Dominick Amador said, “Why you so pissed—it wasn’t your money.” Dominick didn’t know JoLayne very well, but she’d always been nice to his cat, Rex. The cat suffered from an unsavory gum disorder that required biweekly visits to the veterinarian. JoLayne was the only person besides Dominick’s daughter who could manage Rex without the custom-tailored kitty straitjacket.
“Don’t you see,” Demencio said. “All of us woulda cashed in big—you, me, the whole town. The story we’d put out, think about this: JoLayne won the Lotto because she lived in a holy place. Maybe she prayed at my weeping Mary, or maybe she got touched by your crucified hands. Word got around, everybody who played the numbers would come to Grange for a blessing.”
Dominick hadn’t thought of that: a boom for the blessing trade.
“The best part,” Demencio went on, “it wouldn’t be only Christians coming, it’d be anybody who does the Lotto. Jewish people, Buddhists, Hawaiians… it wouldn’t matter. A gambler’s a gambler—all they care about is luck.”
“A gold mine,” Dominick agreed. With a sleeve he wiped a smear of jelly from his chin.
“And now it’s all turned to shit,” said Demencio. In disgust he tossed his fork on the plate. How could anybody lose a $14 million lottery ticket? Lucy Fucking Ricardo couldn’t lose a $14 million lottery ticket.
Dominick said, “There’s more to what happened than we been told, I guarantee.”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe it was Martians. Maybe a UFO flew down in the middle of the night—”
“No, but I heard she was all beat up.”
“I’m not surprised,” Demencio said. “My theory? She’s so mad at herself for losing the ticket, she takes a baseball bat and clobbers herself in the goddamn head. That’s what I’d do if I fucked up that bad.”
Dominick Amador said, “I don’t know,” and went back to eviscerating doughnuts. After a few minutes, when it seemed Demencio had cooled off, Dominick asked another favor.
“It’s regarding my feet,” he said.
“The answer is no.”
“I need somebody to drill ’em.”
“Then talk to your wife.”
“Please,” said Dominick. “I got the shop all set up.”
Demencio laid six dollars on the counter and slid off the stool. “Drill your own feet,” he told Dominick. “I ain’t in the mood.”
JoLayne Lucks knew what Dr. Crawford thought:
Finally the girl gets a boyfriend, and the boyfriend beats her to a pulp.
“Please don’t stare. I know I’m a sight,” JoLayne said.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“Truly? No.” That would clinch it with Doc Crawford, the fact that she wouldn’t talk. So she added: “It’s not what you think.”
Dr. Crawford said: “Hold still, you little shit.”
He was addressing Mickey, the Welsh corgi on the examining table.
JoLayne was doing her best to control the dog but it was squirming like a worm on a griddle. The little ones always were the hardest to handle—cockers, poodles, Pomeranians—and the nastiest, too. Biters, every damn one. Give me a 125-pound Dobie any day, JoLayne thought.
To Mickey the corgi, she muttered: “Be good, baby.” Whereupon Mickey sank his yellow fangs into her thumb and did not let go. As painful as it was, the attachment enabled JoLayne Lucks to control the dog’s head, giving Dr. Crawford a clear shot at the vaccination site. The instant Mickey felt the needle, he released his grip on JoLayne. Dr. Crawford commended her for not losing her temper.
JoLayne said, “Why take it personally. You’d bite, too, if you had a dog’s brain. I’ve seen men with no such excuse do worse things.”
Dr. Crawford buttered her thumb with Betadine. JoLayne observed that it looked like steak sauce.
“You want some on that lip?” the doctor asked.
She shook her head, bracing for the next question. How did that happen? But all he said was: “A couple sutures wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“Nope.” With her free hand she patted the bald spot on Doc Crawford’s head. “I’ll be OK,” she told him.
The remainder of JoLayne’s workday: cat (Daisy), three kittens (unnamed), German shepherd (Kaiser), parrot (Polly), cat (Spike), beagle (Bilko), Labrador retriever (Contessa), four Labrador puppies (unnamed), and one rhinoceros iguana (Keith). JoLayne received no more bites or scratches, although the iguana relieved itself copiously on her lab coat.
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