“You better get the fuck outta my town, Doctor. Because if I catch you within five miles of a school yard I’ll bring you to room temperature before you can say hard-on!”
He gives me a long look.
“Got it, officer. Sorry.”
He shakes his head in disgust and leaves.
I wait five minutes until I’m sure he’s gone, then look around for the keys, give up, then head up the hill to find Zander.
“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.
36
As you may have guessed, Zander is nowhere to be found.
I try to call her, but get a recorded voice message.
“Zander!” I say. “Please call me back! I don’t blame you for leaving, and I’m not upset about the money. I just need my car keys.”
I take my life in my hands by approaching a parked car. “Please don’t shoot!” I say, loudly. “I need some help. A young lady’s gone missing.”
I see a flash of hairy ass and then a guy rolls down the front window and says, “How young?”
“Early twenties.”
“Fuck off!”
I go back to the car, call Zander again, get no response.
I face the fact I’ve been robbed.
It’s okay. I’ve still got my wallet. I’ve also got another fifteen grand in my medical bag.
I play it in my mind. When she pulled my pants down and rummaged around in her handbag she wasn’t looking for a condom. She’d already emptied my pockets. She was stuffing my cash in her bag.
Why did she take the wine with her?
Who knows? Fingerprints? DNA? Maybe she really likes the wine.
Where did she go?
I think about it.
She probably had it planned in advance with whoever dropped her off at the junk yard. Maybe Chris, from the bowling alley.
Or her real boyfriend.
I sigh.
She left me my wallet. All things considered, that was damn nice of her. She certainly didn’t have to do that.
So why did she take my keys?
I think about it a few minutes and come up with this: she had to walk up the hill carrying the handbag. Probably thought I might turn around on my way to pee. If so, I would’ve seen her. Maybe she was afraid I’d drive up the hill to save her the walk. And maybe I’d catch her climbing into her boyfriend’s car, or Chris’s truck.
Then I start thinking about the policeman.
It dawns on me he just showed up.
He didn’t drive up in a police car, he just walked down the hill and chewed me out. Then he walked back up the hill.
Did he visit any of the other cars?
No.
So either Zander ran into him on the hill and told him I was jerking off in the car…
Or he’s the boyfriend.
I think he’s the boyfriend.
Because if he really thought I was a pervert, wouldn’t he have arrested me?
I get a sudden sinking feeling, remembering how long he had my wallet when I was leaning against the car with my back to him.
He probably copied all my information in a notebook.
Name. Address. Driver’s License. Credit cards, including the security codes.
Shit!
Since he didn’t take me in, and didn’t have a cop car, he’s probably not even a cop.
I call the rental car agency in Nashville and report stolen keys.
It takes ten minutes to convince them the car is safely in my possession.
“Why didn’t you say so?” the lady says. “We’re hooked up to satellite. We can start your car for you. When you get where you’re going, call us back and we’ll turn it off and lock it. When you’re ready to go again, call us and we’ll unlock it and start it up for you again.”
I’m amazed, but it seems like a lot of trouble to go through.
“Is there an easier way?”
“You could download the key app and do it yourself from your cell phone.”
“Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“The key app costs ninety-nine cents.”
I shake my head. Like I’d spend a hundred-fifty a day to rent the car, but wouldn’t spend another buck to make it work. “I’ll spring for it,” I say. “How do I find the app?”
“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.
37
The phone app to start the car is amazing. The sort of thing I wish I’d invented. When you bring it up it looks exactly like the remote control that was built into the key. There are four buttons. The top one locks the car. Bottom left unlocks it. Bottom right unlocks the trunk. Center button starts or shuts off the engine. I press the center button, and the engine starts. Like I say, amazing. I put the car in gear and make my way up the riverbank. When I get to the top, I park while deciding what to do next.
I think about driving to Zander’s house, but realize I don’t know her address. I consider filing a police report, but apart from a wounded ego and the loss of what to me is a small amount of cash, it would be a complete hassle.
There are two women still in the mix: Trudy, who probably doesn’t want me now that she’s independently wealthy, and Renee Williams, the thirty-year-old kindergarten teacher whose husband ran off with her best friend. Renee being my sure thing.
Given the choice, I’d take Trudy over Renee in a heartbeat. Except that I’m ninety minutes from Starbucks, where Trudy lies in a hospital bed, currently unable to have sex.
I call Renee.
“Hello?”
“Hi Renee, It’s Gideon Box, from Manhattan.”
“Kansas?”
“New York City.”
“Gideon Box?”
“The doctor. We met on the dating site?”
She pauses a beat.
“Omigod!” she squeals. “I’m so sorry! You’re Dr. Box! Yes, absolutely! Hi! How are you?”
“I’m great.”
“What’s up, Doc?” she says, then laughs hysterically.
