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Dottie was shaking with anger as she parked her car across the street from Dr. Dude’s office. She gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands and counted to ten to settle her temper and lower her blood pressure, which she was sure, had skyrocketed. Dr. Smirkowitz’s office was near the old Stuart Circle Hospital that had been renovated into ritzy, luxury apartments. She carefully maneuvered around the puddles of ice and snow.
Last damned thing I need is a broken hip. That would just finish me.
She waited to cross the street with the light so she wouldn’t get her jeans splashed with dirty snow and water. She gingerly maneuvered the walkway opposite Dr. Dude’s office and ducked behind a bush, cursing to herself as the snow and pine needles pricked her face. She quietly slipped into the side door of the office and closed the door with a soft click. Seeing no one, she ducked into a storage area located between Dr. Dude’s private office and the staff break room. This was precisely the place where she’d overheard gossip among the employees about Maria several years ago. She sat on a gray tote filled with dental supplies.
She didn’t have to wait long. Within a couple of minutes, she heard Dr. Smirkowitz enter his office, slam the door and yank his rolling desk chair out. He must have turned on the TV. She heard a rerun of the news conference about Allison from the morning. She heard Margaret’s weeping, Helen’s soft crying, and Beau’s loud angry voice followed by the placating, reasonableness of Allison’s dad. They’d offered a $250,000 reward for information. Her heart twisted with their pain.
Smirkowitz cursed, clicked off the TV. It sounded as if he slammed the remote on the desk. He began to talk to himself and curse Michaela and Slade. Dottie’s ears burned with anger at the obscene words he used to describe Michaela. Finally, he quieted down, and Dottie could smell the scent of a cigar. It smelled good.
I like that brand. I should get some of those for me.
Only a few select people knew The Countess Dorothy Borghase smoked cigars, a habit that irked Mic to the point of murder. After all, she did have a smoking room in her home. Someone has to use it, but she hadn’t had a good smoke in forever. Dottie had offered the very same rationalization to Michaela and thought Mic would have a stroke she turned so red. Mic just doesn’t get it that my body is my body. I’m in great shape and if I want a cigar now and then, I’m going to have one. Period.
Dr. Dude’s cell phone rang with the default ring used by millions of Americans. His voice was angry as picked it up and hissed. “I told you never to call me on this phone. This is my personal number.”
He must have the phone on the speaker because Dottie could hear someone replying to his angry greeting. She strained to hear the voice on the other end, but she couldn’t. She could tell it was a male voice, but it was garbled. She couldn’t make out any words, and she had the hearing of a twenty-five-year-old, according to her doctor. She wondered if the voice was foreign since it sounded so garbled.
Smirkowitz snarled at the man. “Do you realize how much trouble this has caused me? I got cops crawling up my ass 24/7. They’ve been here twice, and I expect they’ll come again. And the girl’s family is rich, powerful, and connected. I told you not to take her. And, they’ve offered a $250,000 reward.” He ended his tirade, his voice in the high range.
Dottie couldn’t hear the response, but she was convinced the speaker was foreign.
She heard a loud noise. It sounded like Smirkowitz had banged his fist on his desk. He continued in an angry voice. “No, absolutely not. She’s gonna die if she doesn’t get insulin. She can’t leave until we get some.” Dottie wondered if Richmond’s premier cosmetic dentist would ever be able to fashion veneers again. That fist had to hurt.
Dr. Dude must have somehow pressed the volume on his phone because she could hear the voice better. The man answered in Russian. She heard it loud and clear. The male voice was angry, hostile. Dottie knew a little Russian, not a lot, but she did understand the words, which translated as “tomorrow, seven o’clock” along with a string of expletives.
Smirkowitz cursed in Russian. Now, Dorothy understood curse words. She knew lots of curse words in every language. Dottie’s imagination went wild. What? Is this jackass dentist a spy or something? She had no idea he was Russian. She had to get to Mic and let her know.
“She must look good and be fit for travel,” the Russian’s voice continued in an angry tone. “The bidding is tonight. She must be beautiful tonight.”
Smirkowitz scowled, his voice was biting. “I’m telling you this is a bad idea. The girl is missed. She’s not some refugee or immigrant you plucked off the street or out of the barrio. They won’t let this go like the others. It could be our downfall.”
“You must make it happen, Nikolay. It must happen tonight,” the voice insisted quietly. “We’re counting on you.”
“But, suppose she’s in a coma. I had trouble waking her this morning. I didn’t know she was diabetic until the news conference. She needs insulin or she’ll die,” Smirkowitz pleaded. Dottie could picture the anxiety on Dr. Dude’s normally composed, handsome face.
“The medicine is taken care of. We handled it a short while ago,” the voice informed him in a cold tone.
Dottie shivered when she heard the harsh laugh on the other end of the phone. It was pure evil. “No, Nikolay, this will be your downfall. And the downfall of your family... those beautiful children of yours.”
Dude’s heart hammered in his chest. They were threatening him. He remained quiet.
After a few moments of silence, the voice continued, with an implied threat, “And, what is your new trophy wife’s name?” The voice continued in English, soft and threatening.
Dottie could barely breathe. She could hear everything. The walls were paper-thin. She wasn’t sure whether it was anger or fear, but as the moments passed, she recognized fear and was deeply disturbed by the man’s threat. If they’d hurt Dr. Smirkowitz’s wife, what would they do to Allison?”
The voice persisted, louder and threatening, “I asked you her name, Nikolay, your new, young trophy wife ...the one with the ...what, fourth little Smirkowitz on the way?”
“Deidre, her name is Deidre.” The threat was clear. He was terrified. The voice loomed in his conscious, over and over, the threats jetting through his brain like nails shot into a board with a nail gun.
“Ah, yes, sweet Deidre. That pretty, young college student you corrupted and married after ridding yourself of your faithful wife of eighteen years. The wife from the homeland, the beautiful Constance, the one we selected for you.” The Russian’s voice was soft and loomed in the room, the threats implied. Dorothy shivered from the icy tone.
Smirkowitz said nothing as he struggled for breath. His brain flashed a dozen fears in color. He knew what they were capable of doing and he knew they’d do it. He was unable to speak. Worse of all, the silence terrorized him.
Finally, the voice spoke again. “Do you want details, Nikolay? Details of what we will do to your children and your new, young wife?”
“No, no. I don’t. I will do it,” Smirkowitz gasped, his voice hoarse with fear.
“See that you do. Immediately. And get her the insulin now. The bidding is tonight, and she will bring a pretty penny. Much more than her grandfather is offering for a reward. Our buyers love blond American woman. It’s their way of getting back at the West.”
Smirkowitz was silent and wondered if the loud breathing was his. He ran his fingers back and forth through his hair until all semblance of style was gone.
After a silence, the voice rasped again. “Or you know what will happen to your family while you watch.”
Dr. Dude was drenched in sweat and shaking as he stared at his cell phone. He had no choice. He’d have to do it. He remained silent as he tried to cover his breathing.
“Oh, and the young girl from today, the one named Danielle? We’ll get her, too, I promise. She’s on the list, too.” The Russian’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Smirkowitz’s voice quavered with fear. “Danielle knows nothing. You should leave her alone. You are moving too fast,” Smirkowitz added, hoping to dissuade the bloodthirsty maniac. “You’ll be the downfall of all of us.”
“Danielle, yes, we know about Danielle. She will either come with us, or she will die like the others.”
The phone went dead. Dottie could hear nothing. She also heard what she thought was a sob escape from Dr. Dude’s throat. After several minutes, she heard his office door close quietly. Rushed steps passed by the supply closet door.
Dottie sat quietly in her hiding place, paralyzed with fear. She hadn’t heard all of the conversation, but she was petrified. These were very bad people. They had to find Allison. She had to tell Mic. Allison’s life depended on it.