Dr. Slick: A Killer Comedy

by Dani Amore

  Tom is at his desk in his new office. It’s a huge space with big windows and an enormous desk. Tom looks again at Rocky’s business card and the phone number. He punches the number into his cell.

  “Rocky. How’s lunch sound? I’m buying.”

  Two hours later, Tom is seated at a swanky Italian restaurant. Rocky, dressed impeccably, walks up and holds out his hand.

  “How’s the V.P.?” Rocky says, a wide grin on his face.

  Tom ignores the offered hand.

  “How’d you know I was made a V.P.?” Tom asks.

  “The receptionist told me when I called your office. Why?”

  “Sit down, Rocky.”

  Rocky sits down and looks at Tom.

  “Something’s amiss in Goddardville,” Rocky says as he signals to the server.

  “Let me lay it out for you, Rock. My boss has mysteriously disappeared. One of my competitors at work was fired for watching porn on his work computer. Another competitor quit after she got a book contract which turned out to be phony. And now my daughter got the Tinkerbell part in her school play because her competitor’s dog was kidnapped.” Tom’s face has flushed and his voice is getting louder. “What’s going on Rocky?”

  Rocky calmly accepts a glass of white wine from the server. “Sounds like things are going your way at last.”

  “No,” Tom says. “Things are really, really going my way. It’s like miracle after miracle. No one gets that lucky.”

  “You’re starting to drink at the well of success, Tommy boy,” Rocky says. “For some, it’s an acquired taste.”

  “I’m going to ask you this only once. And I want the truth.” Tom takes a deep breath. “Are you behind all this? Are you ruining people’s lives to help me get ahead?”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then you’re going to jail.”

  Rocky laughs.

  “How come your office is suddenly empty? Up for lease?” Tom asks.

  “I need bigger quarters. I’m expanding.”

  “How come my friend Dylan says he never logged onto any porn websites? He’s got no reason to lie to me now.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “Why? He’s already lost his job! Why would he lie?”

  “There are some things people just can’t admit to themselves - let alone to their friends.”

  “And Kelly’s book offer?”

  “Must’ve been a prank. Or maybe she made the wrong person an enemy.”

  “She said it was a well thought out prank. The joker knew the name of her novel, knew the publishers she’d sent it to. They knew everything. Who would go to such great lengths to convince her to quit her job?”

  “Maybe she was too greedy. Someone pulled a prank and she wanted to believe it. They were supplying her with exactly what she wanted.”

  Tom is stunned. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  Rocky doesn’t say anything.

  “You’re fired. I don’t want to work with you. I don’t want to see you again. I’m going to the police.”

  Tom gets up to go but Rocky grabs him by the collar and shoves him back into the seat. A few other diners look over.

  “You’re not going anywhere, motherfucker.”

  Tom goes pale at the change in Rocky’s personality.

  “I spent all this time getting you to where you are. You’ve got everything. You’re a v.p. at the agency, your campaign’s going through, Lisa’s got the Tinkerbell part and sex with your wife has never been better!“

  “Goddamnit! How–“

  “The question you should be asking isn’t how did I do it, but what I could do to you if you...say...tell someone about it.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Is that a stupid question?”

  Tom ponders that for a moment.

  “Fuck you,” he says.

  Rocky stands.

  “One thing you’ll find, Tom. It’s lonely at the top.”

  He leaves.

  Tom watches him go, sitting there. He pays the bill, then rushes outside just in time to see Rocky in his car, leave the parking lot.

  Tom races to his car, jumps in, and follows. He follows Rocky in and out of traffic, staying a few cars behind most of the time. Rocky goes to downtown Chicago, into a seedier section.

  Tom follows dutifully.

  Rocky pulls over in front of a crumbling apartment building. The sidewalk in front is littered with garbage and parks his car.

  Tom pulls over and watches as Rocky gets out of the car and goes inside.

  He continues past Rocky’s building, then circles back, parks, and enters the vacant building across from Rocky’s.

  Rats scatter at his feet. He climbs, keeping an eye on the building across the street through the windows. Finally, he gets to the same level as the solitary light that must be Rocky’s apartment. He goes to the window and looks across the street into Rocky’s apartment. Tom squints and sees that Rocky’s apartment is a shithole. Crap everywhere. Gone is the suit, Rocky’s in a wife-beater shirt eating food out of a can.

  Tom stares, then whispers to himself.

  “He’s a...loser.”

  Forty-Six

  Tom paces around his office.

  “Goddamnit!” he shouts. Tom had just received an email from Jack saying that Morgan Wolcott was under arrest for possible sex crimes.

  Tom looks out the window. His phone is ringing but he doesn’t pick it up. Finally, he goes back to his desk and his gaze settles on a picture of his family.

  He picks up his cell and punches in a number.

  “Chicago Police department? I’d like to speak to the detectives in charge of the Morgan Wolcott case.”

  Tom looks around his office while he’s on hold. He picks up the picture of Lisa and Michelle, smiles at it.

  “Yes. My name is Tom Goddard and I believe Morgan Wolcott was framed by a man named Rocky Sutton.”

  “Okay, just start from the beginning,” the cop says with a southern drawl.

  “He’s nuts, Officer,” Tom says. “He’s supposedly a success coach but I think he’s a con artist.”

  Tom explains the details as best he can.

  “Okay, sir,” the cop says. “I’m going to arrange to have you come in and give a statement. And sir, don’t bring your lawyer, okay?”

  Tom agrees and disconnects the call.

  He puts his hands to his face and slumps forward on his desk.

  “Oh, sweet Christ.”

  Forty-Seven

  Rocky, sitting on his couch in his grungy apartment, takes off the headset and says in a southern drawl, “No problem, sir, as an officer of the law I am here for you.”

  He tosses the headset onto the coffee table and looks at his laptop screen, where he sees Tom in his office, shot from a surveillance camera Rocky secretly installed.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? After all I’ve done for you!”

  Rocky slams the laptop shut.

  Forty-Eight

  Tom and his family are eating dinner at the kitchen table.

  “Now, you are not leaving the table until you eat your broccoli, young lady,” Michelle says to Lisa.

  The doorbell rings. Tom gets up and answers the door.

  A man and a woman are standing on the step, looking intensely at Tom. He recognizes them from Lisa’s school. They are the parents of Molly.

  “What is it? What do you know?” the woman says, without preamble.

  Michelle comes out from the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Michelle says.

  Tom looks at Mrs. Fisher, “Yeah, what is going on?” he says.

  “Someone called and said you had information about Java. About the kidnappers.”

  Tom feels an inkling of dread. “I don’t know anything about that,” Tom says.

  Molly steps through the door. There are tears in her eyes.

  “Please, Mr. Goddard. Please if you know anything...”

  Suddenly, from the basement comes a large wo
of.

  Tom and Michelle look at each other with shock in their eyes.

  “What the hell was that?” Michelle says.

  Molly Fisher dashes into the house, and runs down the basement stairs. The sound of more barking and a girl squealing with happiness reaches the adults still standing at the front door.

  The parents move as a group and go down to the basement. Lisa is standing by a half-door in the basement.

  “Oh, there’s nothing in there,” Tom says. “It’s too damp, we closed it off-“

  From behind the door a big dog barks.

  Mr. Fisher grabs Tom by the shirt front and jacks him up against the wall.

  “Listen, you sicko,” Mr. Fisher says.

  “Hey!” Michelle says, trying to wedge herself between Tom and the bigger man.

  “Shut up, Michelle,” Mrs. Fisher says.

  “...open the gosh darn door!” her husband says.

  “We’re coming Java!” Molly shouts.

  Tom pushes Mr. Fisher away and keys the lock. The door swings open and Java jumps out, happily licking his family.

  Inside the room, a bed has been made up for a dog. There are also blankets, bowls, lots of dog crap and piss, and a typewriter with sheets of paper next to it -the same kind used for the ransom note Molly found.

  “What the hell?” Tom says just as Mr. Fisher punches him in the back of the head. Tom drops to the floor.

  Michelle screams.

  Mrs. Fisher gets in Michelle’s face. “And don’t think we don’t know why! So your daughter could play Tinkerbell! That’s so psychotic!”

  “That’s crazy! We had nothing to do with this!” She kneels down next to Tom.

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” Mr. Fisher says, as the three of them leave the basement. They pass Lisa who is standing on the stairs watching, a look of sheer horror on her face. She starts to cry.

  Michelle looks helpless, then the confusion turns to anger and she looks down at Tom.

  “What have you done?”

  Tom groans.

  Forty-Nine

  Tom arrives at his office holding a small icepack to the back of his head.

  He passes his secretary and is about to step into his office when she speaks to him.

  “Mr. Straun wants to see you.”

  Tom stops. “Now?”

  “Right now,” she says.

  “No cup of coffee first?”

  His secretary shakes her head.

  Tom looks for a moment at his office, then turns around and heads back toward the elevator. He goes up one floor to Conrad Straun’s office. Straun is sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, contemplating Tom.

  Tom becomes extremely uncomfortable.

  The pauses lingers.

  Finally, Straun speaks.

  “I’m conflicted,” Straun says.

  Tom waits.

  “Torn.”

  “Regarding?”

  “You.”

  Straun sighs. “On the one hand, I can’t help but admire it all. The depth of planning. The eye for detail. The sheer...balls...of the whole thing. Amazing!”

  “You mean, the idea for Dr. Slick?” Tom asks.

  Straun shakes his head.

  “No, no, no. Ideas like that, good as it was, are a dime a dozen. I’m talking about all the bullshit you pulled to get that corner office.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Tom says, but he has a pretty bad feeling that he knows exactly what’s coming.

  “Ha! You can’t fool me. You played the part of the innocent, naive, hard working drone to the hilt. But you can’t pull it off now! What do you think I’m a total fucking idiot?”

  Straun holds out surveillance photos of Tom re-doing the wiring around the office.

  “That’s you putting wiretaps on everyone’s phones in the building.”

  “No–“

  Straun holds out more paper.

  “These are phone records. The call Kelly got from the fake publisher? The one that made her quit her job and made a straight shot for you to move up? Traced to your cell phone.”

  “This is all wrong,” Tom says.

  Straun punches a button on his phone.

  “I got this message from our IT guy this morning.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Straun. I did what you asked and you were right - the pornography on Dylan Sharpe’s computer was sent directly from the office next to his. Tom Goddard’s office. It looked like someone, Goddard, I assume, had overridden Dylan’s computer and had the stuff streaming right on to Dylan’s hard drive. Pretty ingenious actually. Wouldn’t have figured it out if you hadn’t told me where to look.”

  Jack hits another button and the message ends.

  Tom doesn’t know where to begin, so he sits there, dumbfounded and silent.

  “So like I said, I’m conflicted,” Straun continues. “A part of me is impressed. Another part of me is pretty disgusted. I mean I’m all for breaking the rules - but you broke all the rules. Too many for my tastes. You can’t be trusted. So you’re fired. Get out. Immediately.”

  A security guard opens the door.

  “Come with me, sir,” he says.

  Tom stands to leave.

  “But I didn’t do it! I was set up!” Tom finally manages to say.

  Straun points to the door. “Out!”

  Fifty

  The security guard leads Tom out of the elevator into the building’s lobby.

  A woman jumps out and before Tom can react, Kelly slaps him across the face.

  “You asshole!”

  She slaps him again.

  “How could you?”

  “Kelly, stop, I didn’t–“

  Suddenly, Morgan Wolcott appears behind Kelly. He is dirty and what’s left of his clothes are hanging on him as if they were put on by someone else. His face is slack and his eyes glazed over. He is in total shock. He just looks at Tom, uncomprehending.

  “Whipple...Whipple...don’t squeeze...stop squeezing...”

  There is silence as everyone tries to understand what Morgan is saying, but then Dylan walks into the group and passes Morgan.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” Dylan says to Wolcott and then he sucker punches Tom. Tom falls to the floor, unable to breathe.

  Dylan turns to Kelly. “Sorry, but you hit like a girl.”

  The security guard steps in and helps Tom to his feet.

  “That’s enough! Let this man leave,” the guard says.

  “Yeah, get that trash out of here,” Kelly says.

  Tom can barely stand as the guard helps him to the door. He looks back. Kelly and Dylan are all looking at him with obvious disgust and hatred.

  The guard pushes Tom out the door and shuts the door behind him. Tom is dizzy and feels sick. He walks to his car, feeling like he is completely detached from his body.

  He fumbles with his keys and they drop onto the pavement. He bends down to pick them up and feels a knee driven into his back.

  A man pulls Tom’s arms behind him and slaps a set of cuffs on him. Tom sees that the man is Chicago cop.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  “For what?” Tom gasps.

  “I haven’t got time to list them all, ass clown. Fraud. Illegal wiretaps. Invasion of privacy. Conspiracy.”

  Tom can’t help it. He starts crying like a baby.

  “Yeah,” the cop says. “Party’s over, big man.”

  Fifty-One

  Still handcuffed, Tom is slumped at a table in a police interrogation room. There is one light, the table, two chairs, and a mirror.

  The cop who arrested Tom is leaning against the wall, smoking.

  “My life is over,” Tom says.

  The cop exhales a cloud of smoke then pushes off from the wall and sits down across from Tom.

  “Listen, you’re definitely lookin’ at some time away. Fraud and conspiracy.

  “How long? And where’s my lawyer?”

  “A few years and who the fuck knows?”


  “No.”

  Tom sits there while the cop fires up another smoke.

  “So tell me about Rocky Sutton,” the cop says.

  “I already told you. He’s fucking nuts! He’s a success coach I hired-“

  “Why’d you hire him?”

  “Because I felt like I needed help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I needed an objective third party.”

  “Sounds like bullshit psychobabble,” the cop says.

  “All right! Christ! I’m not a confident guy! I needed someone smarter and stronger and more assertive to help me.”

  “So you hired this whacko.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know he was a whacko.”

  “Well, I’ve heard of him,” the cop says, but doesn’t elaborate. “Wait here, I got an idea.”

  Tom slumps over on the table.

  Fifty-Two

  Tom is standing with his shirt off and a microphone with wire and recorder is duct taped to his chest. The cop is giving him instructions as Tom puts his shirt on.

  “You just have to get him to admit anything at all and we got him. Even if he admits to planting the bugs in your office, or even just taking the damn dog.”

  “Oh, boy,” Tom says. He is nearly shaking with anxiety.

  “Are you up to this?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom admits.

  “You’re looking at jail if you can’t pin this on Sutton. You realize that, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You can do it. It’s time you started believing in yourself, anyway, for God’s sake. Who the hell needs a success coach anyway? Just do what you gotta do.”

  “You’re probably right,” Tom says.

  “That’s the problem today. Too many people look to someone else to solve their problems when all they really need to do is dig down deep and do it themselves.”

  “Right,” Tom says. “Dig down deep.”

  “Be strong. Be confident. And nail this fucker,” the cop says.

  “Nail him,” Tom says, without much confidence.

  Fifty-Three