The Demon in the Doll

Chapter 14

It turned out that Dan drove an expensive Mercedes just like June. However, the color of his automobile was a flashy fire-engine red.

I lit a cigarette as we walked toward his car.

He said, "I paid a lot of money for that ride. No way am I letting you screw her up with all that smoke."

I said, "I'm not going with you. I'm walking."

He looked around nervously. "Suppose Big Brother is watching? You're breaking the law on school property. No smoking till you're twenty-one."

"I'm not worried. I have one of the best lawyers in the country."

"That's certainly true. But I'm not a miracle worker."

I looked him in the eye. "It's time for a brief man-to-man talk."

He stopped in his tracks. "OK."

"Do you know Lonnie Chaisson?"

"Know him? I've represented him in court on more than one occasion. Hell, him and his brother are two of my best customers."

"I kicked his ass last night."

"I find that hard to believe. He's a rough customer."

"So am I."

"Is that supposed to impress me?"

I ignored his question and asked my own. "Do you know why I kicked his ass?"

"I haven't a clue."

"Because he's always coming to my house to fuck my mother. I'm tired of hearing him grunt and groan in the next bedroom. Get what I'm saying?"

He nodded. "Loud and clear." There was an uncomfortable pause. "Look, kid, I understand completely. And the last thing I want to be is some kind of a pig who can't control himself sexually. But sometimes I just can't help it. You've got my word that it won't happen again. I promise."

I took a drag from my cig and blew the smoke in his direction. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Then I turned around and started walking to my dermatologist's office. It was only a three-mile jaunt. I wanted to confront him about the medication he had been feeding me. I had a case of volcanic acne, but he kept prescribing antibiotics for my condition. The pills simply weren't working, and I was beginning to get the idea that Dr. Pimple was using me as a cash register. It was time to bring out the heavy artillery. Accutane. It was the only solution that worked for acne like mine.

I had walked a mile when a truck pulled over to the side of the road in front of me. The driver was a middle-aged man.

He said, "Where are you going?"

I pointed north with my index finger. "Two miles in that direction."

"Hop in, and I'll give you a ride."

I figured what the fuck? He looked like a mild-mannered citizen. Plus the music emanating from his pick-up was soothing. The radio was playing a song called Desperado. Wanda would often sing it when she was high on fentanyl.

As he drove down the road, he started making conversation. "Are you off to visit someone?"

"No. I'm going to see my doctor."

"Nothing serious I hope."

"It's a non-life-threatening condition."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Why didn't your parents drive you? Are you an orphan?"