The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) by Reisfeld Jon

Author:Reisfeld, Jon [Reisfeld, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Hot Gates Press, LLC
Published: 2016-01-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Tony Sands Jr. sat in the waiting area of Dr. Harold Merritt’s Silver Spring, Maryland, dental office, nervously tapping his fingers on the wooden arms of his seat. He was excited, agitated, even slightly terrified, after having received ‘the call’ at ten o’clock that morning.

“Dr. Merritt has cleared a half hour, this afternoon, to see you about your toothache,” the office manager had said.

Sands didn’t have a toothache. “What time?” he had asked.

“He can squeeze you in at the end of the day today: four-thirty sharp?”

“I’ll be there.”

And now, there he was, on a seemingly ordinary Thursday afternoon, waiting for his first assignment. It had been so long in coming—more than three years since they had helped him out with his divorce—that Sands had almost completely forgotten about the “tag,” as he called it, that they had slipped under the skin of his right forearm.

Now he wondered what it was that they would ask him to do? He had never really thought about it before. He hoped he would be up to the challenge.

From across the room, the young receptionist stared, wide-eyed, at him. He smiled at her, but when her steely expression remained unchanged, he realized she was fixated on his exposed, and bulging, left biceps, where the tattoo of a bloody knife tip was exposed beneath his rolled up shirt sleeve.

He quickly unrolled the sleeves on both sides of his shirt and buttoned them. Then, he flashed a sheepish grin in her direction and shrugged apologetically. She blushed and immediately turned her eyes downward. Once more, he made a mental note to get that tattoo removed. It had become a permanent and increasingly awkward reminder of his brief, teenage involvement in a neighborhood street gang.

“Mr. Sands?” a young dental hygienist said, as she poked her mane of sandy blonde hair into the reception area and then opened the hall door wider. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, had a pleasant smile and a trim, full figure that was surprisingly well-accentuated by her dental uniform: a floral patterned shirt and solid purple pants above a pair of white leather nurse’s shoes.

Sands stood up and walked over.

“Dr. Merritt will see you now,” she said. “Follow me.”

Sands walked down the hall several steps behind her, smelling the typical dental office aroma: toothpaste accented by just the slightest hint of burned, drilled enamel. As he walked he wondered about who came up with the patterns and color schemes dental hygienists wore. Is there any point, or reason, to it?

They passed several closed doors on either side of the hall, then a room where another dental hygienist was busy bending over a seated patient, cleaning his teeth.

His guide stopped just ahead of him and opened a door on the left, gesturing for him to come inside. “Please, have a seat in the dental chair and make yourself comfortable,” she said. “Dr. Merritt will join you in just a moment.” Then, she smiled and left.

It had been in another room just like this one, three years earlier, that Sands had met Dr.

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