THUGLIT Issue Two by Justin Porter, Buster Willoughby, Katherine Tomlinson, Mike MacLean, Patrick J. Lambe, Mark E. Fitch, Nik Korpon, Jen Conley Read Free Book Online Page B

was trying to work it over on me as well. That pretty much sealed it for him. I hated bullies.
    The husband had a young guy with him too. He looked like he had been landscaping all day and I could see the tan lines on his arms. He stood at Gilbert’s side and stared me down the whole time. Maybe he thought I would be scared of him, as if my job didn’t somehow entail being threatened almost every day.
    I had talked my way into this job. I had no formal education in psychology other than listening to losers weep into the draught beers in a dark bar at two in the afternoon. No matter, they needed some excuse to get some balls on the floor. Truth is, it’s a great gig. It gives you access to all sorts of information—names, dates, birthdays, addresses, doctors names, prescription information—all of it at my fin gertips. It was a beautiful set- up. The patient would come in, crazy as fuck, get on a medication cocktail (which these day almost always included some kind of pain killer or Xanax) and he or she would be discharged with full prescription bottles. A couple days later, I visit their shitty little apartment or house, easily break in, snag the meds and sell them on the street for fifty bucks a tab. Maybe the patient realizes they’ve been robbed, or maybe they’re so far gone they don’t. Even if they call the police, they get the brush- off because the police know they’re unstable and they’re just sent right back to my hospital for more screening and more drugs. I wasn’t entirely heartless though; I wouldn’t hit the same people every time. There was no need to. There was plenty of crazy to go around and each med bottle was money in my pocket.
    But what piqued my curiosity about Matthew—aside from his asshole husband—was that he was private pay. Private pay meant no Medicaid or Medicare or insurance. That meant money. Not like every other worthless schmuck who came through the hospital these days. This was the golden egg.
    So, for once in my life, I took an interest in my patient. I talked to Matthew and pretended to be a caring and interested Psychiatric Technician. I actually kind of liked the guy. He’d been through a lot but didn’t have the strength or wherewithal to handle it. His dad molested him as a kid, so no wonder he was depressed. His friend Mindy had died—who was one of his sole refuges from Gilbert’s anger—and now he was left playing mother in this strange, piecemeal family. His husband played father and the young landscaper, Danny, played son. They all dallied and fucked about, but still tried to keep some semblance of family. Sad, but it happens everyday in all sorts of families. His husband was who I was after, or rather, whatever it was that he had in that house.
    They actually lived in the far Northwestern part of the state, an area I had been to once and felt no desire to return to. It was nothing but dense forest and a long, long drive,but it might be worth it. According to Matthew, old Gilbert owned a substantial piece of land that was leased by both a water company and an electric company. There was a water tower on the property that supplied the local town with drinking water and they pretty much had the run of the local scene. A quick Google search told me that this was a small, rural town with only one State Trooper for law enforcement. Beautiful. The worst situation imaginable, the poor guy still has to wait on Troopers from other towns to show up. Might as well wait for the National Guard.
    Anyway, I’m sure my studied counsel cured Matthew of his chronic depression, but just to make sure I doctored the notes on the guy to make it look like he was running smooth and perfectly sane and safe to be discharged. The doctor couldn't care less.
    I shook Matthew’s hand and gave him the sincerest smile I cou ld, lots of encouragement and “B e sure to take your medication and pick up your other prescriptions as soon as you leave.”
    “I will,” he said, almost giving me