A Thumb For A Kiss

29 11 2008



Sean Ohara played with the plastic heart that sat on the desk of the doctor’s office. He bounced it off his forearms then his knees. Tried to imagine what Michael Jordan could do with it. Then leaned back and took a shot at the garbage can. Hit the rim. Michael wouldn’t have missed.

His brother, Pat Ohara, leaned against the door. Watched his brother. Oh, he’s in one of those moods today. Pat would have smiled. They were going to have fun today. But Pat seldom smiled. Unless he was angry. Or that mad rash on his ankles began to act up again. A rash he could not rid himself of. Maybe the doc can scare me up something for it.

The doctor looked up from his desk. He heard the heart rattle off the garbage can. Sean was picking it up off the ground. There was a strange look, a combination of peace and fear in the doctor’s face. Like someone who had come to terms with their crime and was now awaiting. Hopefully absolution. More likely retribution.

The doctor looked up. His favourite song was playing over the intercom.

Watch that, hear that, minor strain,
Ba doh, ba doh, ba da da doh dad doh!
There’s so many babies that he can squeeze,
And he’s always changin’ those keys.

The doctor felt like shaking his head. Snapping those fingers. If he’d been alone. But rhythm was unprofessional.

Pat Ohara cleared his throat. God, I hate that 30’s shit! Give me that good ol’ rock’n’roll.

The doctor looked at Pat.

“I thought you guys were exterminators,” he said. His cheeks began to flinch. To pop. To jive.

Sean threw the heart into the air and caught it like a baseball.

“We are,” Pat replied as he stepped over to the desk and sat on the edge. “But sometimes we work on the weekends. Side jobs. Gotta pay the bills jobs. This here. This is one of those jobs.”

“What do I have to do with extermination?” the doctor asked watching out of the side of his eye as Sean put the heart safely back on its pedestal.

“You like your job, doc?” Pat asked. He took a previously chewed wad of gum out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth.

The doctor smiled. He looked from one brother to the other.

“What’s this about?”

“You know Mrs. Newton?” Sean asked. “The good looking babe that’s married to that douche bag bank manager.”

The doctor nodded. “She’s a patient.”

Pat looked at Sean and smiled. “A patient? Is that what they call it?”

“Has something happened to her?” the doctor asked turning his head from one brother to the other. “What is it?”

“You see, it’s like this,” Sean said leaning over the desk. “Mr. Newton thinks that you’ve been wanking his wife. And having permitted my eyes to crawl over Mrs. Newton’s lovely curves, I can’t blame you. But then I’m not a banker. And she’s not my wife.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the doctor said. “That’s unprofessional. Why would Mr. Newton think such a thing?”

Sean patted the doctor on the hand.

“Actually it’s true,” Pat said. “Mrs. Newton confessed. She made the mistake of telling Mr. Newton that you were better than him. Guy making as much money as a banker doesn’t want to be told that he’s got the shorts in the sack.”

The doctor’s mouth dropped.

Pat Ohara took a knife out of his pocket as Sean grabbed the doctor’s left hand and pinned it to the desk.

“Mr. Newton wants your thumb,” Sean explained.

“Why my thumb?” the doctor cried as he struggled to free himself.

Pat smiled. “It could be worse.”

“Ya.” Sean laughed. “We could take you whole friggin’ hand.”

“No,” the doctor cried, impressed with how strong Pat was. He was clearly smaller than the doctor and yet he was able to keep the doctor’s hand to the desk. “How am I going to work?”

“You may have trouble holding your soup spoon.” Pat smiled. “What’s our advice, brother?”

Sean grinned. “Switch hands.”

And then the knife came down. The doctor cried out. And the thumb went to the market.



2 responses

29 11 2008

Good visual.

7 06 2018
David Halliday

Reblogged this on iAMaBOOK.

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