Burdened by Dentistry

I’m called Alexander, and before you ask, no, I’m not a local. Living around here, though, you pick things up. This is a story like so many others, a story of a good dentist, a wounded mule, and a brilliant gangster. It all started a few moons past, when I established my practice in Midcity. I needed a place to hang my hat during the days, a reason for remaining inside. It wasn’t like I could travel easily. I was stuck in the city. And, being stuck in the city, I wasn’t going to continue living near the college. It’d given me so much already, but it took everything from me. And that was a transgression I could never forgive.

Why I chose Midcity has a simple answer travelling hand in hand with a complicated story. The answer is the speakeasies in that part of town were the best and freest for my tastes. One even catered quite specifically to my wants and needs, which is always a good thing, though I no longer visit that shop. The story, well, that’s a tale for another time. This particular story begins a tad later, when an old acquaintance came by. They were a rival of someone I disliked, and on the singular adventure I had with them, we got along fine. They were also not what they seemed, but once again, not this story.

Wallace approached me as I was setting up my windows one evening. “Dr. Dumaine,” he said in his quiet but forceful voice, a voice that could shake someone to their core, “I see you’re settling down here in le Bayou Saint-Jean. We are glad to have you.”

Wallace never visited anyone without reason. “Why are you here?” I asked, outright. It was a fifty-fifty chance, but based on how he was holding himself before me, I figured he would appreciate my blunt forthright question.

He did. “Our good Doctor Iversen has learned of our nature, and,” he began, then paused for just too long, as though he was trying to be polite but couldn’t find the ideal words, “left our employ. Less than favorably.”

“I knew those permits came too easily,” I replied with a half sigh, “So, what would I need to do for you?”

“As you know, I employ those of more vulnerable persuasion, as well as those of hearty stock. And, at times, my enemies strike at my businesses. If those more vulnerable happen to get caught in the crossfire, they will need help.” His smile was telling. This wasn’t going to be a request. “I would much appreciate it if you could provide that help.”

I nodded, and with that nod, several moons ago, I became an underworld doctor for old acquaintances. By day, I was a dentist, helping the more well off of this city maintain good tooth health. By night, the back door was open, and the clinic was open.

Whenever I got a message, no matter what I was doing, I headed back to my clinic to sober up and treat whatever grievous injury was coming my way. That was when I met Camille. And Camille. The banes of my existence, for two very different reasons. I was at the Gilded Cock, because the further I was from Wallace’s power, the better. While I was relaxing, drinking a dry martini, and flirting with a nice woman with more money than sense, a beauty approached me. I knew the woman, she was the singer for one of the bands there. She was also Wallace’s family. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said, sweetly to the nice rich woman.

“Yes?” the woman replied.

“Would you mind if I cut in to speak with the nice doctor?” her voice was kind, yet imposing. That whole family knew how to speak softly and sound like they were planning a murder.

The rich woman looked down a moment, a mix of sadness and disappointment. “I suppose,” she sighed out.

I laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I told her, a sorrowful smile on my face, “I’m certain we’ll meet again.” Then, as she walked away, I turned to face the spy who just ruined my night. I asked, exasperated, “Who is it now?”

“I don’t know,” Margritte answered honestly, “His right hand is meeting you there with the details.”

I lay some cash on the bar for the bartender, and head out through the flower shop’s back door. A car was waiting for me, as per usual, and in no time I was entering my office’s basement. The clinic had my two patients in recovery in one corner, two larger and intimidating men, both had come in with slight bone-sticking-out problems just under a week ago. Now, they needed their rest. The intake area was far emptier than I was expecting. A young blonde girl, no older than four or five, dressed in an outfit that was worthless before it was covered in blood. Next to her was an older woman, closer to thirty by my best estimation. In any other case, I’d assume she was the right hand, but with Wallace, one can never be certain. “What happened?” I asked the both of them.

The girl started to speak, but the woman cut her off. “Sent out a small group, collection from the northern docks. Supposed to be an easy job, so we didn’t have any big guns with them. She’s the only survivor.”

“And you are?” I asked her.

“Camille Paquet,” she replied, “Your boss, while the boss is busy with actually important stuff.”

“Well, tell them to stop having their business ruin my nights,” I shot back at her as I stepped up to the bed that the young girl is sitting atop. “And your name is?” I asked the child.

“Cee.” There was a quiet forcefulness in her voice. It was clear that, even though she wasn’t a part of Wallace’s family, she belonged around here.

“Well, Cee,” I said, “I’m Doctor Dumaine, but you can call me Alex. Do you mind if I examine you? I want to know where all this blood is coming from.”

“Okay, Alex. Most of the bullets missed me, though,” she said.

Camille walked over to my patients in recovery and, as I was checking Cee for wounds, they began to leave. “What are you two doing?” I demanded, pausing my examination momentarily.

“Leaving,” the redhead said.

The bald one gestured towards the woman. “Boss lady says we got to go. Something about private information.”

I glared and shook my head at Camille, but I couldn't contradict her. “Just, make sure you’re giving yourselves rest. No fighting for another week. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” they both said, slightly disappointed. They proceeded to leave the clinic.

I smile at the child. “As far as I can tell, you didn’t actually get hit. That said, your leg is broken, as well as some ribs. Did one of your fellow runners land on you, perhaps?”

She nodded. Camille approached the bed to tell me something. Before she could start, I said, “Could you grab me those splint kits from the cabinet over there?”

“Why me?” she said back to me, feeling prideful, “You realize I’m your boss.”

I nodded to her. “Yeah, and I wouldn’t ask you, except you sent away the guys I would’ve asked. So…” I trailed off expectantly.

I watched her as she walked across the room to the cabinet, then as she grabbed the stuff, I quickly looked away. “So, this is going to hurt a bit, Cee, but it’s to heal you. I’m going to be resetting your leg.” Reaching to the side table, I handed her a leather strap. “Now, I want you to bite down on this with all your might, every ounce of it. Then, on the count of five, I’m going to push your leg bones back into the right place. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, uncertain. Camille made it back to the bed with the splint and medical tape. Taking the leather strap, Cee put it in her mouth and bit down.

I began the count. “One. Two. Three.” On three, I broke the leg again, putting it into the correct position for healing. Cee wince, momentarily biting harder.

Spitting out the leather as I began wrapping cloth tightly around the splint pieces and the leg, Cee shot at me, “The heck was that? I thought we agreed on five.”

I nodded. “We did. But, it hurts less if it’s a surprise. Or more specifically, it hurts for less time. Or something like that.”

She sighed, calming some. “Okay.”

Camille decided now was the ideal time to speak up. “Cee,” she asked, “Did you see who did this to you?”

“Clear as day,” she said, “Why?”

“Did they find it?”

Cee looked offended at the very concept. “Paul had it, but I managed to pick his pocket and hide it on the sewer cover when they started shooting, before Ike fell on me. They were looking for it, though.”

“Is it secure? Did they see you survive?” Camille continued questioning.

“I got it. And yeah,” she said, “They definitely did.”

“Which means if they confirm it was with your group, they’re coming after you,” Camille stated. Then, she turned to me. “I have a new job for you,” she said in that soft voice their family uses when it isn’t an offer you say no to.

I sigh. “I mean, I can keep her down here, but if they know anything about your people…” I began.

Camille shook her head. “I’m thinking more along the lines of you taking a week off from the business. Everyone who’s anyone knows about your basement.”

“I’m not going back there,” I stated.

She leaned across the table and whispered in my ear, “You are, dear, or you’re going to be heading that way more permanently.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, but I relented. “Alright, Cee. Seems like you and me are going to be spending some time together.”

“What were you two talking about?” Cee asked.

“Well, I basically live here now. Spend my days and nights here,” I answer her honestly, “But if we want to go somewhere you won’t be found, that means we’re headed back to my house.”

“You have a house?” Cee marveled, “How rich are you?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing like that. It’s a tiny place from my college years.” I walked over to the wheeled chair and rolled it over to beside the bed. “With your help for the stairs, Camille, we’ll disappear before sunrise.” I helped Cee into the wheeled chair, and left a message on my assistant's desk, explaining that my uncle died, and I was travelling to Des Moines for the funeral. My uncle’s been dead for years, but as I don’t talk about it, no one in New Orleans knows that. My family would understand and go with the lie, assuming I was either shacking up with someone, or taking a vacation, or both. With that complete, I helped Cee into my car and with a halfhearted smile to Camille, I drove off.

Once we’d turned onto Canal, I turned my head to face Cee. “Well, I hope you like Jazz and don’t mind strange noises at all hours.”

Cee shrugged. “I work for Wallace. I’m used to it. Why?”

“Well, you know where there was a lot of cheap housing back in the day?” I asked her. It was a rhetorical question. She wasn’t alive when I bought the place. Probably. “Storyville.” I drive south, towards Tulane’s School of Dentistry. To where I’d spent the last four years of my life. All I hoped was that Louis didn’t notice that I was back.

Cee took a deep breath. “Storyville, here we come.” There wasn’t excitement or humor or even distaste in her voice. It was just a statement of fact for her.

Here we come indeed, I thought. Then, I realized the problem I’d been forgetting about. If I couldn’t go out and I had ignorant company inside, how the hell was I going to snack?