I make an effort to pour more stereotypical Jersey into my accent. It’s more along the lines of what people expect of us.
Vito leans against the wall next to the doctor, arms crossed, all lazy menace.
“Lawyers are slow,” Vito says. “I don’t like slow. And they cost a lot.”
He looks the doctor up and down.
“You look like a guy who’d prefer not to get sued,” Vito continues. “Your insurance premiums probably go up. You might lose your license. Erica quit school to come home and take care of her dad, who’s a single father, a widower, a hard-working man. Roberto would eat you for lunch, spit you out, and then go back for seconds. But you don’t want that.”
"We don't want that," I say, picking up the thread. “We think we can settle this out of court much faster.”
Vito leans against the wall next to the doctor, arms crossed, all lazy menace.
The doctor’s eyes flick between us.
“Do you want money? I have money,” the doctor asks.
He’s a fool. No matter how smart he is, he’s a fool.
I shrug. "I like money. You like money?" I ask Vito.
"Oh, I love money," Vito says.
“See?” I tell the doctor. "Easy enough."
“Just—just tell me how much you want,” he says, looking a little relieved. “I can have that for you by tomorrow.”
"Well, I don't know," I say, trying to really play up the dumb angle. "See, that's my girl in there, and that's her dad. If he dies, I’m gonna be the one to hear about it, you know? So, it's really gotta be worth my while. You know women. Nag, nag, nag."
The doctor nods. "Yeah, women. They can be real bitchy."
He really is a special kind of stupid.
Vito laughs. "Got that right."
He smiles, almost relieved. That encourages the doctor enough to joke some more.
“You know,” he says, trying to be one of the guys, “the wife, she’s always on my ass about something. The car, the kids, the lawn… I can’t imagine what a hysterical one like that would be like.” He's talking about Erica now.
Hysterical, apparently, because her dad might die from a stupid mistake made by this asshole right here.
"Right," I murmur.
And the doctor is so oblivious, he doesn't even sense the change in my mood. Just continues to dig his own grave. "Hope she's at least good in bed. Make it worth your while, right?
And the stupid bastard actually winks at me.
"Seems like she'd be. She's got a great rack," he says. “I noticed that the second I saw her. Her dad could have died on the table, and all I could think about was those tits.”
And he actually chuckles like he just said something funny.
The doctor’s chuckle peters out when he sees the look on Vito’s face. Then he looks at me.
And I’m not smiling either.
"Is that what you were doing, doc, when you should've been ordering that CT scan?" I ask, my voice quiet, all pretense of the good ol' boy dropped. "Thinking of my woman's tits?" I ask.
I push myself off the wall, and take one step closer, crowding him in. "Did it make you hard? Thinking about her rack while you were signing his discharge papers without mentioning a follow-up scan?"
