A Bit of Patience

He practiced as 'Bo Johnson,' because the endodontist never liked...hell, detested being called 'Robert' or 'Rob,' 'Bob' or 'Bobbie.'

The staff had just left for the evening as he sat reviewing files of the next morning's cases when he nearly spilled his coffee at the sight of the name, "Zornick, Earll Emerson," and there could be no mistaking the identity of this prick.

The next morning, the girls had Zornick in the chair and bibbed as Johnson told the staff he wanted a few undisturbed minutes with the patient, uncharacteristically locking the door behind him.

Bo soothed Zornick's natural anxiety, reaching for a topical anesthetic far from the norm, a home-made, curare-based preparation that would paralyze this patient, rendering his limbs useless while at full consciouness.

Bo smiled down at the now helpless man, reminding him, "You may have skated through the youth camps and juvenile probation, but 9 years after you sodomized my twin sister, Robin, she took her own life," and the bulging-eyed, terror-filled patient tried to move, couldn't even squirm, and Zornick's most strenuous effort could only produce the merest fluttering of eyelids.

Dr. Johnson pivoted his low stool and removed something from a cabinet, turning back to Zornick while displaying a cordless Mikita drill with a 3/8" bit, smiling as he told Zornick, "Sure, I'll get the electric chair for this, but it'll be a day I'll always relish and enjoy, not finishing you off until the cops bust-down that door" as the trigger was squeezed emitting the Mikita's high-pitched whir, and the strong smell of urine emanated from the growing, wet stain through the gown over Zornick's waist, the rapid heartbeat of the rapist drumming loudly but laughably inaudible over the approaching silver bit as Johnson lowered his goggles and slid-up the blue mask.