hour. And then the bridge was stop-and-go. By the time Raymond was supposed to be at the restaurant, his cab had just reached Queens. But from there it was easy going, and Raymond was only fifteen minutes late when he walked into the restaurant and pushed aside a heavy, velvet curtain. It was immediately apparent the restaurant was not open for business. Most of the chairs were upside
down on top of the tables. Vinnie Dominick was sitting by himself in one of the curved, red
velvet-upholstered booths that lined the walls. In front of him were a newspaper and a small cup of expresso. A lighted cigarette lay in a glass ashtray. Four other men were smoking at the bar, sprawled on bar stools. Two of them Raymond recognized from their visit to his apartment. Behind the bar was an overweight bearded man washing glassware. The rest of the restaurant was empty.
Vinnie waved Raymond to his booth.
"Sit down, Doc," Vinnie said. "A coffee?" Raymond nodded as he slid into the banquette. It took some effort because of the nap of the velvet. The room was chilly, damp, and smelled of the previous night's garlic and the accumulated smoke of five-years' worth of cigarettes. Raymond was happy to keep on his hat and coat. "Two coffees," Vinnie called out to the man behind the bar. Wordlessly, the man turned to an elaborate Italian expresso machine and began manipulating the controls. "You surprised me, Doc," Vinnie said. "I truly never expected to hear from you again." "As I mentioned on the phone there's another problem," Raymond said. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice just above a whisper.
Vinnie spread his hands. "I'm all ears." As succinctly as he could, Raymond outlined the situation with Cindy Carlson. He emphasized the fact that all suicides were medical examiner cases and had to be autopsied. There were no exceptions. The overweight man from behind the bar brought out the coffees. Vinnie didn't respond to Raymond's monologue until the bartender had gone back to his glassware. "Is this Cindy Carlson the daughter of Albright Carlson?" Vinnie asked. "The Wall Street legend?" Raymond nodded. "That's partly why this situation is so important," he said. "If she commits suicide it will undoubtedly garner considerable media attention. The medical examiners will be particularly vigilant." "I get the picture," Vinnie said as he took a sip of his coffee. "What is it exactly that you would want us to do?"
"I wouldn't presume to offer any suggestions," Raymond said nervously. "But you can appreciate that this problem is on a par with the Franconi situation." "So you want this sixteen-year-old girl to just conveniently disappear," Vinnie said. "Well, she has tried to kill herself twice," Raymond said limply. "In a way, we'd just be doing her a favor."
Vinnie laughed. He picked up his cigarette, took a drag, and then ran his hand over the top of his head. His hair was slicked back smoothly from his forehead. He regarded Raymond with his dark eyes.