My My Little Prince

by Rod Lacy Rod Lacy

  “Ok, ok,” he said and winced before she even touched him. He had a newfound respect for this tough little bird. “Yea, whatever you say.” She continued cleaning his face, inspecting it carefully for anything amiss. “Uh nurse, um, can you tell me please where can I find a hotel that´s private; very private?”

  She stopped and looked him in the eyes, taken aback a little by the ‘please’. “Sure,” she said as she began wrapping him up again. “If you go down Avenue Bolivar and turn left, just past the Jaraqua Hotel you will see the Mystic Hotel. It´s very private. No one will ask any questions or bother you. It´s clean too. It’s just behind the Continental Hotel. I'll call a cab for you when you are ready.”

  She finished bandaging him and stood back to check her handiwork. Nodding approval she said, “Well, that’s about all I can do for now.” She shook her head and stared at him like he was an idiot. “I guess if you are sure about leaving I can’t stop you. Jorge has your final bill ready at the window in the reception area.”

  They walked out the door together to the ‘caja’, the pay window, and saw Jorge chatting up another nurse. “Jorge, this is Mister Jones, uh, well, the guy I was telling you about. Please give him his bill.” She turned and looked up at Smitty once more and shook her head again. “OK, I guess this is it, good luck.” She turned and walked away without another word.

  “What are my damages and it better not be my face, if you know what I mean.”

  “What sir?”

  “My damages, what are they?”

  “Oh, I understand, how much is the cost, very funny, sorry but my English is not very good.”

  “Cut the BS and tell me what I owe.”

  “BS sir? What is BS?”

  “Just give me the bill you asshole?”

  “Oh, that I understand; ‘asshole’. In Spanish we say ‘pendejo mierda’.” He looked at him and shook his head as he shoved theeho ‘factura’ through the window. “Que Cabrón!’ he whispered to himself. “Come mierda!” “OK sir, here it is.” He smiled brightly, somewhat mollified.

  Smitty looked at the bill and slammed the wall once in frustration. “It’s all in Spanish asshole!” He sighed and read down the long list until he saw the sum at the bottom and saw a total of $128,000 pesos. He nodded approvingly and pulled his money out of his pocket again. “Wow, only a little over three thousand American dollars.” He was a little in awe at how cheap it was. “God, they are all idiots here! They think that is big money.” He placed the money in the receiving tray. “If you only knew! How about making five times that in a day just for making a few phone calls and pushing a little cocaine?”

  Jorge looked up after counting the money and said, “gracías señor, buena suerte. You will look great.”

  “It had better,” he responded for the hundredth time and mumbled to himself, “That weasel of a doctor was too scared to not do it right.” He turned and walked a few feet and thought, “well, here I am again, the start of a new life again. Like a cat, nine lives.” He chuckled, “I have a few more to go I think!”

  A wave of pleasure swept over him as he thought of his prospects. He turned back to Jorge and said, “hey, what do they pay you here anyway? Not much I imagine, right? It’s that fat doctor makes all the money, right?” He reached back in his pocket and peeled off a few thousand peso notes and threw them at Jorge. Here ya go buddy, buy yourself a mansion!”

  He did it more to show off than for generosity, but Jorge didn’t care, “Coño! Gracias sir! Muchas gracias,” and he swept up the cash and stuck it in his pocket before anyone could change their mind. He looked around quickly to see if anyone had witnessed it. “Thank you bery much señor,” he tried.

  At that moment the guard at the door looked in and said, “Ok Mr. Jones, your cab is waiting.”

  “You will be fine.” It was Nurse Luz Maria again. She walked by and said, just as he was leaving, “We´ll see you in a week, remember,” but she breathed a sigh of relief, “I waited for twenty damn minutes to be sure he would leave without killing someone.”

  “Yes-yes, you will” he lied, and walked outside into the damp sticky air.

  The cabbie had his door open and even had an umbrella out to shield him. The rain had picked up quite a bit. Smitty climbed inside. He watched Luz Maria standing just inside the sliding doors, “like hell you will. I´ve had enough of this place. I can yank those freak’n stitches myself.”

  He settled back in the seat, glad for the air conditioning. “Glad to get out of that piss poor hospital,” he mumbled to himself. The cabbie walked around and got inside and put the car in drive. He looked back at Smitty expectantly. Smitty thought for a minute. “Ok,” he thought, “my new life, complete with my new name; Campbell. Dr. Campbell. I do like the sound of that … Dr. Campbell.”

  The cabby was listening to a loud radio blasting Meringue. He thought he heard his fare say something. “Qué? ... ¿Qué me dijiste? ...,” said the cabby.

  “Turn off that damn radio and pay attention. I did not say anything yet.” The cabbie jumped and turned off the radio immediately, “That’s better! Now take me to hotel Mystic.”

  “Sí’ señor. I know it well.” A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the Mystic Hotel. He started to get out when he saw a bellman approaching.

  The bellman pulled open the door and said “Bienvenido, señor. May I help you?”

  “You can start by getting out of my face,” ‘Dr. Campbell’ snapped. Then the new Dr. Campbell thought; “that bitch of a nurse knows I am going here. In the overall scheme of things that might not be a good idea. It wouldn’t be ‘prudent ’ he mimicked. “I want to rest for a few days and I might not be at the top of my game. And, I need to plan my next moves.”

  Then he noticed that next to the Mystic was a smaller hotel; the Embers. “Ah, that looks good. I can hide there for a while until I can unveil my new look … then it won’t matter! I won’t be me then, will I?” He jerked the car door out of the bellman’s hand and said, “No, I’ve changed my mind. Driver, pull up over there, in front of that hotel there,” he said pointing.

  He got out of the cab, and began to walk toward the hotel when he heard the cabbie yelling. He turned and saw him scrambling out of his car. “Señor, one hundred and fifty pesos por favor.”

  Dr. Campbell turned, the rain just a drizzle now and sunshine already peeping out of the clouds. Steam rose off the hot asphalt. “What?”

  “Señor, por favor; it is one hundred and fifty pesos for the ride señor.”

  “Shit! OK, one hundred and fifty fuck’n pesos.” He walked back and handed him the pesos.

  ‘Dr. Campbell’ entered the hotel thru the massive front door. The dark interior had a certain dilapidated elegance. Heavy wooden baseboards lined a white marble floor and led to a gargantuan reception desk made from the same dusky wood. He didn’t see an attendant but as his heels clicked on the unyielding marble, a cinnamon stick with a white mop of cotton hair stood up. Her shoulders just about reached the murky green-glass counter top. She stood there looking at him and he realized his bandages must be a bit disconcerting so he said. “I want a quiet room.” He touched the white gauze on his nose and confirmed, “I just had surgery and I need to sleep with no one disturbing me.”

  “No problem sir. Room 355 is in the back and very quiet.”

  He looked around and nodded his approval. Everything seemed neat and clean anyway, “I want room service and no other disturbances, got it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  7

  Smitty began his convalescence at the Embers Hotel in downtown Santo Domingo. He took his time and did things right. He listened to Nurse Luz Maria and changed his bandages regularly. He was slow, methodical and deliberate as he worked; using a mirror he had bought at a Farmacia just around the corner. He was vain enough that this was no problem for him; he wanted it done right. He wanted to look good and he needed to remain hidden.

  With the taste of blood in his mind he made a quick call, hiding
the number with *67 a voice answered. “Hello.” “Sherine please.” “She was Baker acted, she is in the custody of the courts now. Didn’t you hear? She almost killed herself. She will be out in a few days. Who is this?” Click.

  Interesting, Smitty thought to himself. Mental illness. I like that. Perhaps I can be of some help to society in that area, since I am crazy too.

  With that thought in mind he began his metamorphosis; that of the scholarly Doctor Campbell, psychiatrist extraordinaire. This meant he had to take on a whole new persona. Becoming “Dr. Campbell the Psychiatrist” did not distress him even a little. He had some things going for him in that regard

  First of all, he had his laptop. “Hell,” he thought, “I could fly to the moon with this thing!” One of the first things he studied was the art of the con. He got his hands on everything “con.” He couldn’t believe how easy it was. Anything and everything was just there, ready for anyone to use however they pleased. His biggest wonder was why more people didn’t do it.

  In the beginning, he watched a lot of movies. Through the initial pain of recovery it was a great option as he could lay and rest in the cool darkness of his hotel room. Nothing interrupted him, not even the incessant throb of Bachata down the street at the colmado. He watched films like “Six Degrees of Separation,” and “Catch Me if You Can”, both stories chronicling the lives and lies of apex conmen.

  Frank Abganale, the real guy behind “Catch Me if You Can” became a hero. Abganale had at least five books to his credit now; all about the art of the con. More recently he wrote about how to protect yourself from people like him. Smitty read them all. Frank Abganale had become everything from a Pan Am Pilot to a Pediatrician and several things in between. And he started when he was just sixteen years old. He believed that a uniform would open a thousand doors and Smitty knew a Doctor’s Lab Coat would too.

  Smitty’s confidence about whether he could pull off anything like this was never at question. He was already great at improvisation. He didn’t have bucket loads of personalities at his fingertips; he had a Magician’s Hat full. But he was also smart enough to know it was better to play on your home court. It was better to choose.

  His choice to become a psychiatrist was not completely happenstance. First of all, it would get him where he wanted to go. Secondly, he already knew more about the profession than your average bear; your average Foster Kid-Juvenile Delinquent-Jailhouse Lawyer-who-had-been-brought-up-in-the system; who had been educated in ‘the system,’ could ever hope to know.

  He’d been in and out of more ‘counselling’ sessions than Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer combined should have been, and he always took more from them than he gave. He knew all about things like ‘anger management’, and ‘abandonment issues’. He had all the lingo, all the key words and catch phrases down pat. He could write volumes on ‘dissociative behaviour’, ‘cognitive behavioural therapy’, and ‘trauma based therapeutic services’. Acronyms like “PTSD” and “RAD could have been embroidered on his towels! And anything abuse-based, either physical or sexual, well, let’s not even go there. ‘Psycho-sexual tendencies’? Ha! He could teach a class.

  But he didn’t let it rest there. He wanted to know more. He was lucky. He was an interested student and therefore a fast study. Plus, he was a quick learner. He actually took cognitive steps that enabled him to capitalize on this very important and powerful learning technique. He was a huge believer in the 80/20 rule and employed this in all facets of his life. He used this to cull the most important elements that yielded the biggest return on investment. Twenty percent of knowledge was enough to cover eighty percent of bullshit to him.

  He also made prodigious use of KISS … everyone knows that one, Keep It Simple Stupid. He took this a step farther though in that he always made sure that when he was studying something he gave all his attention to one topic at a time. He did not believe in multi-tasking and felt that taking on too many tasks at a time weakened his ability to learn.

  That was another reason he allowed no interruptions in his work. His daily routine became regimented; even down to the daily sex he had with the ever accommodating hotel maid. A time and a place for everything, and God ya had to love the DR, but when he was done with her he was done, out she went.

  Finally, he made a habit of asking ‘why’ five times to dig deeper. ‘Why’ did people suffer post traumatic breakdowns, ‘why’ did these breakdowns result in this type of behavior, ... ‘why’ this behavior responded to this treatment and not that one, and so on.

  So his convalescence was a productive one, and when he walked out into the bright sun just two months later he was a new man. He stopped and smelled the air and a feeling of deep satisfaction surged through him. The bright Caribbean sun caressed his still tender face. It helped suppress a shiver of pleasure as he thought of the dead maid so thoroughly stashed under the box spring of the bed in his hotel room.

  He wasn’t worried about being discovered. He had cleaned up every possible clue upstairs. He’d seen enough CSI and shows like it to learn a thing or two about evidence. There was not a scrap that could tie him there except for his new look and he’d always taken pains to hide that as much as possible. Like now, the Panama Hat and big glasses he wore … he could have been anyone. Besides, it would be hours, or even days before they found her. By that time, ‘Smitty’ would be long gone and ‘Dr. Campbell’ would be on to his next exciting chapter.

  As the cab pulled up in front of him he thought to himself, “Lock and Load ‘Campbell’, and take no prisoners!” He climbed into the cool air conditioning and they pulled out into the teeming traffic. He did not look back.

  8

  Campbell didn’t go far. He set himself up in a nicer hotel close to his next ‘university’. He wanted to put some of the things he had learned to practice; an internship if you will. And what better place for this than the Instituto de Dr. Reynaldo Pierre de Psicología? It was located in a great part of town, right there on Avenída Independencía close to la Zona Colonial? It had everything he needed. It was big enough that he could remain hidden, and though their major focus was the psychology of substance abuse and mental disorders caused by malnutrition, they also did a lot of work with PTSD victims. They even had one entire wing full of these types of disorders. This is the psychological area he wanted to concentrate on.

  He did not waste any time. As soon as he checked into his hotel he got on the phone and made an appointment with Nurse Nedia, whom he had spoken with several times recently. As his cab sped down Avenída Máximo Gomez, Campbell opened the Johnston and Murphy Messenger bag he used as a briefcase and checked to see that all his ‘credentials’ were in order. Satisfied he had forgotten nothing he closed everything back up and slipped the leather strap over his shoulder as the cab pulled to a stop. He found himself in front of a large nondescript building. He would have been surprised to know it was the place he was looking for had not a pretty girl in a nurse’s uniform walked out the entrance just then.

  He admired her ‘typical’ Dominican figure for a second when his eye was drawn to a subtle sign embedded in the building’s façade. The sign read, “Instituto de Dr. Reynaldo Pierre de Psicología” He looked at his watch and, noting that he was a few minutes late, shrugged “hey, it’s the DR” he thought, and he hustled up the concrete stairs.

  “Bienvenido al doctor Reynaldo Pierre Instituto de Psicología. ¿Cómo le puedo ayudar?” said the appealingly plump girl behind the reception desk. “Why is it every girl in the DR forgets to button their top four buttons,” he wondered in awe of her indisputable bounty.

  Dr. Campbell responded, “I'm sorry, but do you speak English?”

  “Oh yes, of course.” she smiled, happy to be able to practice. “You are American I think?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Campbell nodded.

  “Welcome to the Santo Domingo Clinic of the Mentally Ill. How may I help you?”

  “I believe I have an appointment with Nurse Nadia.” She smiled again and reached
for her phone. Campbell continued and said, “It is a beautiful day today isn't it? Miss ... it is Miss, right? I mean I do not see a ring, so I just figured, you know, not married, and beautiful … Am I right?”

  She responded with a big open smile, “Yes, you are correct. It is Miss, Miss Mary … and yes it is a lovely day.”

  Dr. Campbell rewarded her with a great big smile. Showing all of his teeth, he paused for a second and said, “Yes it´s a perfect today. Not like yesterday’s rain all day.

  Oh, I´m sorry, please forgive me. How rude of me, I´m Dr. Charles Campbell, did I already tell you that? No matter ... I´m the representative from ‘PRU’ ... ‘Psychology Research United’. If you would please call nurse Nadia and let her know I´m here, I´d appreciate it very much. I believe she is expecting me though. I called her earlier and told her I would be coming by.”

  Mary picked up the phone and hit a few numbers. She paused a second and said, “Nurse Nadia, this is the receptionist, Mary. There is a Dr. Charles Campbell here to see you.” She paused, nodded her head as if she was saying yes to herself and then said, “Fine, I´ll send him in. She looked up and smiled, “You may come back this way; Mr. Campbell ... I mean Dr. Campbell.”

  As Dr. Campbell walked past Mary he smiled at her again. He tapped his left ring finger and winked at her. He then focused on the hallway and walked down the hallway thinking, “this new look and life will be great.”