Free Rizzo’s Fire by Lou Manfredo Page A

warned me I’d have your shoe up my ass the first week we worked together.”
    Priscilla laughed with Rizzo. “You’re right on schedule, paesan, ” she said, shaking her head gently. “Right on schedule.”
    He slowed the car and angled in toward the curb to an open parking space. “This is it,” he said, glancing at the address on the building. Then, turning to his partner, added, “Just remember what I said. About the finances. Insurance, Cil. Doesn’t hurt to have some insurance.”
    She released her shoulder harness and reached for the door handle. “Okay, Daddy,” she said. “I got it. In a year or so, they may reach me on the sergeant’s list. Sooner maybe, with all those retirements comin’ up. Then maybe I can swing my end of the nut a little better. So, we’ll see.”
    Rizzo shut down the Impala’s engine and nodded.
    “Good,” he said. “Now let’s go to work.”
    “ TO BE perfectly honest, Sergeant Rizzo, he’s never been one of my favorite patients.”
    Dr. Davenport, a silver-haired, stout man of about sixty, gazed across his broad, neat desk at Rizzo and Jackson.
    “And I can’t say I’m overly surprised to have police asking about him.”
    Rizzo slipped his note pad from the inner pocket of his jacket.
    “Why is that, Doctor?” he asked. “He ever get rough in here?”
    The dentist shook his head. “No, not really. But he’s . . . unpleasant. A bit nasty with my staff. He usually seems in a bad mood, angry about something. So it’s no real surprise that his injuries were sustained in an altercation and not a fall, as he told me.”
    Priscilla leaned in slightly.
    “Can you describe him, sir?” she asked. “Height, weight, age, features?”
    Davenport shrugged. “Certainly,” he said. He then gave a description matching those given by the witnesses and victim.
    The detectives exchanged glances, then Rizzo clicked his Parker.
    “What was that name and address, Doc?” he asked.
    Davenport stood. “His name is Carl Jurgens,” he said. “I’ll need to get his folder for the rest. My assistant was supposed to put it on my desk before she left, but I guess she forgot. Give me a moment.”
    “Sure,” Rizzo said pleasantly. “Thanks.”
    When the dentist left the room, Rizzo leaned over to Priscilla. “Good help is hard to find,” he said.
    “Be thankful you don’t have that problem,” she answered.
    When Davenport returned, Rizzo jotted down Jurgens’s home address and phone number. Then he raised his eyes to the man.
    “How’s he pay you, Doc?” Rizzo asked. “Cash, check, insurance?”
    He quickly scanned the folder’s contents.
    “Well, let me see . . . my staff usually handles billing.” After a moment, he found it. “Here it is,” he said. “Insurance. He pays a small yearly deductible, then we accept his insurance assignment as payment in full.”
    “Is the insurance through an employer?” Rizzo asked.
    The dentist ran his finger across the paper before him. “Yes,” he said, “it appears to be.”
    “Who’s the employer?” Priscilla asked.
    “Gordon’s Sporting Equipment,” Davenport answered, raising his eyes to Priscilla’s. “The big outdoor supplies store.”
    Rizzo nodded. “National chain, I think,” he said. Then, shifting in his seat, he asked, “Any follow-up visits scheduled, Doc? For Jurgens?”
    Again the doctor scanned the file. “Yes. He needs to come in when his permanent crowns are ready. That should be in about two weeks. But I see we have him scheduled for Monday afternoon first.”
    “This coming Monday?” Priscilla asked.
    “Yes,” Davenport said, nodding. “That would be for the chipped incisor.” He looked from one detective to the next. “I need to restore it with a bonded filling.”
    “What time is that appointment, Doctor?” Priscilla asked.
    He frowned. “I’m really not comfortable with all of this, Detective,” he said. “My assistant opened the door here by telling you about his injuries, and