by Michael Dunn
Chapter Eight: The Next Day
The next morning, both Dan Carter and his bar pick up rested in Dan’s king-sized bed, reluctant to leave but, when Dan needed to get moving.
“We should get up now. I need to pee and drink coffee, but not at the same time.” Dan wrapped himself in his too small SpongeBob SquarePants robe and headed to the bathroom.
Minutes later, he made the coffee and waited for his one-nighter to join him.
When she stepped out of the bedroom, she was dressed and ready to leave with her bag in hand. She met Dan at the kitchen counter. He handed her a cup of coffee.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You look as sexy in the daytime as at night.”
She smiled and giggled.
“I had a great time last night and…
“Me too.”
“And you owe me $9000.”
Dan laughed. “Okay, let me make the jokes.”
“No, I’m serious.”
She was not joking.
“Wait, you’re a prostitute?”
She nodded as she took a sip of her coffee.
Dan‘s expression suggested she was the crazy one.
“But we never negotiated pricing or positions or times or safe words or anything like that. By the way, my safe words are ‘Don’t’ and ‘Stop.’”
She scoffed, “You didn’t even ask me my name. Did you just think that I was some horny slut who wanted to go home with you because you are a handsome, American doctor?”
He acted as though she was clueless and answered, “Ummm… y-y-y-e-s-s-s. It happens quite often.”
She glared at him.
“How do you figure I owe you $9000, and I am guessing you mean American dollars?”
“Well, I spent the night and then we watched some very weird and very disturbing porn together and then we did it two more times before we fell asleep. We did it one more time this morning while watching that strange porn and let me tell you, you are into some weird shit, which jacked up the price.”
“If you would have told me that watching midget-clown-interracial-gangbangs while we had sex would have cost me a few thousand dollars, I would have waited until you left.”
“Are you going to pay me?”
Even while she was attempting to extort him, she was still sexy and showing about a mile of cleavage, and Dan got an erection staring at her cleavage when someone knocked on the door.
Dan opened the door an inch peering out enough to see who was there. Three late-middle-aged, Italian men dressed in dark Armani suits with bulges under their jackets, and sporting dark hats stood outside his door. To a local, these men at their door would have brought fear and respect because they would know who these men were and who had sent them. However, Dan was not a local, had no clue who these men were nor what they wanted, and thought they were over-the-hill cosplay actors.
“The Martin Scorsese auditions are down the hall. If you start singing Rolling Stones’ or Tony Bennett classics when you walk in, you guys might get the part.” He pointed farther down the hall and attempted to shut the door. The leader of the Italian men put his hand on the door preventing Dan from closing it. They pushed Dan aside and stepped inside the penthouse suite.
“I’m guessing you are not with housekeeping.”
“Are we interrupting anything?” The alleged leader of the trio asked in slow, broken English.
Dan’s erection poked out his SpongeBob bathrobe. They all could see it because Dan did not bother to hide it.
“Um, no, why do you ask?”
The lead Italian man asked the young woman, “Is this the doctor?”
“No,” Dan interrupted. “I am a doctor. The Doctor is a popular British character who flies around space in an old-fashioned police box and likes to pick up English girls. I mean why only English girls? If you can go through time and space, how about picking up a few Russian or Brazilian girls or those green-skinned chicks Kirk used to bang from time to time, y’know? Just ask your nerd friends if you have any.”
“Does he always talk this way?” The old Italian asked the prostitute.
She groaned, nodded, and whispered, “All. Night. Long.”
“Wait,” Dan asked the Italian man. “How did you know I was an American doctor?”
The leader translated to his companions and the Italian men laughed. The translator explained, “Paulina told us.”
“Oh, hi Paulina. I’m Dan. Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand to shake it.
She scoffed and did not take it, and then she called him an “asshole” in Italian.
“She tells us you are a very kinky young man, Dan Carter,” The boss said in English and repeated to his backup in Italian.
The other Italian men laughed.
“That’s Dr. Carter to you.” Dan’s insolence was wearing on the old Italian men.
“Let’s sit down.”
They sat down.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Sergio Coniglio.”
The old man waited for a second to see any change in Dan’s demeanor as if his name alone would be enough. It wasn’t. Dan was unaware of his reputation. The rich, white doctor lived in Miami, home to all kinds of Mafioso types, ranging from the classic stereotypes such as uninvited guests, to the Mexican mob, to the Cubans, and the Russians, and others. Most of them were reasonable, from Dan’s brief and limited experiences with these types of people. Let them say their piece, Dan had learned, and let them be on their way.
“I work for the Sabellas,” Sergio admitted with pride, but still annoyed because there was no recognition on the doctor’s face.
“Is that a local restaurant around here?” Dan asked. “I bet the Italian food here is great.”
Sergio put his hand on his face. Paulina still standing there. The older man told her, “Paulina, you are done here. Thank you for your services.”
“Hey, wait! This jerk owes me…”
“Thank you for your services,” Sergio repeated. “We will discuss this at another time.”
Paulina huffed, rolled her eyes, and without another word, she left.
Once the front door closed, Dan said, “Well, thank you for getting me out of that awkward situation. Did she film our activities or just recount the play-by-play action? There were a few parts I might need to explain for clarity.”
Dan’s question confused Sergio. He was not as fluent in American English as he wanted to believe. He could speak with the Brits just fine, but these Americans spoke a completely different language.
When Dan received no reaction, he whistled and then whispered, “Wow, tough crowd. You guys are worse than my grandmother, but I get it. My humor does not translate well into different languages,” Dan said and shook his head. “How do you know who I am, where I am staying, what gets me off, and why do you care?”
The Italian processed Dan’s words and then replied in slow, broken English, “We need you to help us out, just like we helped you out.”
“More like you set me up.”
“What kind of American doctor are you, Dr. Carter?”
Several smart comments came to his mind, but Dan answered, “I’m a plastic surgeon, who is so new, I still have the plastic is on me.”
Sergio and the two other Italians goons stared confused. Dan held his head in his palms.
“Perhaps you can get another translator,” Dan suggested. “One that speaks American.”
The Italians conferred, nodded, and agreed. Sergio glanced at his gold Rolex and sighed as though he made a reluctant decision. He said some more words in Italian and the two other gentlemen stood up and pulled out their guns.
Sergio called headquarters. The call lasted a minute. When he ended the call, Sergio told Dan, “I think you should come with us. We are running late.”
“Can I at least put on some pants?”
“No time. We’ll get your pants later.”
Dan shook his head, realized something, and his eyes lit up. “Are you guys making me an offer I can’t refuse?”
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“What?”
“Seriously? You don’t know that one? My God, you guys are killing me.”
*
Steven Pierce awoke on the beach as the sun rose, with a killer hangover. Sitting up, he performed a quick body check. His wallet was still there (thank God), but his cash was gone. He bet the only robbery was the price of the drinks at the beach bars. His room card and cell phone were also in his pockets, but the charge was dead. He could not wait to return to the room, for a shower, food, headache medicine, and a nap in a real bed. His body had not yet acclimatized to Italian time.
Steven needed a night like last night to blow off steam accumulated over four years of stressful studying. He drank like an undergrad who had finished all his final exams and was sure to graduate the following week. He had not drank like that in years, and never among strangers in a foreign country, but he was having fun. He had never known such freedom or such relaxation. While he knew of the dangers of being a stranger in a strange country, he had never known how incredible this freedom could be. Except for a well-earned headache, he felt terrific. He stood up, dusted the sand off his body, and headed toward the line of hotels.
Their hotel was one of the tallest buildings on the horizon, one of a string of name brand hotels, which were next to each other, whose collective heights presented the illusion that they were close together and close to him, not unlike the big hotels in Las Vegas. It was at least a fifteen-minute walk to the hotel, which appeared close enough he could have hit the lobby with a baseball.
Nevertheless, he could not have been happier. After years of a constant and grinding hospital routine, one that not every doctor could have survived, it was his time for some fun in the sun. A new doctor lived a grueling life — expected all-nighters, way too many sleepless nights, followed by groggy mornings. Steven’s addiction to coffee helped get him through those rough days. It would likely take him half his vacation to learn how to relax again.
Damn, he wished he had brought his sunglasses. He shielded his eyes with a flat right hand over his eyebrows and counted his steps toward the hotel to keep his mind occupied. He had another twenty-nine days to get used to this kind of life and that was okay with him. So far, this vacation was off to a great start.
As he walked, he passed the early risers; either they were elderly and walking their dog or the joggers, who stared at him as they passed. Steven waved, a little embarrassed at his appearance. They must have thought he was a beach bum or someone who was coming back from a walk of shame.
Two passing joggers said, “The beast is watching you. He wants you.”
“That’s nice,” Steven said, uncertain he heard them correctly.
A dog walker told Steven, “You will either feed the beast or become food for him.”
“Sorry?”
The dog barked and his master blew sand into Steven’s eyes.
Steven turned away from the dog walker, but some sand got into his eyes. He screamed and backed away several steps, wiping sand from his eyes. In his moments of blindness, he saw a large, blue demon with small, triangular eyes rising and reaching for Steven. The American tourist screamed before he could see again. The dog walker disappeared and Steven was not sure he was ever there.
*
John Miller had fallen asleep next to Teresa after their tryst and ended up on the opposite side of her on the expansive king-sized bed and was lightly snoring.
Teresa awoke from a noise, gasped, and sprung up out of bed. She whispered a few swear words in Italian and then shook John awake.
John awoke, looked around confused before remembering where he was and how he got there.
“You have to get out of here,” Teresa said, panicked.
“Huh? What? Why?”
“My husband is home.”
“Wait, what? You are married? I didn’t know…”
“Get your clothes, then leave through the window,” Teresa ordered.
“You want me to jump out the window?”
“It is only a six-foot drop. You will be fine. Once you get to the gate, the town is to the right.”
“But ...”
“GO!” Teresa climbed back into bed and under the blankets.
John would have sworn her eyes flashed red for an instant, but he was too tired to be sure. He dressed as quickly as he could when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, getting closer to the bedroom.
He had not had to race out of a woman’s bedroom since high school when one of his female friends in the National Honor Society promised him her parents would not be home for hours. Instead, her parents pulled into the driveway earlier than expected.
John slipped on his shoes and climbed down from the stone balcony. From there, he felt like a video game character jumping and climbing down windows and vines. When he made it the grassy ground at the bottom of the house, he heard large dogs barking, and he sprinted to the gate.
The automatic door gate was closing. John sprinted faster, at a speed he had not attempted since high school. If the gate was locked, he would have to climb over it. John hoped that the gate was not charged and the dogs were no longer charging toward him. He made it through the gate a full two seconds before it closed with a loud metallic clank.
Outside the residence, John leaned over, his hands on his knees, and panted for breath before he could walk back to the hotel. When he got his breath back, he dressed and headed toward town.
John had not had a walk of shame in years. To pass the time, he tried to remember the last time he had a walk of shame. It had been back in medical school. He met up with co-ed for drinks after an intense exam. They left for her place. When he returned the next morning, Dan, Steven, and a few other medical students from his floor, dressed as if it was New Year’s Eve with hats, noisemakers, and confetti, applauded and cheered his conquest and walk of shame.
He watched the sun come up as he walked. Cars of other tourists honked and waved as they passed him. John forced a smile and waved back. None of them stopped to offer him a ride, and so he kept walking. His cell phone battery was nearly dead, and he hoped it would have enough juice to make it back to the hotel. He checked Google maps from his location. It was 5.3 miles back to the hotel.
“Damn it,” John said shaking his head. He ordered an Uber to pick him up at the outskirts of town. He sat down and waited.
A green Fiat Panda stopped in front of John ten minutes later. John opened the back passenger door of the Fiat and asked, “Are you Maria?”
“Are you John Miller?”
“Yes.”
“Please get in.”
John climbed inside and shut the door. Maria took off leaving a cloud of dust in the road.
Maria was a pretty, young woman, mid-twenties, Hollywood-type white teeth that could not help smiling at John, who was blushing with embarrassment.
“I’m glad you were available early this morning,” John said.
“Oh! I love your accent!” Maria shouted. “Are you American?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“I’m on vacation.”
“No, I meant on the road back there.”
“Oh, uh, I met a woman last night. We headed back to her place. I didn’t know she was married.”
Maria laughed. “I’m sorry for laughing, but that is the common answer of my pickups.”
There was a lull in the conversation until John asked, “I passed a castle-looking home back there a while ago. What was that place?”
Maria’s constant smile faded when she answered, “That was Castle Vincenzo. The Count and Contessa live there.”
“What?”
Maria nodded. “I hear it is a bad place. A… how do you say, a house with ghosts and demons?”
“Haunted?”
“Sì. Yes, haunted and the Count and Contessa are monsters who worship the devil.” Maria crossed herself.
“Is that so?”
“And because tomorrow night is la vigilia del dr
ago, no one will go there. I won’t drive past that place.”
“What is la vigilia del drago?”
“It is the Eve of the Dragon. Have you heard of it?”
John shook his head.
“It is the night when the devil can be heard and may even listen.”
John stifled a laugh and asked, “Do you believe that?”
“I think the ancient superstition goes too far, but perhaps there is some truth to it. If you left that place, then there might be a touch of darkness on you. Be careful. You should prepare yourself for tomorrow night.”
“How?”
“Pray.”
Maria pulled up to the front doors of the hotel. John thanked her, waved to her as he left, and tipped generously.
Maria drove away from the front doors to an open parking space. She closed out the ride and then sent a text.
‘He arrived at the hotel.’
A minute later, Maria received a response: ‘Grazie.’
*
By the time John returned to the hotel, he was scorched, parched, and his stomach was rumbling. He could not remember the last time he had eaten. He ordered a light breakfast at a restaurant in the hotel and planned on heading up to the penthouse for a shower and some more sleep.
He saw Steven entering through the back doors of the hotel with his hands rubbing his eyes and appearing worse for wear.
Those were the same clothes he wore last night, John thought, and the sarcastic voice in his head said, Like you should talk.
“Steven! Steven Pierce! Over here,” John stood and waved to his friend.
Steven saw who was calling him, nodded, and headed over to the table where John was just finishing his breakfast.
Steven noticed John was still in his clothes from the night before. Steven bet John’s bed for the evening was much more comfortable and inviting than the beach.
“How was your night?” John asked as Steven sat down.
Steven shook his head. “I don’t remember much. You?”
“Me neither,” John lied. “Are you okay?”
“Some asshole threw sand into my eyes.”
“Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. This dog walker said I was food for the beast or something like that.”
“I guess they have crazies here too. My Uber driver told me something similar, that there was a touch of darkness on me or some nonsense like that.”