The Ten-Ounce Siesta

Lynch. My, but she knew how to make a pumpkin look good.

Harlot’s Hollow wasn’t the same since Tura quit. Dr. Newman was sure that he missed her more than any of her other former customers.

He really missed Tura. If only she’d stayed in Vegas. . anywhere. There were plenty of other lap dancers in town, but none of them equaled Tura Lynch. None of them had her confident take-no-prisoners attitude. And none of the other girls called the man with the Norman Rockwell manner “Dr. Gooddoggy.”

This was why Dr. Newman came to the office as soon as Tura called, even though the hour was late (or early, depending on your point of view). It didn’t matter that his exit from home required a ridiculous excuse invented for his wife’s benefit. That was a small price to pay. Infinitesimal. If Tura Lynch wanted to see him, he would cross the Sahara barefoot.

“On second thought, maybe I should keep Spike for a couple of days.” Dr. Newman tried to keep his voice calm and professional. “I could run some tests. Just to confirm my diagnosis, you understand.”

“Oh, Dr. Newman,” Lorelei teased in a throaty little-girl voice. “You’re not just looking for an excuse to see my sister again, are you?”

“Well.” The vet loosened his bow tie. “The fact is-”

Tura slipped off her leather coat in one smooth move. “The fact is that I’d like to pay my bill in full, and right now.” Her slim fingers traveled long leather strips that clung to her voluptuous body like a black highway with dangerous curves. “Sit, Dr. Gooddoggy.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice.

“Good boy.” Tura snapped her fingers. “Music, maestro.”

Lorelei cued their boom box. Framed diplomas, veterinary science certificates, and autographed photos of celebrity clients swayed on Dr. Newman’s wall to the ear-splitting beat of Generation X’s “Dancing with Myself.”

Tura slithered forward and straddled Dr. Gooddoggy like a hungry jaguar, her thighs brushing his. Her brown skin glowed, and, oh. . her milky white scars did too. Tura had explained that the scars resulted from rattlesnake bites. Dr. Gooddoggy didn’t know if she was lying, but. . oh, he liked the idea that she might be telling the truth.

The music pulsed. Doctor Gooddoggy could feel it in his blood. His heart throbbed to the drumbeat. Suddenly the office was very hot-

Tura’s exhalations fogged one side of his glasses. His perspiration fogged the other.

Tura removed the glasses and tossed them away. “Are you ready to dance. Dr. Gooddoggy?”

Dr. Gooddoggy didn’t say a word.

He sat up and begged.

Tura howled and pulled Dr. Gooddoggy’s head between her breasts.

Then she started to move.

Tura stroked the doctor’s angelic white hair. “You’re a good little doctor, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m very good.” Dr. Gooddoggy. . er, Dr. Frank Newman, said.

He straightened his bow tie and cleaned his glasses. Lorelei collected the boom box and the Chihuahua while Tura dressed.

“Well, it’s been fun. Doc,” Tura said. “But that old highway’s a callin’.”

Dr. Newman couldn’t surrender so easily. He had to give it one more try. “I really think I should run those tests, Tura. If you’ll just leave your phone number-”

“No way, Doc. Like I said, we’ll call you if the medicine doesn’t work.”

The doctor trailed Tura and Lorelei through the office door. Black go-go boots beat a hard rhythm on the tiled floor as the Lynch sisters walked down the corridor. In a moment they’d be gone. Dr. Newman couldn’t allow that to happen. He might never see Tura again.

The sisters passed the door to the operating theater. In a few moments they’d be in the lobby. Dr. Newman hurried after them. Once again, Tura was walking out of his life. Maybe forever this time-her lithe leg muscles dancing with every step she took, bone-colored snakebite scars glowing ethereally on her chestnut thighs. .

“Wait a minute, girls.” Dr. Newman opened the operating theater door. “I’ve got a patient in here that you really must see.”

Tura paused. “Sorry, Doc. We don’t have time.”

“I think you’ll have time for this, my dear.” Dr. Newman squinted, staring at the Lynch sisters through lenses as heavy as hockey pucks.

A playful grin crossed the veterinarian’s lips. “I know you girls like snakes. . but have you ever seen a dragon?”

Jack said, “Angel, how about you just leave the tape deck alone?”

“Jesus,” she said. “I can’t believe the stuff you listen to. Dean Martin, Louis Prima, Frankie Laine. Anybody ever tell you that the twenty-first century is right around the corner, Jack?”

“C’mon. . we’re almost there-”

“Yeah? Let me see that address. . This doesn’t look like the right neighborhood.”

“It is. Newman’s office is around here somewhere. It has to be.”

Angel laughed. “Don’t tell me. You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“No,” Jack said. “I’m not lost. It’s around here somewhere. If you just give me a couple minutes-”

“You’re fuckin’ lost. I can’t believe it.”

“I am not lost.”

“There’s a gas station. Why don’t you pull over and ask.”

“Angel-”

“Jesus, Jack. I can’t fuckin’ believe you. You’re such a fuckin’ guy. Just pull over and fuckin’ ask.”

“Wait a minute. There it is. That office building over there.”

Angel thumbed the safety on her.45. “I hope you shoot better than you drive, Jack.”

“Don’t you worry about it.”

“No-you worry about it. Because if you shoot my dog by accident, I’ll forget all about what a good listener and all-around nice guy you are.”

“You’d shoot me.” Jack was incredulous. “After all I’ve done, you’d blow me away.”

“Yeah. Especially after all you’ve done.”

Jack parked the Celica. “You ready?”

Angel looked at him. Really looked at him. Dead in the eye. “This might be a trap, you know.”

“I know.” Jack stepped out of the car. “That’s why I’ll go through the door first.”

Dr. Gooddoggy was pleased; Tura was excited.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A Komodo dragon,” Dr. Newman explained, “the world’s largest lizard.”

“What’s its name?”

Dr. Newman chuckled. “Bruce.”

Tura stared into the steel cage. Dr. Newman placed a hand on her shoulder, rather instructively, and was delighted to discover that she was trembling with excitement.

The reason was obvious. Bruce was an amazing specimen-two hundred and twenty pounds of carnivorous reptile. With thick skin the color of bloodstained concrete and hard black eyes that gleamed with cold reptilian intelligence, the huge monitor lizard would send a shiver up anyone’s spine.

Bruce turned in the cage, razor-sharp claws clicking against the metal floor. The lizard looked at Tura for a long moment, pale yellow tongue flicking in and out of its mouth.

“Is he dangerous?” Tura asked.

“Very,” Dr. Newman said. “Just look at those claws. And his teeth are razor-sharp.”

“What does he eat?”