SISTER (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 4) Read Free Page B

up.
    ***
    The three-story building was on the corner of Hamilton Parkway and Fourth Avenue and Bay Ridge Avenue. The blue awning said “Narrows Medical Center.” I went through the double glass doors into an empty waiting room. On one wall there was a large poster hanging askew. It showed a burly, coarse-featured woman with a finger to her lips. At first I took it for one of those World War II “Loose Lips Sink Ships” posters that warned people not to discuss maritime matters in port, lest the news found its way to the ears of a Nazi spy, who would pass it on to lurking U-Boats. On closer examination, it turned out to be a Soviet worker in overalls saying “Spletnya Neelza!” with a hammer and sickle in the background. I straightened the poster out, on general principles. The only furniture in the waiting area consisted of a wooden bench under the poster and, in the center of the room, what appeared to be a receptionist desk, with all its drawers opened. There were papers and office supplies strewn about. The whole place looked like it had been tossed.
    A broad, flat head stuck out from one of the doors down the hallway.
    “In here,” Maks Kalugin growled.
    I entered a room that also looked trashed. Judging by the diplomas on the wall, which were askew, it was obviously a doctor’s office. Two women were at a makeshift table in a corner working on laptops. Arman Rahm was sitting behind a large desk, leafing through a stack of papers in his lap. With his slicked-back dark hair and high-cheekboned, chiseled features, he was an extraordinarily handsome man, and as usual, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a high-end catalogue. He was wearing light-brown linen trousers, a two-button check sport coat, a light-blue button-down shirt and a wine-colored cashmere vest. His chair was tilted back and his feet, in white-and-brown leather loafers, were crossed on the desk.
    “Gatsby, I presume.”
    He looked up at me and smiled, showing a perfect set of white teeth.
    “Alton, good of you to come.”
    I looked around.
    “You need my help redecorating?”
    “F.B.I. agents never clean up after themselves. Of course, my people are responsible for some of the mess. We swept the building for bugs. I have a cleaning crew coming in tomorrow. Then I’ll get some painters, carpet guys and furniture people in here. We should be up and running in a week.”
    “Up and running what?”
    “I haven’t thought of a name yet, but it will have ‘Medical’ in it.”
    “Why not keep the old name?”
    Kalugin made a sound that was probably a laugh.
    “Because if anyone Googles it, all the indictments will come up. The idiots who ran this armpit are all facing 20 years in Federal prison.”
    “Your kind of people, Arman. I take it someone who worked here ignored the poster out front.”
    “What poster.”
    “The one with Kalugin’s sister saying ‘Spletnya Neelza!’, which I presume doesn’t have anything to do with German U-Boats.”
    “I wish my sister looked that good,” Maks said.
    “It means ‘Don’t Gossip!”, Rahm said. “And you are correct. Someone didn’t keep their mouth shut. What did you mean about German U-Boats?”
    I told him.
    “Same idea. But it wasn’t only loose lips. The doctors who ran this Medicare mill were just too greedy. It’s hard to avoid Federal scrutiny when you are billing for more patients than there are people in Brooklyn. They charged more than $30 million for services that weren't necessary. Hell, they were no-show practitioners anyway. They were hardly ever here and only performed a small fraction of the procedures they ordered. The dolts ran patients through here faster than my girls give lap dances in South Beach.”
    I walked around to look at the diplomas, which I also straightened.
    “Dr. Aleksandr Golovanov?” I leaned closer to read the small print. “Gee, I didn’t know you could get a medical degree online.”
    “He ran the place,” Rahm said. “He paid cash