3 whole hours of sleep. A rare treat for the doctor. His wife stirred at sun up, and so did he. He opened his eyes sharply and his mind began racing. He had a busy day. He sloughed on yesterday's suit and shouldered his satchel, running out the house before his family had a chance to pester him. A single piece of toast clenched between his teeth. 

He swerved his way to the clinic, settling himself quickly with a bump or two as he reached for the phone. The police report didn't take long. A cold draught crept in as he waited for the inspector. They had a succinct conversation on arrival, Joe was busy. The detective couldn't stay to take prints. He took notes of the details, including the painkillers Joe claimed were missing. Then the officer took off, in just as much of a hurry as Joe. After that he called his insurance. That was like pulling teeth. Then an old friend came in with one of her little girls, he cleaned the poor thing up and put some quick stitches in. Nothing too unusual. After he finished up with that affair he had another call patched through. 

An 'exotic'; his specialty. Not a voice he recognised. Requesting a home call. He frowned. Home calls were consistently the worst ones. And he charged exorbitant premiums for them. He told the oafish sounding man on the other side exactly that. The man responded by offering another half on top of the asked price. Good money, terrible sign. Joe would be a wreck of nerves. He'd have to search for some urgent muscle, someone to watch his back so he didn't end up with a caved in skull in some wretched thug's apartment. He scrawled down the address and said he'd be there when he got to it, probably a lot later in the day. He set down the receiver with a huff. 

Likely time for another fucking phonecall. But before he could figure out which number to dial he was blessed with ringing first. He didn't even have time to take his hand off the handset before picking it back up. As usual he waited for the other line to speak first. Just as well, the voice on the other side didn't wait. "Joe. It's Sean. We need to meet." He immediately recognised his cousin on the other side. "Aye, we do. Meet me on the corner by the warehouse?" Joe heard men chattering on the other side, "Right you are lad, see you in 40?" Sean was born across the pond, he still had the accent of their homeland. Unlike Joe. Joe confirmed and set the receiver down. 

He brushed off his lab coat and grabbed his shoulder bag, along with a large doctor's bag. He popped out the backdoor and set them both in his car, before dashing back into his office and unlocking a drawer. He took his lab coat and his suit jacket off. He hoisted an armpit holster on, and inspected his handgun. A pocket colt hammerless, he loaded two magazines with care, loaded the gun and set the spare in his pocket. He kept his concealed carry permit in his wallet. 

Finally the doctor exited his office, locking the back door and the main door. He flipped the sign with his name on it, indicating he was out. He passed the counter, Becca was on the phone. He scrawled her a note: "out of office. take care xx" and tossed it on her desk as she glanced up at him, phone clenched between her cheek and her shoulder and she wrote briskly in her thick binder. 

After a quick bump and a fresh scratch on the fender of his dinged up car, Joe pulled up to the corner outside the warehouse. Sean was standing there, and reached for the door to get in. Sean looked a lot like a younger Joe. He had a full head of hair, and no glasses. He was also bigger than Joe, which was impressive given Joe was already a large man. One might describe Sean as a brick-shithouse. 

As Joe crunched into gears and took off with a jerk, Sean grunted and wound the window down, poking an arm out and resting his hand on the roof. "Where we headed?" Joe glanced at him sidelong, Sean knew well enough what Joe's real business was. "House call. Need an 'assistant'. You're watching my back, make sure some scumbag isn't trying to rob me. Why'd you call, Sean?" Sean's accent was blurry and his words were half formed, "The lads back'ome got in touch withmae. They're ontha prowl for hardware. Got some big plans for the Galls." Joe smirked. "Aye, you might be in luck. Not sure about bulk though." He paused to brake suddenly and switched the car off outside a wretched looking townhouse. He nodded at Sean before exiting the car and retrieving the doctor's bag from the back seat. He had hidden his personal bag beneath one of the backseats. 

The front yard was full of unrecognisable refuse, with overgrown grass. Paint was peeling off of the once grand walls and the attic window had been smashed in and never repaired, just boarded up. "Y'sure this the place, Joe?" Joe nodded as he glanced shiftily at the house number precariously dangling from the door. He knocked sharply, more times than anyone would need to. After some time the pair heard grunting and shuffling they heard the door unlocking. It was a long process; multiple latches. 

The heavy door opened a crack, still chained shut. A single eye peeked through the crack and hissed at them, "Waddyawant." Sean raised an eyebrow while Joe responded. "You called me. For an 'exotic' housecall?" The man huffed, as he exhaled Joe was assaulted by the foul stench of sulfur. He winced as the door was being opened and glanced at Sean, his face was a mix of disgust and abject curiosity. The massive door opened to reveal an even more massive, vile, fat slob of a man standing behind it. His ill-fit polo shirt was heavily stained and his gut poked out obscenely. He looked at the pair of men shamelessly; mouth hung open gormlessly. "Who's this prick?" He gestured limply to Sean. Who was sneering in disgust. 

Joe was lucky enough to be in the know of how to shut off his sense of smell, so his reaction wasn't as visceral as Sean's. "My assistant-" Sean butted in after he mustered up a shit-eating grin, "Ai'm his annie-stee-ollo-jist." Joe smirked as he stumbled over the word but rolled with it, "He's the guy that puts 'em to sleep." The fat slob grunted, "Well don't think I'm paying extra for that shit. No one needs to go to sleep today." Joe raised an eyebrow, "Well what is it you got me out here for? Can't get up to the clinic?" The slob ignored the obvious jab. "Better I show you." 

He stepped to one side and gestured for the men to enter with a hairy arm. The two cautiously stepped through the threshold and examined the hallway. The walls were covered in eldritch stains and the floor was carpeted in soiled newspapers. The glimpses they got of the other rooms revealed a house much like the garden, completely uncared for and full of waste. Sean scowled at Joe, Joe shrugged back at him as the slob walked to the end of the hall to a squat door. He opened it to a reveal a dark stairwell going down, and gestured for them to enter again. Sean chuckled and poked him sharply in the love handles, "Think we're dense, slug? You first."

The fat man recoiled pitifully and heaved himself down slowly, as he reached the bottom he flipped a switch and lights lit up the dank basement. Sean went first, with Joe close behind. They both had their heads on a swivel and their strong hands in their jackets. But all that was irregular as they entered the basement was the unusual tidiness for the man's house... And the gentle sobbing coming from the far corner. Sean turned to face it first and gasped. Then Joe did as well, furrowing his eyebrows. There was a small woman, chained to the wall. Naked. On a soiled blanket. Her dark tan skin was pallid under the dingy basement lighting and her head was bowed, her ratty black hair hanging in front of her face.

Joe's eyes shifted between the man and the woman nervously, he asked the man: "What's wrong with her?" He looked at Joe with a smug grin, "I need you to lobotomise her. You know what that is right?" Joe's eyebrows shot-up. "Why?" The man's response was completely sincere, like he felt no guilt, no shame. "She won't stop screaming when I fuck her." Sean hadn't stopped staring at the woman since he had entered. The fat man didn't notice his breathing become slower, deeper. Joe responded, masking his disgust and rage frighteningly well. "Show me the money first." 

The man argued meekly, "After you've done it. I promise." Joe shook his head, Sean said what he was thinking: "Not how this works." The man cringed as Sean spoke. He sighed and grumbled as he turned around, pulling a plyboard panel out of the wall and dragging out a duffel bag stuffed full of loose bills. As he leant over and rummaged around his foul crack was on full display. He didn't hear Sean walk up to him with a hand over his nose. But he certainly felt it when he stood and Sean pulled the hammer out of his jacket and cracked him against the temple with it. The woman heard the slob hit the floor. She looked up. She looked at the pair of men. They looked at her. Sean walked over to her and began to fuss at her shackles. She recoiled as he touched her. He looked at her, she saw earnestness in his eyes. The shackles were locked firmly shut. Sean began fumbling in his pockets for something when Joe walked over. He had rummaged the fat man's pockets for keys. No luck. But he had found a chisel. 

Presumably what he was going to offer to help Joe carry out the lobotomy. Joe nudged Sean, "We could try to hammer them off, lad." Sean shook his head, "You'll just end up hurting her man. I got it." He fished a small object out of his pocket. A metal shim. He fiddled with the bindings for a moment before he caught the latch and they came away. The woman looked up at Sean in awe, she offered him her ankles, and he repeated it for each of her limbs. As she was freed she rubbed at her wrists and her ankles. When Sean was done she had begun crying again. Seemingly tears of relief. She stood up and flung her arms around Sean. She was excitedly babbling. Joe realised after moment that she was speaking a very foreign language. Nothing he even remotely recognised.

He patted her on the back and glanced at Joe nervously. After a long wait she separated herself and looked back and forth from either man expectantly. The slob had been forgotten about but they remembered him when he groaned in the corner, blood streaming down his face. The naked woman dashed towards him and began kicking him in the stomach, he sprayed vomit across the plyboard wall, he tried to right himself and stand but Sean kicked him savagely in the head with his heavy boots and he fell back to the concrete floor. 

While the two continued kicking the slob; Joe quietly picked up his bag and the bag of money and went up the stairs. He left his bag up there, and when he returned he was holding a kitchen knife. His sleeve covered his hand. He calmly tapped the woman on the back. She paused her assault to look at him with confusion. Then her face lit up as she saw him offering her the knife handle. She took it with glee. Before she could begin stabbing away Joe pulled Sean away, up the stairs. "Best leave her too it, don't want any evidence you were hear. Good on ye' though, I'm glad you did that instead of me having to shoot 'im." Sean responded with a grave nod, paying more attention to the woman who was stabbing the fat slob repeatedly in the chest. He managed to groan a little before the death rattle took him. She continued stabbing him long after that death rattle, covering the basement in blood.

Finally she paused, realised he was dead, and dropped the knife. She stood up, turned, and went up the stairs to the pair of men, leaving a trail of bloody bare footprints. She was covered in blood. Joe grimaced. He peered around for something to wipe her off with. Seemingly nothing. Nothing that wasn't dirtier than her at least. He unbuttoned his lab coat and offered it to her. She gladly accepted. At least now she had an ounce of dignity. Joe instructed Sean as they neared the door, "Take the money. Get her in the back seat. Quick like. Get her to stay down. Don' want any cops seeing her in my car like that. Sit with her if you have to. You can have the money." Sean responded, "In the car? What are you gonna do with her Joe?" Joe chuckled, "I could ask you the same Sean. You hammered the guy. You got an empty apartment don'cha? Looks like you've got a new girlfriend." Sean muttered something about 'ruined plans' and 'alien women' but didn't really argue.

They opened the door, Sean dashed onto the street and looked around. No one in sight. It was the middle of the day on a workday. In the 'burbs. He waved at her, she cautiously stepped outside, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Sean waved at her to hurry up and opened the back door of the car. She climbed in and sat down. He tilted his head to one side and rested his hands together under his head. She looked at him incomprehensibly. He sighed and climbed in next to her, budging her over. He placed a heavy hand on the side of her face. He paused when she flinched. Sean gently pushed her head down till she was lying on the bench seat back there. She looked at Sean's face. He was looking back at her with a finger pressed against his lips. She knew what that meant.  Joe climbed in the driver's seat and drove to Sean's building unusually carefully. No police. He switched the engine off. He placed a hand on the passenger headrest and craned his neck to look at Sean. "Get a garbage bag. Get a change of clothes. Get a towel. Get back here, stat." Sean nodded and hurried off.

He arrived with a faded threadbare towel. He offered it to the woman. She accepted gratefully and tried to wipe the congealing blood off as best as possible. As she cleaned up and changed into Sean's ill fitting manual worker's clothes Joe hit a bump and stood outside the car, peering around suspiciously at the handful of passers by. No one really paid mind to the car. But Joe sure as fuck looked odd. When she was done Joe told Sean, "Put the coat and the towel in the bag. Leave it in here." Sean looked at him incredulously, "But that's my only towel, Joe!" Joe's eyebrows shot up. "That's foul, son. Use tha' money to get a-many more. And some nice clothes for the poor woman. Now I gotta clean this shit up. Gwan' git." Sean covered up a laugh, and led the shoeless woman into his apartment. He only got a handful of strange looks for it.

Joe sighed as he glanced back at his white leather upholstery. Covered in blood. He hid the garbage bag under the car seat. He drove through the cold afternoon and swerved slightly as he checked his scribbled to-do list. He parked outside the Soirée haphazardly. He saw the light of a fire glinting off a building wall in the side alley. He pulled the bag out from under the seat and passed the entrance to the club, turning the corner to the alley. Some bum was warming his hands in an old metal drum he'd built a fire in. Joe strode up and tossed the bag in the fire. It went up in black flames, "Hey!" Before he could continue to protest Joe hipped his wallet out and offered him a crisp pair of Hamiltons. The man gladly took them and Joe walked off wordlessly into the club. He paid his debts to Miss Sackville by passing on some of the morphine that he'd reported as stolen onto Roge. Then he had a few stiff drinks and as much blow as his wretched heart could handle before driving off wildly into the early Wisconsin evening.