The noise of Stanwood, puffing and muttering, startled him.
“I get here quick enough for you, little girl?” he asked as he pushed past Oliver and kicked the door open.
Tammy was sitting in her chair facing the door. Her face was gray, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of him.
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“What the hell are you doing here?” she said. “Salted-down prick.”
“Aw, now, Tammy, what harm I ever done you?”
“What did you bring this horse’s ass here for?” She glared at Oliver. “You fetch this sack of shit here to kill me?”
Oliver slinked over to the wall and looked at the floor, frightened that Tammy had somehow divined his thoughts.
“Now, Tammy,” Stanwood soothed, “he came to me
’cause Hodgkins is away. Oliver’s just looking after his aunt Tam, ain’tcha, boy?
“I’ll fix you up better than that clod of a carpenter,”
Stanwood said, as gently as a mother talking to a baby. “You know he’s dumber than dirt. You and me, Tammy, we’re the only smart ones left up here. You take another sup of that cider for courage. I’ll have a pull too,” he smiled, “if you don’t mind.”
Tammy’s breathing slowed as Stanwood sweet-talked her. She was barely awake as it was, worn out by pain and dulled by drink. He poured her another and fed it to her, sip by sip, and then took her by the arm and led her, shuffling, to the table. He put his hands on her waist and lifted her, grasped her ankles and brought her legs around and up, tucking the skirt under, proper and respectful. He placed a hand beneath her head and lay her down, softly. She closed her eyes and fell right to snoring.
“Hodgkins does it on the chair,” Oliver said softly.
“Well, that’s just wrong,” said Stanwood, who lifted the jug and swallowed, two, three, four times, before setting it down. “This is the way they do it in the navy.” He uncoiled a length of rope and tied her wrists to the table legs.
“Hodgkins doesn’t use rope.”
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“Well, I seen it done this way a hundred times,”
Stanwood snapped, dropping the show of concern. He looped another piece of rope around Tammy’s arms and waist, binding her down.
“This way, your patient keeps real still. It’s easier to get a grip like this and then I can do it faster. And faster is better, ain’t it, Tammy.”
She moaned softly.
“You’ll see if this ain’t the easiest time you ever had.”
Stanwood reached into the burlap bag he’d brought and withdrew a mallet and a six-inch wooden wedge. “Open up now,” he whispered.
Tammy dropped her jaw.
Oliver recalled how Hodgkins would take a good five minutes poking around at the gum before he pulled, loosening the tooth before he tapped or yanked at all. But Stanwood didn’t seem to have time for that and set the wedge right up against the raw-looking line between tooth and flesh. Then, as he raised his mallet, he glanced over at Oliver, winked, moved the wedge to the center of the tooth, tipped it up rather than down, and landed a hard blow that cracked it in two, splitting what was left all the way to the gum.
Tammy whinnied in pain.