Oil of Roses Ch. 29

Many thanks to Literotica author 'englander1961' for her help, editorial services, encouragement and a title much better than my original, which has elevated her to the status of House Goddess of Sexy Story Titles. Thanks to Sammi Scott, aka Titsy McYarn, the Cute at the Heart of the Abyss for her help and valuable critique. Thanks to Literotica author 'KY ridgerunner' for the stories that planted the idea in my head months ago. Bounteous thanks to Kevin for his incredibly thorough critiquing and voluminous notes.

Thanks to my wife for handling the editing duties on this chapter due to difficulties with transmitting the manuscript to my normal editor.

After you've read this, if you have any inclination at all to comment, please do so, either by email or on the comment board... The best way for me to grow and improve as an author is to hear from the people who read my work.

I welcome constructive critiques and non-abusive comments. I will answer, in at least a semi-prompt manner, any email that comes with an email address.

If you feel you must respond in a hateful or angry fashion, you may put your head down upon your desk and do so, quietly to yourself, for as long as you feel it necessary. This story may not be copied to other sites without my permission.

If you have not read the earlier installment(s) of this tale, it would probably help you to make sense of this one if you did so.

* * * * *

"Dr. Wohler-Sapperstein... would you mind if I just called you Dr. Wohler, as I understand you and your husband were getting a divorce?" Detective Martin asked as he ran a hand over his rapidly thinning hair.

"Not at all, Detective Martin, that will be fine."

"Alright Dr. Wohler, we found a lot of evidence of your deceased husband living a double life, and to put it rather indelicately, we'd like to know if you had any suspicions concerning his illegal activities?"

"If I may ask, Detective Martin, what kind of illegal activities?"

He leaned back in the creaky wooden desk chair that had been his second home for too many years.

"Well... you sure I can't get you something, this is some pretty strong stuff?"

"No, I'm fine thank you, what kind of illegal activities?"

"These are some prints of picture files we found on his computer..."

"Oh my God..."

* * * * *

"NO, NO, CALM DOWN, IT'S OKAY!"

"Izzy... yelling at them... isn't going to help... I don't think... they speak English..."

"Don't worry about that, Boss... aw, fuck this noise," Izzy said as he stuffed the last two children in the trunk of the car. Their screams were mostly muffled by the trunk lid. "Now you gotta let us get you in the back and outta here!"

"Alright... now you can... put me in... OH SONUVABITCH!"

"I'm sorry, Boss, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay... Izzy... it's okay... no way around it... have Dickie get us... the fuck out of here."

"You got it... DICKIE, MOVE IT!"

"Wish you hadn't... felt called upon... to yell... inside the car..."

"Sorry Boss."

* * * * *

"Angie, would you like me to run you by your apartment first? You know, 8312 Burlingame Lane, #351?"

"How do you know where I live?"

"Silly bitch, same way I know where you work, what bus you ride, what bars you hit on Friday night... you're bein' watched. I don't trust you and I'm damn sure not going to get caught nappin' where your venomous little ass is concerned."

"Like you were with the two that damn near killed Harry?"

An ominous silence filled the cab of the truck, floating in a cocoon of the ambient traffic noises that surrounded it. Angie swallowed, wondering if she'd just talked herself into an unmarked grave.

After a time, Eddy said through gritted teeth, "Alright, you get that one for free... I deserve it. If I was you, bitch, I wouldn't bring it up again. Endin' you would make me feel better, like a kid getting' a new gawddamn puppy, and I really NEED to feel better right now."

Her sense of self-preservation kept her mouth shut.

"I guard my boy against what I know is out there, what I suspect is out there... and I didn't see those two shitheads comin'... that was my bad. But you... I'm just waitin' for a reason to disappear you. Keep on rememberin' that when your little coke-rotted brain starts havin' delusions of revenge, starts tellin' you how horribly you were treated, how you were the injured party in the divorce. Just remember that no one will ever find your body, and what's even more tellin' is that no one will go lookin'. No one."

The rest of the ride back to her office passed in silence. True to his word, he knew where she worked without her having to say a word.

* * * * *

"No, Detective Martin, I never had any idea... I mean, as far as illegal activities... I know he frequented prostitutes, and that he liked them blonde with big tits and no brains... do you think that was maybe just a smokescreen?"

"Well Dr. Wohler, I ain't no shrink, but I've seen a lot in my years on the job and it wouldn't surprise me if that's what it turned out to be. The evidence of his pedophilia is pretty overwhelming... you'll never have to see the apartment he kept on the South side and trust me, you should thank God for that... the man was a pervert and I'm just as glad the bastard's dead... uh, maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright, Detective, I'm edging towards feeling that way myself." The cell phone in her bag rang and she looked at the bag as if it were something foreign.

After a few moments, Detective Martin said, "Perhaps you might want to answer your phone? Might be important, you being a doctor and all."

"Um, yes, yes you're right... sorry, this all has me a little rattled." She pulled out the phone and punched a button. "It already went to voice mail, pardon me a moment." She listened and then punched in a number.

"Alright, I'll be there as soon as possible... yes, I understand." She closed the phone and slipped it back in her bag. "Detective, I hate to rush this but are we about through here? Something pretty important's come up with a patient..."

"Oh yes ma'am, not a problem. If we have any further questions we know where to find you and if you think of anything else that might help us, you give me a call," he said, handing her one of the cards from a tray on his desk. "Can I get a squad car to run you anyplace? I mean, it would be faster than a cab."

"Uh, no, this is important, but not quite that urgent," she said, managing a smile. "A cab will be fine. Thank you very much, Detective Martin, you've been most kind."

"Not a problem, Dr. Wohler, thank you for your help."

* * * * *

"Ms. Turov, this is Izzy, I'm calling for the Boss... no ma'am, he's not able to talk right now... things have been better. Listen, he wants to ask a huge favor of you... right now... 88^th and Penbrook, go around to the guard house at the back, they'll know you're coming... we need a translator... yes ma'am, yes we did... it went very well overall, but we got no one to talk to some kids we took out of Pedachenko's club... yes ma'am, we had a Russian translator but when the bomb went off... calm down ma'am, calm down, I think we'll all be fine but our translator's bleedin' from the ears and I think he'll be pretty useless for awhile... yes ma'am, we got out all that was still alive... alright, he'll thank you for this himself, soon as he's able."

Izzy closed the phone and looked around the inside of the car. Terrified, bleeding, dirty children were everywhere, squeezed in on top of each other, barely leaving room for Izzy and Nick. There were children in the floorboards, curled up to escape from Izzy had no idea what, but they all had the look of frightened animals. The vans that were supposed to be transporting them had been parked next to the west wall of the club, where the bastard who had been the head of the Russian mob in the city had set one of the major explosive charges. The flaming vehicles probably couldn't be traced back to the Family... hell, if Izzy knew Nick, there was no way in hell they could be, but their loss left every vehicle they had left rolling away into the night packed with frightened, wounded, sobbing kids.

He looked over to check the compresses they'd tied down across the holes in Nick's belly. They were almost soaked through, but the bleeding looked to have slowed dramatically. He saw that Nick was conscious, looking down at the boy in the floorboards before him.

The boy was pretty, with an almost translucent quality to his skin, didn't look to be more than fourteen or fifteen, and was nothing but skin and bones. Izzy recognized him as the one they'd found chained to Pedachenko's desk, curled up in a basket, the kind you bought for a large dog to sleep in, covered in bits of Dmitri.

Nick reached out with his hand and stroked the boy's fine pale brown hair. He smiled at him as the boy stared back at him with huge eyes, full of fear. Nick realized his actions might be sending the wrong signal, so drew his hand back and closed his eyes.

"How far?"

"Only about another ten minutes Boss... Dickie's keeping it under the limit. Hope everyone else is too... God help us if one of us gets stopped. Family men, some wounded, some dead, carloads of naked kids lookin' like we pulled 'em out of a war zone... the cops would love that, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah Izzy, they sure would..." With that Nick's eyes slowly closed and he drifted off.

As soon as he was sure Nick was out, Izzy leaned forward. "Dickie, you better pull off a miracle tonight. I want us there five minutes ago and you damn well better not let any fuckin' cop see us."

As the car sped up, Izzy leaned back and pulled out the phone. Time to call the old man and tell him the news... Big Vic was going to be pissed to say the least.

* * * * *

She switched cabs twice and finally made it to the Sampson Building, 88^th and Penbrook, a large three-story office building surrounded by a high wall, topped by razor-wire. As the cab let her out at the guard house, she couldn't help but notice the security cameras mounted at regular intervals along the wall, scanning the streets in constant motion.

After showing the guard her I.D. he let her through and she saw one of Nick's bodyguards heading towards her on an electric cart.

"Hop on, Doc, we're up to our assholes in fu... messed-up people," he said as he wheeled the cart around and came to a stop. "I was coming down to wait for ya, good timin', huh?"

"Yes, it was... why are you covered in blood and dirt? Don't tell me Nick was stupid enough to-"

"Oh no ma'am, nothing like that... we'd got the 'all clear' on the club before we let the Boss go in... but didn't nobody know the fuckface... pardon my language Doc, didn't nobody know the owner had booby-trapped the place on some kinda time delay... we think. Mighta been somethin' else."

The cart shot up a ramp and under a raised gate on a loading dock. "Now in spite of what he says, you gotta see to the Boss first... we got ya two EMT's, they're workin'... tree-somethin'..."

"Triage?"

"Yeah, triage, and they tell me everybody else is stable enough for now... that ain't to say they'll stay that way, but... just get the Boss patched up... he was leakin' like a motherfuckin'... he was leakin' like a sieve."

In spite of everything, Margo found a smile. "Alright, is it Izzy?" He nodded. "Okay Izzy, I'll see to Nick first."

The cart came to a stop before a pair of swinging doors. "Right through there, Doc," Izzy said, "last room on the right. Look for my partner, Joey, he'll be outside the door."

Margo got out of the cart and walked through the swinging doors into the last thing she ever expected to see – a hospital emergency room, going full blast. Her attention was drawn to the gurneys that lined the corridor, each with a child strapped to it. Her impulse to stop, to examine, to treat, was almost overwhelming, brought on by the sight of suffering children, but she remembered who was waiting for her down the hall and forced herself to move on. As she passed a doorway on her left, she saw someone she assumed was one of the EMT's tending to a grown man on an examining table. He finished his ministrations and turned, seeing her pass. In a moment he was walking beside her as she hurried down the hall.

"I don't figure names are all that important, but I'm Carl," he said. "I hope like hell you're the doctor they told us was coming."

"That would be me," she responded, "I'm Margo. Why the fuck are all these children strapped down?"

"Nothing else we could do, Doctor. None of them speak English, none of us speak Russian. We didn't want to sedate them until we'd had time to do a more thorough work-up on them and they were freaking out in seventeen different directions at once. What would you have done?"

She looked at him as they reached the last door on the right. "I'd have restrained them," she said, somewhat begrudgingly.

"Best we could come up with too, ma'am," he said, grinning, as they entered the room together. "As far as the big Boss-man, looks to be three chunks of shrapnel in his abdomen. I figure you and me better scrub up, we got some surgery to do."

"Where's the other EMT I was promised?"

"Rob's working with the adults that got brought in... a lot of gunshot wounds."

After a quick, cursory examination of Nick, Margo looked at Carl with a degree of admiration. "You do good work, and you're right. Okay, tell me we've got something that'll pass as an operating room?"

"Yes ma'am, it's small, and I'll have to double as your gas-passer, but it's functional."

The two of them wheeled Nick in and then headed off to prepare themselves.

* * * * *

Tattie wheeled in to the gatehouse, ready to deliver tons of attitude should her admittance be delayed, but the guard gave her drivers license a quick check and waved her through.

She had barely parked before Izzy showed up to carry her inside.

"So why did this Pedachenko have, and now why do you have, a horde of Russian children on your hands?" she asked as they sped towards the loading dock.

"Sex trade, ma'am," Izzy answered. "Lot of money to be made in young ones, that's why he had 'em... we have 'em because the Boss didn't want 'em gettin' put in the system. He figures to funnel 'em through an adoption agency he knows of, find 'em good homes. I don't know what he's gonna do if nobody wants 'em though... most of these kids are a little old to be adopted easily. Not to mention havin' to warn their adoptive parents what kinda issues they might have, cause o' their past and all... but I don't worry about that, that's the Boss' problem and he's welcome to it. All I have to do is get you in there to calm 'em down and then get ready to keep Big Vic from goin' batshit all over cause o' the Boss getting' fucked... gettin' hurt."

"Izzy, darlin', it's alright, I've heard the word before... I even use it... frequently..."

"Yes ma'am, and that's fine, but the wife, she's tryin' to get me to clean up my language some... I kinda let some foul words slip out last time her folks was over. Thought she was gonna break my kneecap she was kickin' me so hard under the table."

Tattie chuckled. "You're some kinda tough guy, Izzy... cleanin' up your language to make your wife happy."

"You ever met my wife?"

"No, can't say as I have."

"She's got two things goin' for her. She scares me more than Big Vic, and I hope he never finds that out, and she's the most beautiful woman I ever seen... still not sure why she married me. So between scary, and the risk of no pus... no romancin' or nothin', I'll try to clean up my language. Last stop, emergency Russian translators out."

Tattie grinned, hopped off the cart and stepped through the doors into a maelstrom of children's voices, all going a mile a minute in Russian.

"(Vashti, what do you think these men are going to do with us?)" asked one girl, small and frail, no more than eleven.

"(The same thing the others were going to do, they'll just instruct us with their fists since they don't speak Russian,)" answered an effeminate-looking boy, smudged makeup running down his face. Tattie assumed he was 'Vashti'.

"(I don't want to be in America anymore, I want to go home,)" cried another little boy with blood caked all over the side of his face.

"(Stupid shit, who among us do you thing still wants to be here?)"snapped a girl whose eyes were much older than her body.

Inside, Tattie recoiled. There was so much pain here, so much need... and then she straightened up. She wanted to be a 'den mother'... well, here was a group that truly needed her.

"(Children, children... calm down. My name is Tatiana, call me Tattie. These men are not going to hurt you. There are doctors here who are going to help you as soon as they can. In the meantime, how can I help you?)"

The cacophony of responses had her smiling and holding her hands up within seconds.

"(Children, quiet down... we'll have to do this one at a time. But first, let me see about getting some more people here to help you, okay?)"

Whether it was exhaustion or shock, or maybe just hearing their own language spoken by a kindly voice, the children seemed to settle into place, waiting.

"Joey, come here... do you think Nick would want some more help with all these kids, and with the Family men as well?"

"Ms. Turov, I can't speak for the Boss, but I know he was real nervous about only having two EMT's and Dr. Wohler. If you got somebody in mind, and you're sure they can be trusted, I'd imagine the Boss would be willing to offer a real generous salary and benefits package. I don't think he expects this place to go out of business any day soon... and after all the shit we stirred up today, I don't think so either. But they'd have to be willing to work completely off the radar, you know, no talking about it, no changing their minds later."

"The two women I'm thinking of shouldn't be any problem... let me give them a call... both of them have worked as pediatric nurses and lost their RN licenses for aiding and abetting assisted suicides. Last time I spoke with Debbie, they were desperate and both working in the same damn convenience store."

An hour later, still in a state of shock at the deal Tattie'd offered them on Nick's behalf, Debbie Mullins and Wilma Zeising were hard at it. Wilma got pulled into the operating room to act as a surgical nurse when Margo saw her as Nick was wheeled out and one of the children was wheeled in. Debbie and Tattie were working on a short course in essential Russian for the nurse, as they sponge bathed their young charges and checked them carefully for any signs of injury. But more importantly, the were soothing the fears of children who had been pushed to the ragged edge of panic, cleaning wounds and dirty faces, coaxing smiles, bringing bottles of water and soft touches.

* * * * *

It was an exhausted and over-stressed Margo that finally finished the last surgery many hours later. She stripped off her scrubs, threw them in a bin, and ran a sink full of cold water. When it was three quarters full she put her head in and submerged it, twisting it back and forth before pulling it back out.

When she opened her eyes again she found herself being stared at by Carl and Wilma.

"Hey, every doctor has their rituals," she said, "that's one of mine... plus it feels marvelous after a long stint in the OR."

"Whatever works for you, Doctor," Wilma replied, "myself, I could use about five shots of vodka and anything that even remotely resembles a bed."

"Well, since I don't require the vodka at this point, I'll put myself on call, let Rob and you two ladies catch a drink and some shut-eye, if y'all wanna," Carl said with a grin, "c'mon, I'll show you where you can crash out. I'm pretty sure if you'd like, the Boss will have a room made up for you to stay in when we've got patients... I'd take him up on it. I think we're gonna be busy for quite sometime."