Authors: John Locke
But do you really care?
I don’t think so.
My guess is you’d rather hear about Renee Williams.
Here’s my take on the kindergarten teacher: she’s medium cute. I realize that statement requires clarification, and I’m not sure I’m up to it, but I’ll try.
You know how a puppy’s adorable when he’s sleeping or playing but a grown dog’s disgusting when he humps your leg or licks his dick?
Renee’s the opposite.
Meaning, she’s not the least bit adorable, but I like the way she humps me and licks my dick. I like it so much I hardly look up when the door flies open and Zander’s fake cop boyfriend enters the room with two other guys dressed as policemen.
What gets our attention is all three are holding guns on us.
TURNS OUT ZANDER’S boyfriend is a real cop. Also, he’s not Zander’s boyfriend.
Turns out the reason he didn’t arrest me at the riverbank is because I hadn’t exposed myself, and he’s experienced enough to know a good attorney could reasonably argue I parked there to take a nap and was simply scratching an itch when he happened by.
Turns out the reason he didn’t drive his car down the riverbank is because his partner was busy flirting with the cute young lady with the big handbag (Zander) who said there was a creepy guy in a rental car down the hill, pleasuring himself (me).
Then a car pulled up, Zander climbed in, and they drove away.
No, they didn’t have any reason to question the driver or record the license plate.
I learned the nicest way possible that Renee trimmed her orange bush in the shape of a heart for my benefit, and didn’t appreciate the attention it received from the policemen, particularly the one whose son attended her kindergarten class at Logan Elementary.
The good news is, they allow Renee to go free after being convinced she had nothing to do with the armed robbery that took place at the bowling alley earlier in the day. The one where a female employee named Chris wrote down the make, model, and license number of the rental car she saw in the employee’s parking lot.
After giving police a detailed description of me.
THIS IS EMBARRASSING.
I’m in a police lineup with two black guys, an old wino who’s pissing his pants as we speak, and a cross-dressing punk rocker who shit in hers long before I got here.
Guess which of us was eye-witnessed driving the rental car?
Me.
No surprise there.
But there is a surprise.
A big one.
Chris, a.k.a. Zander’s “friend”, fingers me as the guy who, acting alone, forced his way into the bowling alley, put a gun to her head, and made her open the owner’s private safe.
The cops aren’t overly impressed with my story, that Zander scheduled a date with me in order to dupe me into being the getaway driver for her robbery.
Can you blame them?
So they book me and it appears I’ll be spending the night at city jail.
But when my background check comes back and Paducah police learn I’m the world’s greatest Cardiothoracic surgeon, a guy who earns two hundred grand per operation, my story suddenly sounds better than Chris’s.
After an hour of rigorous interrogation, Chris admits Zander set the whole thing up and gave her half the money.
Chris’s boyfriend picked Zander up from the riverbank, accepted Chris’s half of the money for her, and drove Zander to a truck stop in Eddyville, Kentucky. When he dropped her off, he called Chris’s cellphone, and Chris reported the robbery.
Nearly two hours after it took place.
What made Chris finally spill her guts?
Outrage.
Zander gave Chris and her boyfriend half the bowling alley money, as promised.
But when Chris heard about the eight-thousand dollar robbery that took place around my ankles at the riverbank, she freaked out. She felt half of that should have gone into her pocket.
Police can’t locate anyone named Zander Evans in their data banks. The detectives can’t even get a hit on Google.
I tell them about the dating website, but they tell me she’s pulled her photo and closed her account. It could take the police department weeks to gain access to the original records.
They’re happy to hear I’ve got recent photos of Zander on my cell phone.
They download the photos, take down my information, and tell me I’ll need to come back to town at some point to testify against Zander and/or Chris.
I tell the cop who’s not Zander’s boyfriend I’m willing to come back if I can fit it into my schedule.
“I could jail you till then, if that would make things easier for you,” he says.
I hope they never catch Zander.
Not because she has my support, but because if I have to testify against her the entire riverbank episode will be on the public record. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be for me if the multi-million dollar donors to my hospital found out their top surgeon was unable to sustain an erection during a routine blowjob?
It’s late by the time I get back to the hotel, and I’m exhausted. But not too exhausted to open the door for Renee, who wants to spend the night despite the unwelcome police visit earlier.
“What made you decide to come back?” I say.
“You know that cop whose son was in my class at school last semester?”
“Yeah?”
“I figure it won’t matter so much that he saw me naked if you and I wind up getting married,” she says, hopefully.
“That’s quite true,” I say, shamelessly.
“There’s been a slight change since I saw you,” she says. “I went to McDonalds to get one of their dollar meals, you know?”
No. I don’t, but I say, “What happened?”
“I had to use the bathroom.”
“And?”
“I got my period, is all. That’s not a problem for you, is it? I mean, being a doctor and all?”
“Depends on how you feel.”
“About doing it?”
“I mean, do you feel up to having sex?”
“Yes, of course!” she says. “I’m not one to let it slow me down!”
“Well, that’s a damn fine piece of news,” I say, and mean it.
“So it’s not a problem?”
“Not for me.”
“You know what really feels good this time of the month?” she says.
“What’s that?”
“Oral sex.”
“I know. You showed me. And you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re damned good at it!”
“Really?”
“Really. You want to have another go?”
“Thanks, Gideon. That’s really sweet of you. But I meant me.”
“What about you?”
“It feels extra good to me when…you know.”
“Whoa. You want me to give you oral?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“A real man would!” she says.
I look at my watch. “You know what I just realized?” I say.
“What’s that?”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. Are you hungry?”
“Well, I did eat from the dollar menu a little while ago.”
“Oh.”
“You know what we could do? Order you some room service. And while we’re waiting for your dinner to arrive, maybe we could…you know.”
I order us two bottles of wine and pray they arrive before she gets naked.
AFTER ORDERING THE wine I turn to see Renee lying on the bed, naked from the waist down. She says, “Come and get it, Cowboy!”
Using the excuse of needing a shower before getting intimate, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the shower, and text the following message to my hospital administrator, Bruce Luce:
I need a big favor! Flood my cell phone with text messages, telling me I have to fly to NYC immediately to perform a life-saving surgery.
I press send. When it goes through, I type another:
Text me you’ve got a jet waiting at the private landing strip in Paducah, and tell me it’s a matter of life and death!
When that one goes through I send him another:
The messages need to sound extremely urgent! Start sending them immediately! And don’t stop sending them till I tell you.
When that one goes through, I erase all the sent messages from my phone, and open the bathroom door.
“You’re awfully dry for having just taken a shower!” Renee says. “Plus, the water’s still running.”
“I was brushing my teeth,” I say, “then realized I had my phone with me. I get emergency calls all the time. A kid nearly died once when I was in the shower and couldn’t hear the phone.”
“That’s terrible!” she says.
“Can you keep an eye on my phone while I shower, just in case?”
“I’d love to!” she says. “And by the way, don’t worry about going hungry. I called room service back and ordered you a Porterhouse steak and a baked potato with butter, sour cream, and bacon bits.”
“You did?”
“And some blackberry cobbler.”
“That’s a significant caloric commitment.”
She laughs. “I hope you don’t plan to talk like that when we order food in Logan.”
“What would happen?”
“They’d probably take you out back and shoot you.”
“That’s a tough restaurant.”
“By the way, the room service guy said your order will take forty minutes. That sounds about right, don’t you think?”
She winks, pats her heart-shaped muff.
“Sounds great!” I say, feigning enthusiasm.
I put my phone on the night stand beside her.
“Let me know if anyone calls, okay?”
“I promise.”
“Texts are particularly serious.”
“Texts are? How come?”
“It means the people in charge are knee-deep in a critical situation, and there’s no time to talk.”
“Wow!”
“I can’t express how important this is, Renee. I’m counting on you.”
“I won’t let you down,” she says, solemnly. “I’ll let you know if anyone calls or texts. I promise.”
“Good girl. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I love the fact you save children’s lives.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m a kindergarten teacher, remember?”
“Right.”
“You work on their bodies, I work on their minds.”
“I like that,” I say, truthfully.
It strikes me Renee’s a good person. While that’s a plus, it’s not enough to make me want to dive face first into Red River Gorge.
I strip, enter the shower, but leave the door unlocked.
A minute later, I hear her call out my name in an urgent manner.
I smile, pretending not to hear.
The door opens.
“Gideon!” she says.
I poke my head out of the shower. “Everything okay?”
She’s holding my cell phone, pointing to it. There’s a look of panic in her eyes.
“I got a text?”
She nods.
“Read it to me.”
“There are two messages.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Bruce Luce.”
“Would that be bad?”
“Terribly bad! Don’t tell me Bruce sent me two texts!”
“One’s from Bruce.”
“Just one?”
“Uh huh.”
“Still, that’s got to be really bad.”
“It is. I’m so sorry!”
I suppress a smile. “Read it to me.”
“The one from Bruce?”
“Yes, of course!”
“It says, ‘Fuck you, Gideon!’”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I hate Bruce Luce. Now what am I going to do?
“Who sent the other text?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Read it.”
She reads it, but not out loud. As she does, her face undergoes a major transformation. Like a cartoon character, her cheeks turn red, her eyes become slits, and steam seems to escape from her ears.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” she says.
“What?”
She frowns deeply and glares at me.
“Who’s it from?” I ask.
“Trudy Lake.”
I turn off the water. “Trudy Lake?”
Her face is smoldering. This is not a happy teacher.
“You actually know someone named Trudy Lake?” I say.
“It appears we both do,” she says between clenched teeth.
“I wonder how many Trudy Lakes there must be in the world?” I say.
“How many would you guess, Gideon?”
“Thousands.”
“With a 270 area code?”
“How do you know Trudy?” I say.
She stares me down and says, “You first.”
“What did she write?”
“‘Call me.’ Then she gave you her number.”
“Trudy Lake?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Slick.”
Based on nothing more than her steely-eyed glare, I’m guessing Renee’s not a Trudy Lake fan. That makes sense. I picture the map of Western Kentucky in my mind and realize the two women live less than an hour apart. This area’s filled with small towns. Everyone knows everyone. Trudy was the homecoming queen, the prettiest, most popular girl in the county. She’s bound to have female enemies, girls who lost out to her in beauty pageants, cheerleader tryouts, homecoming courts. But Renee’s not pretty enough to have been involved in those activities. Plus, she’s twelve years older than Trudy. So I wonder about the connection.
There’s no denying she’s royally pissed.
I decide to keep it casual, saying, “I met Trudy last night at a restaurant in Clayton. She was my waitress. I’m sure I gave her a bigger tip than she usually gets.”
Noting the fireworks in Renee’s eyes, I add, “As I would for any waitress who doesn’t screw up my order.”
“Why was she texting you?”
“I have no idea. Maybe she wanted to thank me for the tip.”
“How’d she get your phone number?”
“Um…”
“Yeah?”
I’m standing in the shower, naked. She’s got me cornered. There’s no place to run, no place to hide, no way to escape.
I ask, “How is it you know Trudy?”
“She’s my sister.”
IF YOU EVER want to see a woman at her angriest, fuck her sister.
Renee’s punching and slapping at me and trying to bite me. I’m doing my best to keep the shower curtain between us, while wondering if the state’s motto should be Welcome to Kentucky: three million people, twelve last names!
I remember Trudy said Scooter was a lot older than her mom, and had started another family before they met. I had no way of knowing Renee was related to Trudy, but I’m willing to fuck my way through the entire family to get to Trudy, if that’s what it takes.