John Locke: Bad Doctor

Can you picture this?

It’s like trying to fuck an octopus in a windstorm.

Willow’s fallen Asleep, so you can imagine how big her eyes get when she opens them and sees the gun in my hand.

“What the fuck?”

“Time to shower.”

She turns toward Cameron, who’s sitting on the bed, naked, crying softly.

“What happened?”

“He stole our money.”

Willow sees her open handbag on the bed. Her body tenses.

I thumb the hammer back, cocking the pistol.

“Don’t do it,” I say. “You’re the intruder here.”

I motion both women to get up and walk in front of me, into the bathroom. They do, and I turn on the shower and nod at Cameron. She gets in and stands in the center, under the running water. I tell Willow to remove her clothes, but she’s decided to take a stand.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” she says. “Not in your own bathroom.”

I slap her face full force.

She shrieks.

I slap her again, and she puts her hand up in submission.

“Get your clothes off!” I yell.

When she’s naked, I motion her to join her friend.

If looks could kill, right?

But they can’t, so Willow steps into the shower.

It’s a glass shower with a glass door, and I’m standing three feet from them, with the door propped open behind my back. Willow tries to whisper something to Cameron and I say, “I could kill you both right now.”

They look at each other, sharing a brief moment of terror. Willow’s mouth and legs are trembling. All the defiance she had earlier has leaked out of her like drool from a dying grandparent.

And yet she’s resourceful.

“I need to pee,” she says, figuring to split them up, maybe buy some time to make a plan.

“A drain’s a drain,” I say. “Pee in the shower.”

I point to the facecloth on the shower bench. “Willow, bend over. Cameron, use the facecloth and soap her private area, hard. When you’re done, switch places.”

The women look at each other, and Willow says, “He’s going to kill us.”

Cameron says, “No. He’s just making us get rid of the evidence.”

“What evidence?” Willow says. “He used a condom.”

“Still. There could be DNA. Hair, whatever.”

“Cameron’s right,” I say. “Remove the evidence, and I’ll let you go. You ladies weren’t raped tonight, but I don’t want you claiming you were. Consider it a lesson learned.”

They soap each other down, then turn to look at me.

“Again,” I say. “Harder, deeper. Or I’ll do it myself.”

After the women get dressed, I give them back their handbags and say, “I won’t lecture you, but you shouldn’t smoke cigarettes.”

Willow checks her bag.

I hold up the plastic baggies that holds Willow’s cocaine and ground nutmeg. “Looking for these?”

I put them in my pocket and say, “You can’t be stupid enough to lace cocaine with nutmeg. Then again, it was in your purse.” I sigh. “Let’s go, ladies.”

I escort them to the side door and hold it open.

As they pass in front of me, I expect Willow to make a comment like, “This isn’t over,” but she doesn’t. Like Cameron, she’s silent, respectful, eager to leave the house alive.

I watch till they get in Willow’s car before closing and locking the door. Then I pause a moment, turn around, and slide slowly to the floor, grinning wider than a ventriloquist’s dummy.

Unbelievable!

I’ve done some crazy shit in my life, but this tops them all!

Did I just fuck two strippers and rob them at gunpoint?

Yes!

Will they come back and try to kill me?

I can only hope so!

Will they tell Bobby Mitchell?

Will he hunt me down and kill me?

I’ve never felt so alive! I’m practically hyperventilating from the excitement. I feel cleansed, energized. And strangely, a sense of relief, like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken their money. But seeing the cocaine in Willow’s purse pissed me off, so I decided to punish them where it hurts.

In the wallet.

I cock my head.

Something’s wrong.

It dawns on me I haven’t heard Willow’s car start up.

I get to my feet and move to the kitchen window that overlooks the driveway.

Willow and Cameron.

“Let it go,” Cameron says.

They’re in Willow’s car, in Chris Fowler’s driveway.

“No fucking way! That bastard ripped us off! Not just the five grand, but every nickel we made at the club tonight. Not to mention the blow.”

“He’s got a gun, Willow.”

“He’s also got a wife.”

“So?”

“He’ll pay us to keep quiet if he knows we’re serious.”

Cameron bites her lip. “I don’t know. The whole thing could explode in our faces.”

Willow says, “We’ll drive away, come back first thing in the morning, follow him to work. Then we’ll march in his office and tell him to fork over ten grand.”

“Ten?”

“He stole twenty-six hundred in cash, two hundred in coke, and cheated us out of fifty-five hundred.”

“That comes to eighty-three hundred.”

“Eighty-three?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve always been good at math.”

“Well, the extra’s for our time and trouble.”

She sees fear in Cameron’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s staring at us from the window.”

“So?”

“He’s holding a phone. I think he’s calling the cops.”

“ Shit!”

Willow throws the car in gear and backs out of the driveway so fast her tires squeal.

Bobby and Willow

“You’re late.”

“Tell me about it!” Willow says.

“No, you tell me!” Bobby says. “Where the fuck’ve you been?”

“I had to cover for China.”

“The country?”

“The dancer.”

“Which one’s that?”

“The red head.”

“With the eyeball tattoo, or the pretty one?”

“The skinny one,” Willow says, then frowns. “You think she’s pretty?”

“I’d fuck her.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“I’m just kidding.”

“Bastard.”

“I’m kidding, Willow.”

“I’m going to bed.” She turns to leave.

“Whoa.”

She stops.

“Why didn’t you call?” He says.

“You took my cell phone. You wanted to play Angry Birds.”

“I like Angry Birds.”

“The truth is you don’t trust me to have a cell phone.”

“I trust you, I just don’t trust men.”

“Not much point in paying for a cell phone I can’t use.”

“I use it all the time.”

“Right. I’m going to bed now, okay?”

He sniffs the air. Something’s different.

“You don’t smell like strip club,” he says.

“I took a shower.”

“You what?”

“Took a shower.”

Bobby gets up from his beer chair and positions himself between her and the bedroom door. “Did I tell you never to shower there?”

“You did.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you think the owner spies on the girls.”

“I know he does.”

“Fine. Whatever. But Marvin left after the first shift.”

“So?”

“Ten minutes to closing time, some guy vomited three feet from me, and I couldn’t get the smell out of my hair. I stood guard while Cameron showered, then she stood guard for me.”

He thinks about that, then lifts her chin up to put more light on her face.

“What happened here?”

He touches her cheek where Chris Fowler slapped her an hour ago.

“Is it still swollen?” she says.