by Jack Davis
By the time the phone on the other end started ringing, Paul had worked himself into a small rage. He planned to take it out on Dr. Nealon by imposing an “annoyance factor” surcharge for denting the family van.
“Answering service for Dr. Nealon. May I take a message?”
With his mind only partially on the call, Paul was initially confused. He’d expected the cell number to go directly to the doctor.
“Hello, may I help you?” The voice repeated the question.
“I need to speak to Dr. Nealon.”
“The doctor isn’t available. Is this a medical emergency or can you leave a message?”
“No, it’s not an emergency and yes, I’d like to leave a message. This is Paul Dalton, the owner of the van that Dr. Nealon—” Paul thought better of saying anything about the accident, “—left his card on. I need him to call me right away.”
As Paul hung up, he realized, Sandy won’t know how much the good doctor and I agree on. He smiled as he thought about what he’d do with some extra money.
Traffic wasn’t any better when Paul finally crossed the river and merged onto Route 66 headed west. His annoyance with the HOV lane and his wife’s attitude were utmost on his mind when his ring tone, Robert Palmer’s “Didn’t Mean to Turn You On,” let him know he had a call.
“Paul Dalton speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Dalton, this is Dr. Nealon. I wanted to get back to you as soon as I could. Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Sure, Doctor, I’ve got all the time you need.”
“That’s great, and please call me Kevin. First, I need to apologize for damaging your vehicle. I am completely at fault, and I will pay for everything. And, I mean everything. If we can just handle this without getting the insurance company involved.”
Paul liked the friendly tone of the doctor’s voice. He followed suit. “I think we can work something out, but with something like this, there’s a lot more than body work and paint. There could be other damage that we don’t see right off the bat; there might—”
“Paul, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I know exactly what you mean. You will have to rent a vehicle while yours is being repaired. You or your wife will have to take time off from work to take the van in and go get it when it’s done. I understand all of that.”
Since Sandy didn’t work, Paul hadn’t thought of that angle. As the doctor talked, his mind caught up.
“Paul, I have a consultation waiting so I’ll need to go in a minute. I’m traveling to Central America for two weeks starting tomorrow. I fly out of Dulles early in the morning. To try to be fair to you, and so that I’m not thinking about this in Guatemala, can I meet you tonight or tomorrow morning before the flight? I’ll give you two thousand dollars cash now. If it costs more than that, get me the bills, and I’ll pay whatever else I owe when I get back. If it’s less, keep the difference for your troubles. I just want to resolve this cleanly, and not have to worry about it while I’m gone.”
Paul, taken off guard by the turn of the conversation and amount, slowly said, “Sure.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you back in about an hour so we can set up a time and location. Sorry to cut this short. Later I can give you my undivided attention.”
During the rest of the drive home, Paul worked himself out of his euphoria into nervous worrying. How much damage is there? And how much money will be left for me?
Pulling into the driveway, to his relief and joy, he saw that the damage was minimal and completely cosmetic.
Kneeling next to the van running his hand over the scrape, Paul heard Sandy approaching. Flap, flap, flap, flap. She was wearing her standard summer outfit: flip-flops, lime green shorts, and a bright yellow tank top. Obviously, no bra.
“Did you talk to the doctor?”
“Yep; he said he has to go outta town for a while, but offered a thousand cash now and anything above that when he gets back.”
Sandy looked at the car. “There’s no way that’s a thousand dollars of damage.”
“Not even close.” Paul paused as he appealed to his wife’s greed, “It doesn’t look all that bad. Shit, if you can live with it, we could just pocket the whole thousand.”
“No way. It’s bad enough I have to drive around in this old piece of shit while you have your brand-new Camaro! I’m not gonna drive around in a beat-up piece of shit. I want it fixed!”
Sandy Dalton spun and walked away, flip-flops flapping faster.
Forty-five minutes later Paul’s phone rang. He recognized the number this time. “Dr. Nealon, I thought you might have forgotten about me.”
“I am sorry, the consultation went quickly, but then my scheduling nurse had a frantic patient that I had to talk to. As it stands right now, I have to take care of that patient when she gets here. I won’t be able to meet you tonight. Will tomorrow morning work for you, or do you want to take care of it when I get back from my trip?”
Paul didn’t like the idea of waiting and thought the doctor might be trying to stall. “I’d rather take care of it before you leave.”
“I was hoping you would say that. I have to be out at Dulles at five-thirty a.m., two hours ahead of time for international flights. Could I meet you at the airport between five and five-thirty?”
“That’s awful early.”
“I know, I’m sorry. We can take care of it when I get back. I should be back around—”
Paul cut in, “Five-thirty is fine. Where do you want to meet?”
“There’s a hangar where I used to have a plane. It’s off Wright Boulevard, the Stratos Aviation hangar. The owner is a friend and lets me park my car inside, so I don’t have to worry about the elements or vandals. I’ll be behind the building by five. If I don’t see you by five-thirty, I’ll have to leave. I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
“Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Paul disconnected the call, even with his lips pursed, his smile was ear to ear. Now he had to prepare for the rest of the night’s activities.
What Paul didn’t know was that the man on the other end of the phone was also beginning preparations, although his were much more short-term in nature.
When Paul turned off the Dulles Access Road, he still wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing by driving the minivan. On the one hand, from the conversation, it appeared Dr. Nealon felt guilty about damaging the vehicle. That might work in Dalton’s favor if the doctor had second thoughts about paying. On the other hand, he didn’t want Nealon getting a second look at the damage and reconsidering how much it would cost to repair. Dalton decided to compromise and park in front of the hangar. Then he could walk around back and gauge Dr. Nealon without him seeing the car first.
Paul was at the hangar at 5:05 a.m. Thoughts of how he would spend his expected windfall occupied his mind as he turned the corner of the building and saw a very pale, stoop-shouldered, middle-aged man wearing dark blue Dockers, a faded polo shirt, and a surgical mask. Paul had a very different mental picture of what a cosmetic surgeon would look like.
“Dr. Nealon?”
The man, standing next to a four-door car with a cup of coffee acknowledged Paul with a nod. As Paul walked toward the odd-looking man, he opened the driver’s-side door and produced a second cup of coffee.
Paul was too occupied with the stranger’s unusual looks to mentally question how he could drink coffee through the mask. The doctor must have noticed the puzzled look. “You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing the surgical mask?”
Paul nodded.
“I have a weakened immune system. Whenever I fly, I wear one of these.” The man looked down at the mask. “Being cooped up for hours with a couple hundred strangers from who knows where…you get the picture.”
“Makes sense.”
“Thank you so much for meeting me here this early. I took the liberty of buying you coffee.” The doctor held out the Starbucks cup. “I think it�
��s still hot, but I would drink it soon.”
Paul was back on point. He just wanted to get the money and get moving. “Thanks, but I’m not much of a coffee drinker. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d prefer to take care of the car situation and be on my way. As you know, the traffic will get bad here really quickly.”
Paul noticed a strange pause before Nealon responded, as if he was confused, or thinking, or both.
“Not a coffee drinker? I can’t remember meeting anyone who didn’t drink coffee. I’m sorry to hear that; it’s expensive coffee to waste.”
Paul, slightly annoyed, took the cup and made an attempt to appear grateful.
“Thanks, I’ll warm it up when I get to work.” Then looking at his watch added, “If you’re gonna make your flight, you probably need to get going.”
“Yes, thank you. I put the money in my luggage in the trunk.”
The two men moved to the rear of the car and Nealon hit the trunk release button on his keys. As the trunk opened, he said, “I left something on the front seat.” Motioning to the bag in the trunk, he said, “The money is in the top compartment of the black roll-on.”
Intent on getting the money, Paul didn’t notice anything else as he unzipped the top pocket. It was empty. He looked up slowly, confused, before being convulsed by an electric shock that dropped him to his knees. Half a minute passed before he stopped shaking and regained some of his senses. He heard Dr. Nealon’s voice, but it was eerily different. It was stronger and used a commanding tone.
“Remove the luggage from the trunk.”
It took Paul a second to understand what the voice was telling him to do. When he tried to turn and look at the doctor, he was shocked again. The high-voltage jolt drove him back to the ground. It took longer after the second surge of electricity before Paul could comprehend anything.
“Don’t look at me. Take the luggage out of the trunk or you’ll get it again!”
“Okay, Okay, please stop! I don’t understand!”
With the next shock Paul lost control of his bladder. When he regained his faculties, the doctor’s matter-of-fact tone made him cower.
“I am going to keep shocking you until you do exactly as I say. Do you understand?”
“YES, YES, PLEASE, JUST STOP HURTING ME!”
“That’s up to you. Do as I say, and I will stop.”
Paul struggled to his feet but kept his eyes down.
“Take the luggage out and set it on the ground.”
Paul complied.
“Now climb inside the trunk.”
Paul hesitated momentarily until he felt the pressure of metal against his back. He quickly climbed in.
“That’s good. You’ll find a roll of duct tape in there. Tape your ankles together.”
“Why—”
The twisted features of the enraged Dr. Nealon were the last thing Paul saw before the next jolt of electricity coursed through his body. He lapsed into unconsciousness with the doctor’s high-pitched shrieking ringing in his ears, “NOT YET! NOT YET!”
When Paul opened his eyes again, his tormentor started screaming again. “Wrap your ankles. Do it now! No more talking!”
Paul had lost the will to resist. He did exactly as he was commanded. He bound his legs.
“On your stomach, hands behind your back. Now!”
The doctor’s agitated voice continued as he wrapped Paul’s hands. “Who doesn’t drink coffee in the morning?” The last ring of tape was tight, it seemed to emphasize the anger.
The doctor rolled Paul on his side and placed a strip of tape over his mouth. When the doctor produced a straight razor, Paul tried to squirm to the back of the trunk.
The doctor flashed the blade in front of Paul’s eyes. “Stop it, or I will cut you,” Nealon shouted. “If you throw up, you’ll aspirate in your own vomit,” the doctor explained as he leaned in and cut a slit in the tape.
Paul watched the doctor look around and pick up the coffee cup. “Everyone else drank the coffee,” he hissed as he threw the cup at Paul. “What’s wrong with you?” He approached the car, still muttering, “This would have been much easier for me if you’d just followed instructions.”
Paul squinted as tape was placed over his eyes.
“Why are people so infernally difficult?” was the last thing he heard before the trunk slammed shut.
Paul had lost feeling in his hands and all sense of time when the car stopped. He’d heard the ranting of his captor for the first few minutes, but then the burning sensation in his wrists consumed almost all of his attention. His non-pain-related thoughts were confused. Why would a doctor do this over a dent in a car? Then a fresh wave of pain would overtake him and when he could think about anything other than his hands, legs, or the stench of urine, he went back to, why?
When the trunk opened the doctor helped Paul sit upright. The fresh air was wonderful.
“I’m going to cut your feet free and help you stand. If you struggle or run, I’m going to shock you. Do you understand me?”
Paul nodded feverishly.
He felt the tape around his ankles being cut. The discomfort in his legs dissipated quickly as he straightened them and the blood rushed back. This relief was heavenly and convinced him to do exactly as he was told. Desperate to avoid more pain, he would follow orders.
Hands on his shoulders helped him out of the trunk. The hands guided him as he walked. Eventually, after hearing doors opening and closing, and carefully negotiating a set of descending stairs, Paul was ordered to sit. His feet were secured to the legs of his chair, but this time not as tightly.
“Your fingers are turning purple, do they hurt?”
Paul nodded and tears dripped from under the tape.
“You have two short phone calls to make. After the first one I will relieve the pain in your hands. If you follow instructions after the second call, I will take the tape from your eyes. Do you agree?”
Paul nodded eagerly.
“You need to call your office and tell them you aren’t feeling well. I’m going to remove the tape from your mouth. No other talking. The sooner we make this call, the sooner your hands are freed. What is the number?”
The tape was removed, and Paul provided his work number. He heard the keys of a phone being pressed.
“Keep it short and do not do anything stupid.” Paul felt the taser pressed to his genitals.
After the call the tape was removed from his hands. Paul Dalton had never felt relief like that in his life—it was indescribable, if short-lived. He couldn’t realize that this was the going to be the best part of the rest of his life, which would only last another five agonizing hours.
“It’s about time. Did you get the money?” asked Sandy impatiently.
There was a pause before Paul answered, “Yeah, I got it…but there’s something else. I’ll let the doctor explain.”
Sandy thought Paul sounded different.
“Mrs. Dalton?”
“Yes?”
“This is Doctor Nealon. I have a bit of a strange request. Paul and I spent a few minutes together earlier, and he told me about your internet business. When I saw some of your pictures, I told him that I just had to meet you. He thought you might have some time today. He said if I would pay for gas and tolls, it might be worth it for you to drive out and meet me and personalize a DVD for me.”
Sandy knew her husband well enough, and had been “introduced” to enough strangers, to know that the only reason he would miss work was for a guarantee of a lot of money. Unfortunately for Sandy Dalton, she didn’t know her husband well enough to know that physical discomfort, and a good dose of fear, would persuade him to lure her into, what was up to that point, his private nightmare.
Sandy answered in her most seductive I-want-you voice. “I’ve never played doctor with a real doctor before. I’m overdue for a full physical.”
“Mrs. Dalton—”
Sandy cut him off, “Dr. Nealon, since you’ll be giving me a thorough examination soon,
I think we should be on a first-name basis. Don’t you? Call me Sandy, and I’ll call you?”
“Kevin. My first name is Kevin.”
“Okay, Kevin, where should I meet the two of you?”
“I’ll give you the address, but it’s a little hard to find so make sure you bring the card I left with my cell number in case you get lost.”
As Sandy wrote the directions, she said, “It should take me about thirty minutes to get everything ready for our special morning together, then another thirty to forty to find the address, so I’ll see you in a little over an hour. Be ready…but not too ready. I don’t want things to end too quickly.”
“Oh, I guarantee things won’t end quickly.”
“I’m excited already, I can’t wait. See you soon, Kevin.”
Sandy hung up the phone and sighed heavily. She would have to miss aerobics for the second time this week, but it would be worth it. She didn’t even have to think about how she would act or what she would say. Her act had been perfected years ago. She knew exactly what to say and do to make men her toys. Yes, in a few hours Sandy was sure she would have Dr. Nealon right where she wanted him. It was almost too easy.
Alice Hill had a good prospect in a bad market. Motivated buyers and an absentee seller added up to cautious optimism for the realtor. To help her chances, Alice decided to stop at the vacant house early and turn on the air-conditioning to make it comfortable for the afternoon showing.
Dressed in her best suit, Alice was focused on what aspects of the house to emphasize as she opened the front door. She was immediately overpowered by a putrid stench. Thinking quickly, she realized to make the sale she’d have to rid the house of whatever poor creature had found its way in and perished. She set off, gathering Clorox and a bucket from under the sink, and opening windows as she searched. It only took a minute to pinpoint the source of the smell: the unusually dark basement.