Fatal Flaws

by Clyde Lawrence

  “Well, anyway, you can spend your money however you want, Marky-Mark,” Hank conceded. “No skin off my nose.”

  Chapter 29

  The way the tattoo conversation had gone, and, especially, how it ended, left me thinking about Hank. Knowing him as well as I did, I would have bet a thousand bucks that he would be showing up with a tattoo of his own in the not-too-distant future. There was no way that he was going to let someone close to him be considered ‘cooler’ than him in any way. In addition to that, now he had a new ‘ruling’ on the subject from his wife and it would be impossible for her to retract her statements about how tattoos made guys seem like ‘bad boys’ and how she thought women, including herself, were attracted to such attributes. There was no way that Hank Simmons was going to miss out on this opportunity to: one, outdo his buddy; two, show everyone what a ‘bad boy’ he could be; and, three, make sure every chick in the O.R. knew that he was keeping up with all of the sexy, pop culture trends.

  It was no surprise to me what I found when I visited Paris Regional Hospital, where Hank’s anesthesia group practiced, just a month later. I was in Paris meeting with a large OB/GYN practice, which was interested in growing and was offering a stipend to OB/GYN residents who would agree to take a position with them following training. I wasn’t sure it was a good fit for me, but it was worth looking into and it gave me an excuse to see my buddy while I was in town. I’d agreed to meet him at the O.R. control desk after my interviews. We planned to leave from there and go to a shooting range, where he was going to let me try out his new AR-15 rifle and shoot a couple of handguns he had acquired.

  As I passed through the automatic, sliding doors which led into the branching hallways leading to the various operative suites, I saw the control desk directly ahead of me. There were five ladies standing around a handsome, tall anesthesiologist wearing a nametag identifying him as Hank Simmons, MD: Chief of Anesthesiology. As I approached, I realized that he was lifting up the sleeve of his scrub top and showing off the brand-new ink art adorning his left upper arm.

  “Yeah, well, most Special Forces guys like me have tattoos showing what type of soldier they are, or were,” he was stating as he held the sleeve high enough to reveal the tattooed emblem, then flexed his left triceps, as if unintentionally, in order to really give the ladies a good show. Hank was looking down at his arm with his chin on his shoulder, so he didn’t see me approaching. As I grew near, I could see that the logo tattooed just below his left shoulder on the outer surface of his arm was made up of a skull with wings outstretched on either side, and with a scuba regulator in its mouth. Rather than the crossbones behind the skull that you see on a pirate flag or logo, there are crossed oars, which symbolize that the Recon Marine badasses rely on stealth through strength and stamina to reach their amphibious assault objectives.

  “What do the words mean?” asked one of the O.R. groupies, who was tracing the text with her index finger.

  “Force Recon. That was my division. It makes up the Special Operations capable reconnaissance assets of the Marine Corps,” he replied, as if he was reading it from a recruitment brochure. “The other words are Swift, Deadly, and Silent. Those words describe how we get the job done. Under the Force Recon logo, I had my tattoo guy add Semper Fidelis, though we usually just say Semper Fi. That means ‘always loyal.’ It’s the Marine slogan because, as Marines, our most meaningful commitment is to the Corps and to our units. No loyalty should ever supercede our loyalty to our brother and sister Marines. Most of my buddies got tattoo’ed with the logo when they left the Marines. You’re not supposed to get it while on active duty in case you get captured on a covert mission. That way, you prevent the enemy from discovering just who has shown up at their door. I’ve never stopped loving the Marines, so I’ve always wanted to get this done.”

  “Oh, Doctor Soldier Man,” I started in, “you’re soooo sexy! Did they issue those big guns in the Marine Corps, or were you always such a stud?”

  His head jerked up and he saw me standing across the control desk. My hands were joined below my chin, my head tilted to the side, and my eyelashes fluttering as if I was a female cartoon character, smitten by the leading man, well, leading cartoon.

  “What, these guns?” he asked, as he flexed his biceps in the classic body builder pose. “Nobody issued these, I had to earn them.”

  We started laughing, but the O.R. chicks looked at me like ‘who the hell is this joker and why is he talking to our boy toy hero in such a familiar way?’

  “Ladies,” Hank spoke up, “this is my best friend, Mark. Well, actually, Doctor Bishop. He’s an OB/GYN senior resident, and you’d better make a good impression because he is thinking about moving here.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can ever make an impression like Doctor Superstud here, but who knows, I might give Paris a try,” I said. “I’m just a mere mortal doctor, though, so I don’t expect to have ladies fawning all over me like Dr. God—I mean, Dr. Simmons. I am glad to see that he finally got his tattoo, though. We’ve talked about it for a long time. He deserves to be recognized for his service to our country. Plus, what better way to showcase these muscles!” I had decided to not call bullshit on him by mentioning that, only one month prior, he was lecturing me on how tattoos were a stupid waste of money.

  Apparently, Hank found that showing off his tattoo was a great way to get the attention that he craved. He began accumulating tatts on a regular basis, mostly on his back, chest, and shoulders, where they were not typically visible to patients and colleagues. I always chuckled inwardly, when he would tell me about what the nurses in the O.R. would say about his body art, because it clearly indicated that he was finding opportunities to be seen at work without his shirt on. I know one of his tricks was to volunteer when a model was needed to demonstrate various medical skills to new nurses, such as hooking up ECG leads or finding alternative IV access sites. I was certain that there was no other doctor at Paris Regional Hospital who was seen topless on a more regular basis than Hank.

  As time has gone by, I’ve also chosen to adorn my body with ink. Unlike Hank, I only have one reason to spend my time and money having images permanently etched into my skin in the form of tattoos—I like them. My tatts are not meant to entertain others and they are not designed to appeal to anyone else but me. Well, to be honest, Mandy insists on signing off on any new body art before it goes to the printing presses.

  With Hank’s compulsive and competitive personality in mind, it was no surprise to anyone who really knew him that he would subsequently make sure that he ‘stayed ahead’ of any acquaintance of his who had the nerve to think he was cool enough to sport a tattoo. Especially me. Patti had no idea what a monster she was creating the day she described guys who get inked up as ‘naughty’ and ‘sexy.’

  As she and Hank grew apart over the years, the ‘overly adorned’ temple that was his body was one of his characteristics that illustrated the couple’s increasing incompatibility. She was fine with one or two pieces on his shoulders or torso, but she was embarrassed to have a husband with tattooed images visible on his bare arms for the whole world to see. She, I’m sure, knew that his main motivation for this accumulation of artwork was to make him stand out and to show others what a progressive and cool dude he had become. Unfortunately for their marriage, there was no way that this contemporary but proper Mormon chick was ever going to feel good about Hank’s extensive collection of skin art or any of his other excessive behaviors.

  I, on the other hand, thought that most of the pieces Hank had were pretty cool. I have never cared for those he strategically placed on the more visible body surfaces that are meant to identify him as a doctor, an ex-soldier, and/or a martial arts master. For instance, he has a large, black caduceus on the ventral surface of his right forearm, right where anyone handing him merchandise or change will see it. That tattoo has one specific purpose, which is to elicit comments like, “Oh, hey! Like, are you a doctor? Wow! A doctor with arm tattoos. Cool!”


  *****

  Hank and I have, on many occasions, met at our favorite tattoo studio in a town called Sulfur Springs, about half-way between our respective homes. The Black Boar Tattoo sign can be seen just off of I-30, which is the initial leg of the journey from Rockwall to Paris. The sign first caught my eye several years after I had gotten my initial, amateurish sun logo on my right shoulder.

  One day I was driving to Hank and Patti’s place with Mandy and the kids. We were all heading out on a weekend camping trip at Beaver Bend State Park in southeastern Oklahoma. I had gotten a little work done at a local tattoo shop in Rockwall, but I was unhappy with it and was looking to cover it up and start over with a better design. The Black Boar had jumped out at me because there was a painted banner across the mural of—yep, you guessed it—a massive, hairy black pig with sabre-like tusks on the side of the building. The banner held the pronouncement ‘Voted Best Cover up Artist in Texas.’ I figured that I’d stop and check them out next time I drove up to see Hank.

  Since then I’d made Jake, who owned the Black Boar with his brother Johnnie, my go-to artist. He did great work and I didn’t have to worry about him permanently affixing some piece of crap to my body. His other major attribute is that he has always made a habit of wearing noise cancelling headphones and jamming out while he works, so his customers don’t have to engage in unwanted conversation with him during the session. There is nothing more annoying to me than having to participate in senseless dialogue while someone is piercing your skin millions of times with a vibrating array of needles, which are being used to drive ink into your flesh. Johnnie works the same way, so, other than the electrical hum of the power supply and the buzzing of the tattoo machines, their shop stays silent. Because of this, their joint became our regular meeting place over the years. Each of us would make an appointment, me with Jake and Hank with Johnnie. Once in our respective seats, we would have several hours to shoot the shit while our work was being done.

  Chapter 28

  After our visit with Ryan regarding her injuries and the subsequent confirmatory inquiry using Carfax, I had a frank conversation with Mandy.

  “You remember what I’ve always said about what I would do if someone hurt one of our kids, right?” I asked her.

  “I remember. I’ve always been proud to hear you say that you would personally deal with any asshole who was stupid enough to lay their hands on one of our sweet daughters. I just never thought we’d ever find ourselves in this type of situation. It totally scares the shit out of me to think of you getting caught by the police and, possibly even going to prison. You are no criminal, Mark,” she replied.

  “I know that,” I blurted out, “but I’ve been thinking about what I’d sacrifice in order to keep Ryan or the other girls safe. I know I could never live with myself if I allowed them to suffer, just so I could avoid risking my own life or freedom. What kind of decent father allows his daughter to be abused by her husband, or anyone else, for that matter? Keep in mind that these are just the early stages of their relationship. Knowing Brandon and knowing what typically happens with abusive husbands over time, we can definitely expect his behavior to worsen. If somebody doesn’t intervene on her behalf, he could end up killing her at some point, especially if she ever decides to face the reality of what he is doing and tries to get away from him.”

  “The problem is compounded by the fact that Ryan is trying to hide the abuse. Just think about what would happen if we confronted her about it and she still refused to deal with the problem by forcing him to get some type of help or by just leaving him. Then we wouldn’t even have the option of taking him out covertly, because she would know that it was us and she’d hate us. Hell, she might even turn me in.”

  “There is only one way to absolutely protect her and it involves Brandon going away forever,” I said. “I know that I’m no criminal mastermind, but between me and Hank, we should be able to come up with a plan that will keep us from getting caught. Honestly, it makes me sick to even think about killing a human being, even to protect one of our kids. It’s not my own comfort level that I need to focus on, though. I have a duty to help my kids, whether they want help or not.”

  “Listen,” she said, “are you sure you want to involve Hank? I know that you guys made your covenant with each other years ago, but do you totally trust him? Keep in mind that if you and he commit a crime together he will always have that on you. What if something happens and you guys don’t stay friends?”

  “Babe. Hank is like my brother. I know he can be a douche sometimes and his ego definitely drives me crazy, but at his core he is a true friend and I absolutely know that he would never betray me. Besides, if he and I do something together, then he’ll be just as guilty as me. It’s not like I’m going to be involved in some type of crime syndicate where one guy gets busted and then rolls on his buddies in order to be granted immunity.”

  “Well, call him then. Make sure whatever you plan, though, is simple and easy to execute, and make sure you guys don’t get implicated in any type of crime. Even being investigated for murder would seriously hurt both of your careers. Women will definitely avoid going to an OB who is suspected of killing his son-in-law. I’m willing to go along with any plan you guys come up with, even if you have to leave your practice and we have to move, but it would definitely be better to never even be called in for questioning after his body is found. God, I hate that we’re even talking about this, but I love you and I’m very proud of your level of commitment to your family. I’ll support whatever plan you come up with. Ryan is my daughter, too!”

  Holy shit, I thought to myself, was this really happening?

  It was one thing to pontificate about what you would do if your daughter was being hurt, but quite another to make the decision to use deadly force to protect her.

  *****

  Murder. Jesus Christ! I was a busy physician with a wonderful family and a great future, and here I was talking about planning a fucking murder and actually carrying it out. I considered the thought that there was some part of the Hippocratic Oath that forbids killing people. Beyond that, the other obvious deterrent should have been that the law of the land does not look favorably on intentionally ending the life of another human being. Strangely though, I didn’t feel constrained by my oath or the law. I also had no moral distress regarding the idea of snatching the life out of my son-in-law. This was about protecting my little girl. Mandy and I had created Ryan and she had always been able to count on us to guide her, protect her, and love her unconditionally. Along with Mandy, Ryan and her siblings were what gave my life meaning. I would like to think that if I were ever given the opportunity to sacrifice myself to save one of them, I would readily offer my life for theirs. So, if I would die for them, how could I possibly choose to not kill for them? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not with the certainty that the abuse would continue. Brandon had committed a capital offense. He had been tried and found guilty by the only judges that mattered to me—the parents of his innocent victim. Now it was time to carry out his sentence.

  Chapter 29

  “Hey dude, wassup?” Hank said, as he answered my call.

  “Hank,” I said, as I drove home from work in my Lexus. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” he replied, “What's going on? Is everything alright?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I replied. “It’s not alright, but it’s gonna be. You remember the oath?”

  “Uhh, yeah. Hell yeah, of course I remember the oath!” Then he remained uncharacteristically silent and waited for me to go on.

  “Well,” I said, “Ryan’s in trouble and I need to call on you for help. When can we get together to talk?”

  “I’ll call Johnnie and Jake and get us set up for an appointment. I’ve been needing to get some work touched up. They’ve always said they’d come in on a Sunday if we needed them to. Let’s plan on tomorrow at five at the Black Boar. I’ll text you if that doesn’t work for them. And buddy, don’t worry. Whatever proble
m your family is having is now my problem as well. And I promise you, we’ll figure things out and we’ll make our problem go away, you got me?”

  “I gotcha, brother. See you tomorrow. Much love, dude. Peace out.” I pushed the ‘end call’ button and the Pandora station once again filled the car. Tupac radio. I instantly got the impression that fate was confirming my mission to take Brandon out when I recognized the rap song that came pumping out of my speakers. It was The Notorious B.I.G., rapping his hit called Someone’s Gotta Die.

  Chapter 30

  “So, you are absolutely certain that pathetic piece of shit is beatin’ up on Ryan?” Hank asked, as we sat in our respective chairs and absorbed the ink that was being driven into our skin. Jake and Johnnie sat with their attention focused on their artwork, bobbing their heads to the heavy rock beats that were pouring from their headphones. As usual, they gave no indication that Hank or I had made even a sound, so we knew we were safe discussing anything we wanted without being overheard.

  “I wish I could say otherwise, but I am. There can’t be any other explanation for her injuries or her lies,” I replied.

  “Fuck! She is such a smart girl. I just don’t see how she could be letting him get away with it. To be honest, though, I have never understood the whole phenomenon of women staying with abusive men. Now, once upon a time when women were expected to be totally subservient to men, I could see how women had no choice but to tolerate it. Plus, they were financially dependent on those fuckers, so they figured that they needed to put up with a little bitch slap every now and then.”

  “Right,” I said, “but think about all of the attention domestic violence gets in the media and how corporal punishment in the home has even become taboo. I would think that every young girl these days would grow up thinking that if any motherfucking dude ever laid a hand on them, they’d be out the door in a flash, and make sure their abuser ended up in jail. Didn’t nearly every chick in America see Jennifer Lopez in Enough? You would think watching that movie would cement the idea in everyone’s head that guys who are violent with their women should be dropped like a hot potato. And some may just need to get a cap busted in their sorry asses. I mean, my own mom grew up in that older generation where it was normal for a husband to take out his frustrations on his wife and kids. She saw that shit in her home as she was growing up, so she was indoctrinated with the idea that she had to take a punch or slap from her husband whenever he needed to blow off some steam. But chicks today don’t see violence happening in ‘normal’ households and even most men see wife beaters and child abusers as scumbags who need to be taken outside to have the ever-loving shit beat out of them. So, how does this shit still go on? I guess it all has to do with some type of spell that these guys cast over their women. They are experts at apologizing and promising to change. Also, they somehow convince their women that they simply cannot live without them.”