Fraud

“So, like, that’s it? That’s all you have to do?”

“Dude. Eric. How many times do I have to explain it, bro? It’s so simple,” Nick pompously explained as he finished the last bite of his fourth California roll of the day, each of which had been individually delivered via Postmates.

“Well shit man, sorry I’m nervous. I just think the dermatology dude will be a little suspicious, you know? Like,” Eric lowered his voice to mimic the future words of the doctor he will attempt to extort, “‘Oh, you’re suing me for sexual assault in the exact same way Brayden Miller did last year?’ Shouldn’t I say something a little different?” Eric worried.

“Look at me. Look at Big Dog Brayden’s life,” he says as he gestures his hands towards his over-priced sushi. “You see how I am livin’ recently? LARGE, my friend. I didn’t even look at the delivery charge on that last order, bro. Know why?”

Eric rolls his eyes while quietly mumbling, “...cause you have twen--”

“CAUSE I GOT TWENTY G’s IN MAH BANK ACCOUNT, SON!” A phrase Brayden has been boastfully exclaiming since the settlement money came in last week. “And if you want what I got, you just got to follow the steps my man. Now, let’s practice. Role play. I’ll be Dr. Kukta, you be you.” Brayden takes a quick swig of his sparkling water to wash down the sushi, clears his throat, looks down, pauses... then snaps into character.

“Good morning, AIR-EEK sir, nice to meet you!” Brayden shouts in a horribly racist Indian accent with a cheesy smile on his face. “What brings you in today?”

“I, um, I need- have, a uh, thing... in my ass,” Nick fumbles awkwardly.

“A TING in your anus?! Well, you came to the wrong guy, you should ask your boyfriend for help! Ha-Ha!” Brayden, still as Dr. Kukta, jokingly jabs at Eric.

“Dude that’s not funny, he wouldn’t say that. Stop.”

“He also wouldn’t look at anything UP your ass, moron!” Brayden sharply responds in his normal voice, which resembles a young Kelso. “He is a dermatologist, meaning skin doctor bro. He looks at things growing on your ass, not in it. Try again.”

Flustered, Eric resets. “Hi Dr. Kukta, uh it’s nice to meet you, too. Um, lovely magazines in the lobby, by the way.”

“Ohhhh tank you tank you, air-eek,” Brayden says as he peeks over both shoulders then leans in towards Eric. Brayden whispers, “Did you find the Playboy I keep under the fish tank?” he says with a few eye-brow raises, followed by a wink.

Eric, obviously frustrated with how unserious Brayden is taking this practice session, jumps ahead. “I have this lump on my butthole, and-”

“Mole,” Brayden corrects.

“Mole?” Eric asks, clearly displaying his lack of dermatology knowledge.

“Yes, dude, a mole. If you say lump, he’s gonna think you got rectum cancer and refer you to a specialist who really will finger your ass,” Brayden explains using a precautionary tone while widening his eyes. His facial expression is similar to a parent telling their son to mind his P’s and Q’s at the seventh grade slumber party in front of the hosting parent, ‘Or else Mrs. Johnson will call me to come pick you up, are we clear?!’

Eric now becomes even more anxious about this whole thing, likely due to the trauma from his strict parents, who actually did call his friends’ parents to come get them at his sleepover party because the boys got caught TiVoing the Girls Gone Wild commercials.

“Shit, Brayden, I don’t think this is a good idea, man. I really don’t want anything penetrating me.”

“No actual fingers are going in actual butts, dude! Jesus Christ, Eric, do I have to spell this out for you? All you gotta say-”

“Yes please,” Eric interrupts.

“...what?”

“Yes, could you please spell it out for me?” Eric whips out a little black book and matching ink pen and eagerly pushes it uncomfortably close to Brayden’s face, causing him to instinctively flinch away.

“Um, have you had that in your waistband this whole time?” Brayden asks, clearly weirded out.

“Well, yes, that’s where I always keep Frodo and Sam,” Eric states as if Brayden should obviously know that.

“...and Frodo and Sam are the names of this notebook and pen?... Which one is- you know what, nevermind, just give me that,” Brayden snatches the little black book and quickly jots down the script for Eric to follow.

“There. Just practice those responses to say when you’re in the exam room alone with Dr. Kukta. Then, just as he finishes the examination, run out of the room screaming that he non-consensually put his finger knuckle-deep in your pooper,” he explains while vigorously jabbing his thumb into his closed hand. “Next thing you know, he settles in court and wires you twenty large, baby! Stormy Daniels said it best, man: nothing sweeter than hush money,” Brayden says as he leans back in his new La-Z-Boy and kicks his feet up on a gold-plated gnome dressed as a butler than he paid twelve hundred dollars for.

Eric stares blankly, clearly puzzled. “Is Stormy the doctor’s secretary?”

Brayden slowly turns and looks at Eric, contemplating why he even befriended Eric in the first place. “Shut up man, get the fuck outta here. You’re killin my vibe. Good luck, let me know how it goes,” Brayden says as he hurriedly escorts Eric out the door.

****

At the doctors, Eric is trying to act naturally, doing normal things that patients in the waiting room do. He spent a reasonable 15 minutes pacing back and forth in front of the fish tank like a palace guard with military cadence - without glancing at the fish even once. Afterwards, he pretended to read a magazine by placing his little black book inside of September's edition of Reader’s Digest (so that he could study his script incognito). It would have been slick too, but except that he laid the books flat down on the coffee table.

“Excuse me young man, can I please see that Digest magazine under your book?” an elderly woman politely asked Eric.

“Um, maybe when I’m done reading it,” Eric said loudly, as if to make the rest of the lobby think she was being rude. He turned to look at the man sitting on the other side of him, then gestured towards the old woman whispering, “Entitled much? Ha ha, ‘okay boomer’ am I right?” Eric turned forward then peaked to the side to assess if the old woman heard his boomer comment, only to catch her squinted glare of disappointment and disdain.

Another half hour passes as Eric grows more uneasy about his defamation scam. The festering doubt is causing a viscous cold sweat, now visible on Eric’s brow and upper lip.

“Eric Naples for Dr. Kukta!” a nurse announces from the open hallway door.

Eric jumps up from his seat and screams, “NIPPLES!”

Startled and confused, the other patients and employees exchanged glances. An awkward silence consumes the room. The nurse breaks the silence, “Um, excuse me sir?”

“Nipples. It’s pronounced Nipples,” Eric clarifies before clearing his throat and composing himself.

“Really? Because it’s spelled just like the city in-”

“I know how it’s spelled!” Eric interrupts, then nervously chuckles. “Ha… but yes it’s nipples... Like, boobie tips,” he said while double-tapping his nipples with his fingers.

The nurse stares blankly at him.

“My parents are from Spain,” Eric states matter-of-factly, as if that helps justify the heinous pronunciation.

“Well, okay then. The doctor will see you now, mister… Eric.”

****

About ten minutes later, which felt like an eternity for Eric, Dr. Kukta cheerfully greets Eric in the exam room. “Good morning, Eric. How are you today?”

“Huh, I didn’t hear an accent…” says Eric, who has a history of thinking out loud.

Awkwardly, Dr. Kukta asks, “Um, did someone mention that I had an accent? Because I’m from Colorado...”

Now mortified that Dr. Kukta heard his accent comment, Eric panics - he’s got to do something fast before he is made. In Eric’s mind, Dr. Kukta has foiled his plot, and knows he is there to extort him for twenty grand.

“HI DOCTOR HOW ARE YOU GOOD I AM GLAD CAN YOU PLEASE EXAMINE MY BUTT CHEEK IS HAS BEEN...” Eric begins to recite his lines in the same monotone, robotic voice that he had practiced. As he says this, Eric rips down his pants and flings himself over the exam table, assuming the perfect position… for a prostate exam. In doing this, Frodo falls out of his waistband and onto the floor, landing open at Dr. Kukta’s feet. “...FOUND ON WEB.M.D. BUT WASN’T SURE SO WE TRIED…” Eric continued his lines while he faced the wall, not noticing the little black book landing on the floor.

As Eric droned on, Dr. Kukta looked down at the book, which had opened to the first page of Brayden’s script. Eric had conveniently titled Plan to Extort Dr. Kukta by Saying He Sexually Assaulted Me just like Brayden Miller did.

“...SO I MADE AN APPOINTMENT FOR YOU TO FEEL IF IT IS CANCEROUS THANK YOU.” Eric finishes his speech, with his eyes still glued to the wall.

Silence.

“Doc? You there?” asks Eric.

“So. Looks like we’re friends with Brayden, are we now?” Kukta says with the arrogance of a cop who has a suspect cornered.

Eric’s mouth shuts and his eyes widen as he stops breathing and his butthole clinches - he has been made. “But how-” he thinks to himself before immediately realizing Frodo must have fallen, revealing his plan.

Now feeling trapped, just like a cornered suspect, Eric must fight to escape. He notices a half empty bottle of some liquid on the countertop. Dramatically, Eric snags the bottle by its neck, breaks it over the counter top, and whips around to point it at Kukta. “You’ll never take me alive!” he screams, breathing heavy, really feeling the heat of the moment.

Dr. Kukta, initially startled by the breaking of the bottle, realizes the situation and immediately shows relief while pulling out his handkerchief.

Eric thinks Kukta’s relief is him ignorantly letting his guard down. Now is Eric’s chance to escape! Eric begins to run towards Kukta, leading with the bottle like a joust. As he closes in, Eric is confused why Kukta is holding the handkerchief over his mouth while remaining calm. As Eric questions this, his vision quickly becomes blurry, then narrow. Eric blacks out just before his face slams onto the floor.

Chloroform.

****

“Hey roomie!” Eric hears as he arrives at his prison cell for day 1 of a 3-year sentence. His cellmate is overly excited to meet him. “My name is Eric too!”

“Well we can’t both be named Eric, can we? That would get confusing,” Eric says in a friendly voice, at least as friendly as one can be on their first day in prison.

“People in here call me E, so you can be Eric and I can be E!” E explains proudly, as if he just figured out a cure for cancer. He isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. “So, what are you in for, Eric?”

Eric replied, “I had a MOLE on my SKIN, E. But I don’t like to be too Vocal about it.”