by L. A. Knight
Trish shook her head, no.
“Nothing? Hold on, how about a free massage at the Lifestyle Revolution Spa? No? What if I pay for it? Yes? How much does an hour massage run?”
The producer wrote down a number on a flash card.
“A hundred and fifty dollars? Are you for real? Does that come with an anal bleaching? It does! Okay, listeners, the first caller providing me with the name and phone number of a qualified dog trainer receives an hour massage and the optional anal . . . and it looks like we have a winner! Who’s this?”
“Lynnie Ruffington, I got your dog trainer right here.”
“Lynnie, the contest is for my listeners.”
“I’m a listener. Heck, sometimes I’m all you got.”
“You’re an employee of Lifestyle Revolution. You can’t participate in any on-air contests.”
“Damn it, doc, I want that anal bleaching.”
“Sorry, Lynnie, guess you’ll have to sit bare-ass in a bucket of Clorox. Line four, we have Judy from Coral Springs. Speak to me Judy.”
“Dr. Beach, last month we had a dog trainer come out to the house and work with our cocker spaniel, Damian.”
“And did the trainer exorcize the devil from Damian?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Does your cocker spaniel still crap in the house? Is he housebroken?”
“Oh, absolutely. Plus he sits and gives you his paw.”
“Sounds perfect. Give us the trainer’s first name, Judy, Trish will get the rest of the contact information from you off the air.”
“The trainer’s name is Anita and she was fantastic.”
LORD and MASTURBATER
Jacob parked the van in the driveway and exited the rusting steel beast before its engine choked itself off. In his hand was a pet store bag; inside—a simple tool that he hoped would allow him to domesticate his dog and hopefully appease Nancy.
Sam heard him approach. The dog clawed at the inside of the garage door, thrusting its sizeable bulk at the aluminum barrier.
“Easy, boy. I’m coming. Just need to set this up for you, big guy.”
Jacob walked around the side of the house to the backyard. From the bag he removed a three-foot-long spiral metal spike attached to a twenty-foot-long dog chain.
Wiley Coyote . . . genius.
For ten minutes he labored to twist the spike into the hard, dry ground. When he finished, he tugged on the chain, testing the strength of the device. Satisfied, he walked back around to the front door of the house and keyed in.
The German Shepherd bellowed a ferocious bark that put a smile on Jacob’s face. Foofie dog, my ass. No burglar or rapist in his right mind would break into this house with my dog guarding it.
He headed for the interior garage door. Opened it—
—bowled over by Sam! The dog jumped and spun and ran through the house into the master bedroom. He leaped on top of the bed, stripping the linen as he leaped off again and bolted past Jacob into the living room and onto the sofa—wagging its tail, wanting to play.
“No!”
The dog barked at him.
“Hey, don’t bark back at me. I am your lord and master. God gave me opposable thumbs, not you.”
The dog laid on the floor, contorting its head and neck between its hind legs to nibble on an itch along its groin.
“Okay, admittedly, a longer neck also has its advantages.”
Sam jumped up, clawing at the back door.
“I get it, you need to pee. Got you all set up.” Jacob unlocked the sliding glass door and closed it before Sam could escape. Retrieving the end of the chain, he opened the door and clipped it onto the dog’s collar.
The dog dashed outside, its chain nearly wrapping around Jacob’s ankles. Sam sniffed an unseen trail along the lawn before lifting its leg to pee. Its bladder relieved, the German Shepherd took a leisurely jaunt across the open yard—the chain cutting him off, preventing him from leaving.
“Technology . . . it’s a beautiful thing.” Jacob closed the glass door and headed back through the house to the garage, seeking to relocate Sam’s water bowl out back.
“Ahh! Ahh!” The blood rushed from his face as he spotted the severed arm of a child lying on the garage floor!
In full panic, Jacob turned and ran—his forehead smacking into the side of the interior door. Spinning back around, he eyeballed the detached limb, his woozy brain determining either a small child or a midget must have seen the partially-open garage door and crawled inside to rob him, only to have his arm torn off by his dog.
“Where are you, midget?” Did they prefer to be called midget or vertically challenged? “Answer me, or my dog will amputate your other limbs!”
That you, Vice?
“Mr. President?” Jacob retrieved the rest of the Bush dummy from behind a spare tire. One arm was gone, its head spun around, its right ear partially chewed.
Was it Al Qaeda?
“No, sir. It was my dog.”
Damn fleabag gave me a tea bag. As the Decider I’ve decided that Nancy was right and the mongrel must go. See to it, Jakester, then reattach my arm and swab my wood with alcohol.
“Sorry, sir, but the dog stays.”
That so? You might be singing a different tune once you see what that four-legged monster did to your little Asian dish.
“Yoko?” Jacob stared at the cardboard box, its flaps chewed, the container lying open on its side. Having dragged the sex doll out onto the floor, Sam had gnawed its pliable flesh as if it were a rawhide bone. Yoko’s face was mangled, her left eye stretched and deformed.
“Oh . . . Yoko.”
You love me long time, Jacob?
“Sorry Yo-Yo, but I’m not into freaky zombie sex.”
* * * * *
TEN MINUTES LATER the garage door opened, Jacob exiting -- wheeling a trash can to the curb. Yoko’s head and upper torso protruded from the open receptacle, the sex doll’s remains wrapped in a plastic garbage bag so the neighbors wouldn’t see.
Don’t do this, Jacob.
Jacob hummed, blocking out the shrill woman’s voice in his head.
Just so you know, I faked every orgasm.
Leaving the trash can by the curb, he returned to the house, closing the garage door behind him.
He never saw the two ten-year-old boys ride past the house on their bicycles.
Sam did.
Tail wagging, the dog attempted to chase after them—easily ripping the stake from the ground. The German Shepherd sprinted around the side of the house to the front sidewalk—the trailing length of chain bouncing wildly . . . looping around Yoko’s neck!
Chasing after the kids, Sam dragged the naked life-size sex doll down the street, the plastic trash bag quickly shredding as it was hauled along the tarmac.
* * * * *
NANCY TURNED OFF Hillsboro Boulevard, texting her producer as she drove through the residential neighborhood. The excitement she felt back at the studio had waned as her idea had fallen under her own self-scrutiny. How do you know this will even work? How can I market it to my listeners? Is it fair to Jacob? Sure, it might help his phobias, but what if he catches on?
Her mind occupied, she never saw the dog running in the street, heading for her car.
* * * * *
JACOB HAD BEEN filling Sam’s water bowl at the kitchen sink when he heard the dog barking like crazy. He glanced out the window just in time to see the German Shepherd race out of the back yard, trailing chain.
Jacob hurried out the front door as Sam sprinted down the middle of the street, dragging a familiar object—a car turning the corner . . . approaching fast!
“Sam!”
* * * * *
NANCY LOOKED UP and screamed, slamming on the breaks.
The naked pedestrian struck her windshield a split-second later, the impact simultaneously shattering the glass and inflating her air bag, which bashed the startled psychologist in the face, knocking her woozy.
Assh
ole, you just killed someone. The cops’ll know you were texting . . . your life is over.
Jacob ran down the street as fast as an out-of-shape man in sandals could run. His heart nearly pushed out of his chest as he saw the naked Yoko doll spreadeagled across the car’s shattered windshield.
Holy shit, your dog just killed someone. The cops’ll know you were fucking the doll. Your life is over.
Jacob grabbed Sam by his trailing chain, dragging the dog around to the driver’s side of the car to check on the driver, whose face was pinned behind the inflated air bag. “Hold on, buddy!” Using the spike still attached to the dog chain, he punctured the safety device, powder exploding all over what now appeared to be a female figure.
Then he recognized the woman.
“Oh my God – Nancy! Oh geez, I didn’t realize it was you.” He attempted to brush her off.
“Jacob? Oh God, Jacob, I killed somebody!”
“No you didn’t, baby. It was just my sex . . . my sexy new ventriloquist dummy, Yoko. Sam broke loose from the back yard and the chain must have wrapped around the dummy’s neck.”
“I didn’t kill anyone?”
Jacob smiled nervously. “No, babe.”
The smile evaporated as he saw the neighbors close ranks from all directions. “Nance, pop the trunk so I can hide the body . . . I mean the doll—the dummy!”
“Why?”
“Just do it!”
She spit out a mouthful of powder, her eyes focusing on the naked vaginal anatomy of the object adorning her windshield. “Oh my God.”
“I’ll get rid of the dog, just please pop the trunk.”
Feeling along the bottom of the dashboard, she released the hatch as Jacob dragged the disfigured sex doll off the car’s hood and tossed it into the trunk—in front of a dozen startled neighbors.
“You see that? He just threw the dead woman into the trunk.”
“She was naked. Probably his mistress.”
“Somebody call the cops.”
“I already did, they’re on the way.”
Jacob released the dog to the wild and climbed in the passenger seat, accepting the role of fugitive. “Nancy, drive!”
The neighbors quickly stepped in front of the car, preventing the driver from leaving the crime scene. Before he could react, his door opened and two black men dragged Jacob out of the vehicle, pinning him to the ground – the stupid dog wagging its tail instead of coming to his aid.
A Hispanic woman wearing a purple surgical top checked on Nancy. “You may have a concussion.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“Dental assistant. I don’t like the look of those gums. How often do you floss?”
Two squad cars arrived, adding to the chaos. Two policemen exited to eyewitness testimony.
“Blondie killed the woman; the chubby bearded guy shoved the body in the trunk!”
Jacob rolled over, gazing up into the barrel of a gun. “Don’t shoot! No one died. There’s no body!”
“Got a body, partner. Naked as a jay-bird. No pulse.”
Neighbors armed with iPhones snapped photos of the naked woman.
Face to the asphalt, Jacob struggled to speak as his arms were twisted painfully around his back, the handcuffs biting into his flesh. “Jesus . . . it’s a dummy!”
The Hispanic woman kicked him in the ribs. “That’s my lord and savior you’re talkin’ about, you animal.”
The cops argued over who should start mouth-to-mouth.
Nancy yelled at a third cop who was reading Jacob his rights. “Let him go, you idiot. It’s a sex—”
Her words were buried under another wailing siren as an ambulance arrived. Two Emergency Medical Technicians hopped out, one checking on the victim, the other opening the van’s back doors to retrieve a Gurney.
“Officers, we’ll take it from here. Wow, she’s hot . . . oh, God, look at her face. Artie, bring a blanket, the hooker’s naked.”
Jacob was dragged to his feet in time to witness his sex doll, now partially covered beneath a blanket and strapped onto a gurney, being loaded into the back of the ambulance.
Twelve minutes and two attempts with a defibrillator later, the Yoko Ono sex doll was officially pronounced dead.
* * * * *
TWO HOURS AND a coroner’s examination later, Jacob was escorted from his Broward County Sheriff’s Office holding cell. He was led to the front desk where Nancy was waiting, his red-faced girlfriend sandwiched between two of the arresting officers.
“Sorry, Mr. Cope,” one smiling cop muttered. “Just a bad misunderstanding.”
“No hard feelings, Mr. Cope,” snickered his partner.
“I don’t see what you assholes are laughing at. You were the ones giving mouth-to-mouth to her blowhole.”
* * * * *
“ARE YOU SOME kind of sexual deviant?”
“No.” Jacob started the Volkswagen van’s engine, his forehead pressed against the fur-covered wheel. “I was lonely. I just needed someone to talk to. Even if it was a doll.”
She stared at him. Reaching out, she took his hand. “From now on, talk to me.”
He smiled through the tears. “I love you. I’ll get rid of the dog.”
“No.”
“No? I don’t understand?”
“I’m giving him three months to straighten out, then we’ll see.”
Jacob bear-hugged Nancy, her blouse still harboring remnants of powder from the air-bag. “Three months is great. By then you’ll love him so much you’ll never want to let him go.”
RUBY KLEINHENZ
For Dr. Vincent Cope, the morning had not gone well. Fifteen Medicare patients in two hours, sandwiched around two cases of genital warts and a call from his wife reminding him their son, Dylan, had early hockey practice tonight.
He checked the chart outside Exam Room 3. Ruby Kleinhenz was one of his favorite patients – a fifty-two-year-old divorcee with the body of a thirty year old. Since her divorce settlement, Ruby had had new breasts implants, her teeth bleached, and a Lifestyle Lift—a less-invasive face lift that had removed her sagging jowls and the last fifteen years of aging.
Wanda joined the gynecologist as he knocked and entered.
Ruby was lying on the exam table in a dressing gown, her jet-black wavy hair highlighted with a ruby-red streak.
“Morning, Mrs. Kleinhenz. My apologies for canceling our last appointment.”
“It’s okay, doctor. Were you able to save her?”
“Save who?” Vincent glanced at Wanda, who shot him a nasty look. “Oh, the emergency labiaplasty . . . yes. Looking at her now—you’d never suspect she pumped three kids out of that vag.”
“Sign me up. I’m serious. I wasted thirty good years with that no-good prick, Emilio, but boy did he have to pay out the ass in the settlement. Let him keep the beach house, I told my attorney, I want cash. A million for every bimbo I caught him with.”
Wanda’s eyes widened. “Exactly how many bimbos did ya’ll catch him with?”
“Enough to buy a share of an arena league football team. The Cougars—that’s me. I’m a Cougar and I’m on the prowl.”
“Good for you,” Vince said, scanning her chart, “just take precautions.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Mrs. Kleinhenz—”
“Ruby.”
“Ruby, you don’t need an I.U.D. While you may look thirty-five, your ovaries are still fifty-two; they stopped producing eggs years ago.”
“Yes, but my thirty-six-year-old boy toy doesn’t know that, and I want to keep it that way. So fit me for the I.U.D., then schedule me for that twat lip surgery, or whatever you call it. The sooner the better.”
“You’re the boss.” He worked a pair of rubber gloves over his hands, then helped Ruby secure her feet into the table stirrups. “Wanda, hand me the speculum.”
Wanda was about to pass him the instrument when they heard a commotion coming from the outside corridor.
“Mr. Cope, you ca
n’t go back there! Your brother is with a patient.”
“It’ll only take a minute . . . Vince?” The door swung open and Jacob barged in.
“Jacob, get out of here, can’t you see I’m with a patient.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Mrs. Kleinhenz said, straining in the stirrups to look at the bearded young man. “Hi, there. I’m Ruby.”
“Jacob. Vince’s brother.”
“Are you a doctor, too?”
“Ventriloquist. Vin, can I talk to you a minute?”
“No!”
“Dr. Cope, he’s your brother. Whatever you have to say, Jacob, you can say it in front of me.”
“Thanks. Vin, I need to borrow some money—twenty-five hundred. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“It’s not for an abortion, is it?”
“What? No! It’s for Sam.”
“Who’s Sam?”
“My German Shepherd.”
“You named the German Shepherd Sam? Jake, seriously, you need help. What’s the money for?”
“I need to fence-in our back yard. Maybe get Sam a dog house.”
“Get one with a spare bedroom so you have a place to stay when Nancy throws you out.”
“This was Nancy’s idea; part of a three month reprieve for Sam. You’d be saving the dog’s life.”
“Speaking of saving a life, I saw an interesting video on YouTube this morning of two cops scrambling to give CPR to a naked Asian chick. Turns out it was just a sex doll.”
Wanda turned to Jacob. “Asian? I hear you like Asian women?”
Jacob’s neck flushed. “I happen to enjoy the company of all women, thank you very much. Vin, can you spot me the money or not?”
“Not. This is a medical practice. Not a bank. And the next time you interrupt me while I’m with a patient--
Ruby slapped Vincent on his wrist. “What’s wrong with you? Your brother needs your help to save an innocent animal’s life.” She turned to Jacob. “Are you really a ventriloquist?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m hosting a black tie affair next Friday evening at the Ritz Carlton. We’re still looking to add local entertainment—is your ventriloquist act entertaining?”