Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (19 page)

“I
thought you knew the redhead.  I’ve been tailing her for a few days.  I saw you
bring out a silver squash to her, so I figured you were friends.”

K.
jumped in and explained about the leftover brownies and cheesecakes and the
superiority of foil swans vs. doggie bags.  Mrs. Phang agreed and helped
herself to a cheesecake. Then we shushed him.

“She
pretended to be some good Samaritan looking for part-time work to my
sister-in-law, on the one day I went out,” she said.  “I wasn’t expecting any
pick-ups or deliveries, so I figured I was in the clear.”

“Oh
dear.  An entire day without one customer dropping off dry cleaning,” K. tsked.

“No,
not dry cleaning.  Prescriptions,” Mrs. Phang said.  We all looked at her with
a collective question mark.  She rolled her eyes.  “My gambling-prone nephew,
Fa, is a pharmaceutical sales rep.”

“So?”
Ike asked.

“Look,
Fa got pulled out of debt, but with my retirement money.  I explained to Fa
that he had to repay me, and his mother.”

Ethel
frowned. “I don’t understand.” Clearly, her head was spinning too.  And it
wasn’t just because of the late night beverages or sugar overload.

“Fa
gets tons of free samples.  Most of which just sit in the extra bedrooms in his
condo, because a lot of the meds need to be kept in climate controlled spaces. 
He had so much stored there, he got bonked on his noggin when a box of steroid
inhalers fell on his head.  And that’s what gave him the idea.”

We
stared blankly at Mrs. Phang in unison.  Except for Trixie, who shouted, “Oh!!”
and clapped her hand to her mouth and hopped up and down.  “You’re selling
prescription samples!” Mrs. Phang touched the side of her nose with her finger.

“But
how the… who the… where… huh?” I asked, none too coherently.

“Of
course you know, prescription medicines, especially for retired seniors, are so
very, very expensive,” Mrs. Phang began.  

“YOU’RE
SELLING STOLEN SAMPLES?” I screamed not too nicely.

“They’re
not stolen.  They’re… redistributed,” Mrs. Phang replied.

“BUT
YOU’RE TRAFFICKING PRESCRIPTIONS?” I asked.

“Umm…
no dear.  You are,” Aunt Muriel explained.

“You
know, I’d like to hear more about this, but maybe we could talk about it in the
morning. Late morning.  Don’t you think we should go home?” Ike asked as he
stood up.    Ethel glared. Ike sunk back onto the sofa and sulked.  Both
Ratties scurried up to offer some slobber and sympathy.

“So
how long has Mina been a mule?” Bauser asked.

“Well,
it didn’t start out that way,” Aunt Muriel began.  “We all used to take turns. 
But then there were the mix-ups…”

“WHO
IS WE?” I yelped.

“Well,
the church choir; the Brethren Breakfast crews; some of my neighbors; some of
your neighbors; some of their relatives – and our online teams of course –  and
sometimes your mother…”  Aunt Muriel trailed off.

“I’m
the Jersey connection,” Ma added.  I hung my head.

“I
got concerned that the laundromat was being watched,” Mrs. Phang said.  “And
then, if a real customer was around, my sister-in-law would get flustered and
mix things up – she’s such a goodie-goodie.  So someone expecting high blood
pressure medicine sometimes wound up with decongestants, and that wasn’t good. 
After all, we’re trying to help these people, not kill them.”

“Excuse
me, but, at the risk of again regretting asking this, what does this have to do
with shooting me?” Norman asked again, bandaged head held in his hands.

“I
wanted to scare you, not shoot you,” Mrs. Phang answered.  “Besides, it’s only
a BB gun.   For the life of me I can’t figure out how you got hurt.”  Trixie
heaved a huge sigh of relief.  I guess she was glad Norman’s gunshot wound
wasn’t really a gunshot wound.  “I figured you could tell me who the redhead is
since you were bringing her a doggie bag,” Mrs. Phang said matter-of-factly.

K.
mumbled something about, “Swan.  It was a foil S-W-A-N. Not something you bring
home to feed Ratties…”

“Well,
anyway, the stupid thing went off in my hand by accident and scared the crap
out of me.”

“Oh. 
Sorry,” Norman said.

“No
problem,” Mrs. Phang replied.  Norman sighed.

“The
redhead poking around the shop, especially at the end of the month, clued us
in,” Mrs. Phang said.  “Her posing as cheapo help was pretty cheeky.”

“You
see, we used to have a little problem with everyone’s re-order dates winding up
on the end of the month,” Aunt Muriel explained.  Oh, yes.  Of course.  It was
a clear as mud to me now.

“Anyway,
one day while Muriel and I were trying to improve deliveries, in walked Vito
with a gym bag full of dry cleaning, and a bottle of Lipitor.  It was supposed
to go to Eric Glassbaum, but wound up with Vito’s shirts by accident.”

My
curiosity bit.  So did I.  “So?”

“Well,
luckily I recognized Vito from the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht.” Mrs. Phang smiled
nostalgically.  I wondered whether happier times were ahead, or far, far behind
us.

“Yeah,
that was some coincidence,” Vito said.  He grinned. “I used to be a regular.”

“Anyway,
we got to feeling each other out, and we found out that actually Vito is very
simpatico about deep discount prescriptions for retired seniors.  And he’s been
a great help,” Aunt Muriel said.  “We charge a fee, of course, but not nearly
the mark-up the drug companies do.  And we’re not cheating them; after all, if
these companies can afford to give it away for free, it’s not missed income.”

“So
you’re reselling samples.  For profit?”  Bauser asked.  Aunt Muriel and Vito
and Mrs. Phang nodded.  Bauser blew out a long, soft whistle.  “Umm, you know,
this is kind of a very illegal thing to do.”

“I
know, I know,” Mrs. Phang said unhappily.  “But we were really in a jam.  And
it’s not forever; just until we put the money back that Fa and Fu bled from the
business.”

“How’s
Vito helping?” I asked warily. All of a sudden I sensed the end of the world.

“He
matches the requests with the orders.  He’s Logistics.  Vito makes sure the
right prescription gets delivered to the right person.”

“So
how does Logistics deliver?” I asked, rubbing my forehead. I had a feeling I
already knew the answer.

“Well,
dear, you do.  You deliver the prescription orders in the pocket of a shirt in
some dry cleaning in Vito’s gym bag,” Aunt Muriel answered.  “Mrs. Phang
exchanges that for a box chock full of prescriptions, along with a clean shirt
or two, to muffle any rattling sounds the pills might make.  And you bring it
all back to Vito.  Then he makes his delivery rounds.”

“And
this was working great, too, until that stupid redhead started hanging around,”
Mrs. Phang grimaced.  “And we were so close, too.  I figured by next month Vito
would be delivering ‘Thank You’ promotions to all our customers, to let them
know the dry cleaning business was really going into the dry cleaning
business.  We even printed out $10 dry cleaning gift cards to distribute.” She
smiled proudly.

“Well,
Vito should have been able to tell you who the redhead is,” I said.  “She’s his
niece, and her boss is a U.S. Marshal.  I guess she’s his assistant or
something.”

Vito
clapped his collective hands to his forehead.  The rest of us looked at each
other.  All except for Ike; he snored.

“Uh,
maybe I better explain.  Geez, this is awkward.  I think I might have kind of
have a confession to make,” Vito said to Mrs. Phang and Aunt Muriel. They both
suddenly resembled gargoyles.  “But ya know, it is pretty late.” He glanced
uneasily over at Ike and his chorus of ZZZs.  Ethel walked over and flicked
Ike’s nose.  He stopped snoring.  Vinnie started.

“Maybe
what we need is some coffee,” Ethel said.

“Okay,”
I said, automatically digging out my party percolator to brew coffee for thirty
people.  Bauser talked with Norman, who nodded.  Norman phoned home, and after
a lot of Mhming said he was going to stay over at Bauser’s because of working
late.  “It’d be hard to explain the gunshot wound this late at night, anyway,”
he said limply after he’d hung up.

The
coffee was brewed and passed around.  We pulled some chairs into the dining
room – away from Ike’s and Vinnie’s snoring – and sat around Vito.  He began.

“You
see, the reason I was a regular at the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht was on account of my
late wife, Marie,” Vito said, then started to sniff.  Ma rolled her eyes, went
into the kitchen and came back with the roll of paper towels.  Vito took a hunk
and blew.  “You see, my sainted Marie got poisoned by what we think was some
bad pierogies.  We got her to the hospital, but not soon enough.  The poisoned
pierogies really did a number on her system, so she was in the hospital on IV’s
and stuff for a couple months.  Then, just when I thought she was gonna get
discharged and come home, she dies.”

We
all offered our condolences and sympathies, but really there was very little we
could say or do.  Marie was gone, and I now lived in the ‘Hers’ portion of
their townhouses.  This we knew.  But a little birdie fluttered through my
head.  Apparently Marie must have died before she picked out the His ‘n’ Her
townhouse.  Or purchased it.

“Vito,
I thought I bought Marie’s half of the His ‘n’ Her townhouses?” I asked.

“Yeah,
I know.”

“So?”

“I
lied.”

“Oh.”

Vito
sighed.  “You see, I couldn’t tell yous the truth.  And I’m not so sure I can
now. Look, it’s like this,” he said, leaning in.  We all leaned in too. “I’m
kind of in a witness protection program,” he said.

“Oh,
that’s so nice, Vito.  I didn’t know you protect Jehovah’s Witnesses.  These
days they probably need all the help they can get,” Aunt Muriel said sleepily. 
Ma pinched Aunt Muriel and hissed in her ear.  The penny dropped.  “Oh!” Though
I wondered about any remaining spare change.

“You
see, Toots,” Vito said, looking at me and nervously licking his lips.  “My
name’s not exactly Vito.  I mean, it is now.  But before it wasn’t.”

“What
do you mean?”

Vito
took a big breath, and exhaled.  Then he took another and exhaled again.

“Do
you think he’s hyperventilating?” Trixie whispered at me.  I politely shushed
her by waving my hand in her face.

“My
real name is Vladimir Pryzchntchynzski,” he exhaled, and looked around
expectantly.

“God
bless you,” Ethel said sleepily.

The
rest of us looked at each other.  Crickets chirped.  Someone shuffled their
feet.  Vito stared at the floor.  Nothing.  Then we looked over at Ma, Aunt
Muriel and Mrs. Phang, and their literal open mouths.

“Oh
my gosh – oh my gosh – oh my gosh,” Mrs. Phang spluttered.  “Of course! That’s
why you looked so familiar when I met you at the Bagels ‘n’ Borscht – it was
all the pictures in the paper!”

Pictures?
Paper? Huh?

“Oh
dear, yes, yes,” Aunt Muriel tsked.  Ma shook her head.  “Well, who’d have
thought?  It’s not everyday we have dinner with a genuine Mafia Don.”

Don
Mafia?  Who’s he?  Huh?

“Ummm,
pardon me, Vito.  I mean, uh, Vladimir,” Norman began.

“No,
no – it’s Vito now.  Really.  No problemo.”

“Of
course. I don’t mean any, erm… disrespect… but, ermm… should we know
you?”

Vito
smiled.  “Not if I was doing my job right.  Which I was, mostly.  But some
operations, which didn’t go exactly as planned, got picked up in the local
news.”

“Oh,”
Norman said, nodding like he understood.

“You
see, I’m third generation.  I wasn’t exactly planning on this as a career.  But
then Tatuś – my dad – got whacked.  And I loved my Grandfather, who took
us in, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.  Besides which, I couldn’t.” Vito
cringed.  “Just before Marie got sick, I found out some young Turks were trying
to merge our family with some Italian New York family – and drugs.  I got mad. 
I said I’d rather rat them out than see drugs come in through the Family.  For
chrissakes,” he sighed, “that kind of garbage was what Pop said the Family kept
out of our neighborhood.  Back in the day, it was about protection.  These
days, it’s all about money.  It’s all gone down the drain.”

“So,
umm… who’s your Family?” Bauser asked. He took out  the pain pill I’d given him
earlier and swallowed it.

Mrs.
Phang looked at Bauser like he’d just crawled out of a cave.  “Why, Vladimir
Pryzchntchynzski ran the Moils, the Jewish Polish Mafia, out of Bumville,” she
answered.

Jewish
Polish Mafia?  So that explains all the kielbasa.  I wondered if kielbasa was
kosher.

“Oh,”
the PA contingency said.

“Oh!”
Aunt Muriel exclaimed, thrusting out of her chair and up onto her feet. 
“You’re Jewish?”

“Uh,
yeah, Toots.  It kind of goes hand-in-hand with the Jewish Polish Mafia thing.”