SHADY ACRES
JD Clapp
Mort steered his electric scooter into the alcove where he did his business, a dead spot in the security camera feed. Phyllis was his first customer of the day. She’d been waiting patiently since breakfast. She maneuvered her wheelchair toward him, her bright white dentures gleaming in a smile. Mort cringed. Not her again…always complaining. Smells like a litter box.
“The usual, Phyllis?”
“Mortimer. Where are your manners? You don’t even say hello anymore.”
He glowered at her.
“Hello, Phyllis. The usual? Is that better?”
“Yes. The usual.” She rolled her eyes, thinking, asshole.
Mort handed her a snack-sized baggy with three gummy bears in it. She dropped the baggy into the canvas tote resting in her lap and handed Mort three twenty-dollar bills.
“I hope these are better than the last batch. Those were not very strong,” she said.
“Feel free to find another source, dear.”
She raised a feeble middle finger toward him, then she pushed the throttle lever forward on her wheelchair and buzzed away. Mort smiled. “It’s good to be the only game in town,” he said under his breath.
Fredrick Farr approached next. He tottered over, stabilizing himself on his black lacquered cane topped with the sterling silver ram’s head handle. Freddy wore a black cashmere cardigan, a crisp white dress shirt and bespoke gray flannel trousers, his gray hair neatly clipped and slicked back, his wrinkled face shaved and moisturized. The only sartorial nod to his advanced age of 83 years and four months were the velvet orthopedic opera slippers he wore.
“Fredrick, my good sir, what will it be today?” Mort said.
“Mortimer, my boy. How’s my favorite cartel overlord this fine morning?”
They both started snickering.
“Jesus, Freddy, you just missed that pain-in-the-ass Phyllis,” Mort said.
“I saw her leaving and hid behind the planter next to the elevator till she was gone,” Freddy said in a phlegmy voice.
“Good move. What’s your poison today?” Mort asked.
“Well, it’s sponge bath day…I’ll take two of the blue pills, some of that testosterone cream, and one of those Millies,” Freddy said.
Mort smiled a big shit-eating grin.
“You mean Molly?”
“Millie, Molly, whatever that shit was you sold me last week. That hot little Filipina caregiver—the new one, not that stick in the mud, Letty—the new one gives happy endings for $50 bucks.”
Mort laughed and shook his head.
“Have fun,” Mort said.
He rummaged through his little canvas bag and handed Freddy a small paper sack with his items. Freddy forked over a crisp $100 bill.
Mort spent the next hour or so making similar deals: A bottle of Chivas Regal for Alvin Parker; STD antibiotics and condoms for Russell Jinks, whose younger brother took him to the local cat house once a month; a vape pen with extra strength sativa oil for Jane and Frank Anderson, former flower children and tech executives. All told, Mort pocketed four hundred and eighty dollars. Not bad for a morning’s work. Better yet, he’d avoided the head nurse and new administrator, Francine Friedman. That bitch looks like trouble, Mort worried.
***
Francine sat in her new office, a frown building on her face, looking at spreadsheets on her computer monitors. She clicked through the various tabs, scribbled a few notes in her Moleskine notebook. She sipped her black coffee. She picked up the desk phone.
“Rona, come in here for a minute.”
A dowdy woman with purple hair, wearing a matching pantsuit came in. Like Francine, Rona had been sent by corporate to help clean up Shady Acres after the recent oxy overdose of a resident and significant shortfalls in revenue.
“Have you reviewed the security footage?” Francine asked.
“Yeah, but the last administrator set up the cameras in a way that leaves about thirteen dead spots in the building. I’m guessing our resident drug dealer and his clients have them all memorized,” Rona said.
“Has the staff been forthcoming?” Francine asked.
“Not at all. I think this will be a slow reset. We might need to hire a bunch of people. We’ll be over-staffed for a while, then can start firing the old staff,” Rona said.
“No. We can’t do that. This place is already bleeding money. That last bastard had his hand in the till, I just can’t find it yet. I’ll find the skimming but we need to solve the drug problem, ASAP,” Francine said.
They both sat quiet for a minute. Francine sighed.
“What do you want to do?” Rona asked.
Francine stood up and walked to the window. She looked out onto the manicured lawn, where a few of the residents sat enjoying the early autumn sun. One old bird was doing chair yoga in the serenity garden.
“I’m going to bring in Mother,” Francine said.
Rona raised her eyebrows.
“Oh…well, she could be perfect… but aren’t you worried she’ll go rogue on us again?” she asked.
“No risk, no reward. Worst case would be her using some drug,” Francine said.
“No, worst case would be her hooking up with some of old goat and overdosing him on Viagra again and coke…that last guy was lucky he didn’t make it…had he lived he’d have lost his willy,” Francine said.
“Listen, our bonus will be six-figures apiece if we fix this shitshow quickly. It’s a risk, but I’m not keen on spending six months in bumfuck Nebraska.”
“Ok. But if this goes south, you’re cleaning it up this time. I’ve bribed my last coroner.”
***
Mother arrived the following Tuesday. Francine moved her into a nicely appointed one-bedroom unit on the third floor. Her cover name was Sarah Sanderson, a 78-year-old widow from Boston. She’d tell people she was well off, a former stage actress.
“The artsy cover will help me get inside quicker. You know, former party girl…old money, avantgarde, blah, blah. I used this alias before on a job for an oil company out in Dallas in the late 1980s. Jesus fucking Christ that place had every type of corruption going you could think of,” Mother said to Francine.
“That’s fine. Just remember your job is intel. Find out who’s selling, who’s buying. I want to know which staff are involved or turning a blind eye. You’re a PI, not a cop or vigilante. I’ll clean house. That’s our job, not yours.”
Mother looked at her and slyly smiled.
“Girl, you know I’m the best PI out there for this type of work. You know why I’m the best? It’s not because I was an undercover narc for the Baltimore PD in the 70s. It’s not because I’ve worked for the CIA as a contractor…It’s because I do whatever it takes to do the fucking job.”
“Mother, you’re almost eighty years old. I can’t have anyone dying this time,” Francine said.
Mother rolled her eyes.
“He had a heart attack giving me the wood. It happens.”
Francine gagged a little.
“Yeah, it happens. But having a Viagra cocaine speedball in his system was a little problematic for us. Let’s try not to drug anyone this time…and for fucks sake, keep your damn grannie panties on.”
***
Sarah Sanderson, AKA Mother, took her time. She spent the first week establishing her identity. She complained to anyone who’d listen about her aches and pains and how the damn doctor wouldn’t prescribe her oxy. She wondered aloud about the healing properties of marijuana, recounting her days as a dabbler in weed back when she was an off-off-Broadway starlet. Her break came on the Friday evening of the second week. Mother parked her prop walker next to her table in the dining room. She gave Freddy a seductive smile as he approached her table. He smiled back. As he passed her, she rolled from her chair onto the floor and moaned. Freddy spun around to help.
“Oh, dear. Are you ok?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m just embarrassed. I was reaching for my purse, and I lost my balance,” she said.
She sat up, then moved to her knees. Freddy helped her to her chair.
“Thank you so much. What a kind gentleman. I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’m Sarah,” Mother said.
She held out her hand.
Freddy took it and kissed it gently.
What a tool!
“I’m Fredrick…well, call me Freddy. May I join you?”
Got the hook in your mouth now lover boy.
It took two more dinners together before Mother set the hook.
***
“Oh, I don’t know, Freddy. I haven’t been with a man for over a decade…I’d need something to get me in the mood. And then I’m in such pain. So much pain, I’m not sure I could even…well…” Mother said, false tears welling in her eyes.
“My dear. Please. No pressure, but what if I told you there is someone here who can help with your pain medicine? Someone who can get something to help put us in the mood.”
“Really, I could really use some of those oxy pills my doctor used to let me take. And it would be nice to have some Patron and a joint to go with it. That used to really get me in the mood.”
Freddy grinned.
“You know what we used to call tequila when I was a young man?” Freddy asked.
Jesus, this shit-stain of a geezer is going to use the old panty dropper line on me.
“Tell me,” She said, touching his forearm.
“Panty remover,” he said.
She giggled, trying hard to look slightly embarrassed.
“Is there really someone who can get us those things? I…I mean…if I was out of pain, I think I would like to try again…with you, Freddy.”
“Outstanding! Tomorrow after breakfast we’ll go see Mort.”
***
“Rona, come on in here,” Francine yelled through her open office door.
Rona came in, shut the door, and plopped down in the chair across from Francine.
“What’s up, boss?”
“You get the cameras in Mother’s room hidden?”
“Yep, we got a live feed with multiple views and microphones. Got a team in and out while she was at breakfast.”
“Ok. Good. Good.”
“We have motion sensors, too. I’ll get pinged when she’s in her room.”
“Excellent,” Francine said.
Rona smirked.
“She’ll never expect us to be watching her.”
“Don’t underestimate Mother, Rona. She’s old, but a goddamn shark. Watch her like a hawk. At the first hint of her using drugs or taking some old goat to bed, we’ll intervene.”
***
As planned, Freddy took Sarah down to meet Mort. Mother worked him like a pro. By the end of the buy, she had oxy, Viagra, and molly. Then, she cast the lure…
“I’d really like a few marijuana cigarettes and a bottle of Casa Azul,” she said.
“I can get the tequila, but it will take me until the end of the day. I can give you edibles or a vape pen now. I don’t like to sell joints because of the smell.”
“Oh…well, what’s a vape pen?” Mother asked.
Freddy smiled and nodded while Mort explained. Mother did her best to look fascinated.
“Very well. Give us one of those, too. Where do you get the tequila? This place is so strict on the booze. And are these other drugs safe?” Mother asked.
Mort leaned in and smiled. In a hushed voice he said, “My nephew supplies all the marijuana and alcohol. The drugs are all pharmacy-grade. Don’t say anything, but they come from one of the nurses here. He supplies everything I need.”
“How about the other thingy…the molly, is it? Does your nephew make that?”
“Oh no, that comes from the girl who works the front desk. Her boyfriend is a chemist at the university. He makes it. It is very high quality.”
“The best. Totally safe,” Freddy added.
These dumbshits…Now, a little fun tonight with old Freddy, then I can let Francine do her thing and get out of this shithole of a prison…
***
Rona was packing her briefcase to go home for the day when her phone pinged. She looked at the time—6:00 p.m. Francine was in her office, getting ready to fire the night cleaning crew for sleeping half of their last three shifts. Rona opened her door.
“It’s on,” she said.
The women stared at the monitors, watching Freddy and Mother sitting in her living room. Mother asked Freddy to pour them each a glass from the tall ceramic bottle of Casa Azul.
“Damn her. She’s going to get him drunk,” Rona said.
“Let’s watch for a minute. If any drugs come out, we’ll go interrupt this little party,” Francine said.
They watched Mother and Freddy sip their drinks. Then Mother started talking.
“Freddy, that Mort is really something. It’s amazing he can get all this. It’s going to make my time here so much better!”
Freddy’s big grin was flashed across the monitors. Francine smiled, “We got the dealer,” she said.
Rona nodded.
Mother continued.
“And having such a nice nephew to supply the weed and spirits. But I’m still a little leery of that molly from the front desk girl. And that nurse is taking a huge risk selling him Viagra and pain meds,” Mother added.
“Dear…you worry too much. I admit I was a little afraid to try molly but once the blue pills kick in, that stuff makes you feel like you’re in college again. The best love making you’ll ever experience,” Freddy said, blinking his milky blue left eye.
“Aren’t you afraid the nurse is going to get busted and…how do they say it? Snitch on Mort. Then Mort might decide to turn us in,” Mother continued.
She ran her boney hand up his thigh.
“We’ve been doing this for over a year. He has a system. Please don’t worry!” Freddy replied.
“Yes, yes. Now show me how to use this vaporizer thingy! We can have a couple drinks before you take your blue pill.”
***
Rona and Francine burst into the room just in time. Mother and Freddy were two drinks in, and already stoned. Freddy had the Viagra and Molly set out on the TV table next to the orthopedic recliner, ready to go.
“The party is over, Freddy,” Francine said.
Freddy turned ashen and stammered, “She gave it to me…It’s her stuff!”
Mother glared at him.
“And I was going to fuck you,” she said.
Then Mother started laughing, a slow chuckle at first, but soon growing into a full-blown belly laugh.
“What’s so funny, Mom?” Francine asked.
“My daughter and her dimwitted sidekick finally graduated from being Lucy and Ethel and outsmarted me…well goddamn. Well played. Where’s the fucking camera?”
Rona pointed to one of the cameras in the room.
“You get everything you need?” Mother asked.
“Cleaning house tomorrow morning, first thing. Good work, Mom,” Francine said.
“Ok. Let’s go downstairs. You can cut me a check and call me a limo. I’m out of this shithole tonight.”
JD Clapp writes in San Diego, CA. His work has appeared in The Milk House, Revolution John, PovertyHouse, and numerous others. His story, One Last Drop, was a finalist in the 2023 Hemingway Shorts Literary Journal, Short Story Competition. His short story collection, Poachers and Pills, is forthcoming from Cowboy Jamboree Press in 2025.
JD Clapp
Mort steered his electric scooter into the alcove where he did his business, a dead spot in the security camera feed. Phyllis was his first customer of the day. She’d been waiting patiently since breakfast. She maneuvered her wheelchair toward him, her bright white dentures gleaming in a smile. Mort cringed. Not her again…always complaining. Smells like a litter box.
“The usual, Phyllis?”
“Mortimer. Where are your manners? You don’t even say hello anymore.”
He glowered at her.
“Hello, Phyllis. The usual? Is that better?”
“Yes. The usual.” She rolled her eyes, thinking, asshole.
Mort handed her a snack-sized baggy with three gummy bears in it. She dropped the baggy into the canvas tote resting in her lap and handed Mort three twenty-dollar bills.
“I hope these are better than the last batch. Those were not very strong,” she said.
“Feel free to find another source, dear.”
She raised a feeble middle finger toward him, then she pushed the throttle lever forward on her wheelchair and buzzed away. Mort smiled. “It’s good to be the only game in town,” he said under his breath.
Fredrick Farr approached next. He tottered over, stabilizing himself on his black lacquered cane topped with the sterling silver ram’s head handle. Freddy wore a black cashmere cardigan, a crisp white dress shirt and bespoke gray flannel trousers, his gray hair neatly clipped and slicked back, his wrinkled face shaved and moisturized. The only sartorial nod to his advanced age of 83 years and four months were the velvet orthopedic opera slippers he wore.
“Fredrick, my good sir, what will it be today?” Mort said.
“Mortimer, my boy. How’s my favorite cartel overlord this fine morning?”
They both started snickering.
“Jesus, Freddy, you just missed that pain-in-the-ass Phyllis,” Mort said.
“I saw her leaving and hid behind the planter next to the elevator till she was gone,” Freddy said in a phlegmy voice.
“Good move. What’s your poison today?” Mort asked.
“Well, it’s sponge bath day…I’ll take two of the blue pills, some of that testosterone cream, and one of those Millies,” Freddy said.
Mort smiled a big shit-eating grin.
“You mean Molly?”
“Millie, Molly, whatever that shit was you sold me last week. That hot little Filipina caregiver—the new one, not that stick in the mud, Letty—the new one gives happy endings for $50 bucks.”
Mort laughed and shook his head.
“Have fun,” Mort said.
He rummaged through his little canvas bag and handed Freddy a small paper sack with his items. Freddy forked over a crisp $100 bill.
Mort spent the next hour or so making similar deals: A bottle of Chivas Regal for Alvin Parker; STD antibiotics and condoms for Russell Jinks, whose younger brother took him to the local cat house once a month; a vape pen with extra strength sativa oil for Jane and Frank Anderson, former flower children and tech executives. All told, Mort pocketed four hundred and eighty dollars. Not bad for a morning’s work. Better yet, he’d avoided the head nurse and new administrator, Francine Friedman. That bitch looks like trouble, Mort worried.
***
Francine sat in her new office, a frown building on her face, looking at spreadsheets on her computer monitors. She clicked through the various tabs, scribbled a few notes in her Moleskine notebook. She sipped her black coffee. She picked up the desk phone.
“Rona, come in here for a minute.”
A dowdy woman with purple hair, wearing a matching pantsuit came in. Like Francine, Rona had been sent by corporate to help clean up Shady Acres after the recent oxy overdose of a resident and significant shortfalls in revenue.
“Have you reviewed the security footage?” Francine asked.
“Yeah, but the last administrator set up the cameras in a way that leaves about thirteen dead spots in the building. I’m guessing our resident drug dealer and his clients have them all memorized,” Rona said.
“Has the staff been forthcoming?” Francine asked.
“Not at all. I think this will be a slow reset. We might need to hire a bunch of people. We’ll be over-staffed for a while, then can start firing the old staff,” Rona said.
“No. We can’t do that. This place is already bleeding money. That last bastard had his hand in the till, I just can’t find it yet. I’ll find the skimming but we need to solve the drug problem, ASAP,” Francine said.
They both sat quiet for a minute. Francine sighed.
“What do you want to do?” Rona asked.
Francine stood up and walked to the window. She looked out onto the manicured lawn, where a few of the residents sat enjoying the early autumn sun. One old bird was doing chair yoga in the serenity garden.
“I’m going to bring in Mother,” Francine said.
Rona raised her eyebrows.
“Oh…well, she could be perfect… but aren’t you worried she’ll go rogue on us again?” she asked.
“No risk, no reward. Worst case would be her using some drug,” Francine said.
“No, worst case would be her hooking up with some of old goat and overdosing him on Viagra again and coke…that last guy was lucky he didn’t make it…had he lived he’d have lost his willy,” Francine said.
“Listen, our bonus will be six-figures apiece if we fix this shitshow quickly. It’s a risk, but I’m not keen on spending six months in bumfuck Nebraska.”
“Ok. But if this goes south, you’re cleaning it up this time. I’ve bribed my last coroner.”
***
Mother arrived the following Tuesday. Francine moved her into a nicely appointed one-bedroom unit on the third floor. Her cover name was Sarah Sanderson, a 78-year-old widow from Boston. She’d tell people she was well off, a former stage actress.
“The artsy cover will help me get inside quicker. You know, former party girl…old money, avantgarde, blah, blah. I used this alias before on a job for an oil company out in Dallas in the late 1980s. Jesus fucking Christ that place had every type of corruption going you could think of,” Mother said to Francine.
“That’s fine. Just remember your job is intel. Find out who’s selling, who’s buying. I want to know which staff are involved or turning a blind eye. You’re a PI, not a cop or vigilante. I’ll clean house. That’s our job, not yours.”
Mother looked at her and slyly smiled.
“Girl, you know I’m the best PI out there for this type of work. You know why I’m the best? It’s not because I was an undercover narc for the Baltimore PD in the 70s. It’s not because I’ve worked for the CIA as a contractor…It’s because I do whatever it takes to do the fucking job.”
“Mother, you’re almost eighty years old. I can’t have anyone dying this time,” Francine said.
Mother rolled her eyes.
“He had a heart attack giving me the wood. It happens.”
Francine gagged a little.
“Yeah, it happens. But having a Viagra cocaine speedball in his system was a little problematic for us. Let’s try not to drug anyone this time…and for fucks sake, keep your damn grannie panties on.”
***
Sarah Sanderson, AKA Mother, took her time. She spent the first week establishing her identity. She complained to anyone who’d listen about her aches and pains and how the damn doctor wouldn’t prescribe her oxy. She wondered aloud about the healing properties of marijuana, recounting her days as a dabbler in weed back when she was an off-off-Broadway starlet. Her break came on the Friday evening of the second week. Mother parked her prop walker next to her table in the dining room. She gave Freddy a seductive smile as he approached her table. He smiled back. As he passed her, she rolled from her chair onto the floor and moaned. Freddy spun around to help.
“Oh, dear. Are you ok?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m just embarrassed. I was reaching for my purse, and I lost my balance,” she said.
She sat up, then moved to her knees. Freddy helped her to her chair.
“Thank you so much. What a kind gentleman. I’m sorry to be such a bother. I’m Sarah,” Mother said.
She held out her hand.
Freddy took it and kissed it gently.
What a tool!
“I’m Fredrick…well, call me Freddy. May I join you?”
Got the hook in your mouth now lover boy.
It took two more dinners together before Mother set the hook.
***
“Oh, I don’t know, Freddy. I haven’t been with a man for over a decade…I’d need something to get me in the mood. And then I’m in such pain. So much pain, I’m not sure I could even…well…” Mother said, false tears welling in her eyes.
“My dear. Please. No pressure, but what if I told you there is someone here who can help with your pain medicine? Someone who can get something to help put us in the mood.”
“Really, I could really use some of those oxy pills my doctor used to let me take. And it would be nice to have some Patron and a joint to go with it. That used to really get me in the mood.”
Freddy grinned.
“You know what we used to call tequila when I was a young man?” Freddy asked.
Jesus, this shit-stain of a geezer is going to use the old panty dropper line on me.
“Tell me,” She said, touching his forearm.
“Panty remover,” he said.
She giggled, trying hard to look slightly embarrassed.
“Is there really someone who can get us those things? I…I mean…if I was out of pain, I think I would like to try again…with you, Freddy.”
“Outstanding! Tomorrow after breakfast we’ll go see Mort.”
***
“Rona, come on in here,” Francine yelled through her open office door.
Rona came in, shut the door, and plopped down in the chair across from Francine.
“What’s up, boss?”
“You get the cameras in Mother’s room hidden?”
“Yep, we got a live feed with multiple views and microphones. Got a team in and out while she was at breakfast.”
“Ok. Good. Good.”
“We have motion sensors, too. I’ll get pinged when she’s in her room.”
“Excellent,” Francine said.
Rona smirked.
“She’ll never expect us to be watching her.”
“Don’t underestimate Mother, Rona. She’s old, but a goddamn shark. Watch her like a hawk. At the first hint of her using drugs or taking some old goat to bed, we’ll intervene.”
***
As planned, Freddy took Sarah down to meet Mort. Mother worked him like a pro. By the end of the buy, she had oxy, Viagra, and molly. Then, she cast the lure…
“I’d really like a few marijuana cigarettes and a bottle of Casa Azul,” she said.
“I can get the tequila, but it will take me until the end of the day. I can give you edibles or a vape pen now. I don’t like to sell joints because of the smell.”
“Oh…well, what’s a vape pen?” Mother asked.
Freddy smiled and nodded while Mort explained. Mother did her best to look fascinated.
“Very well. Give us one of those, too. Where do you get the tequila? This place is so strict on the booze. And are these other drugs safe?” Mother asked.
Mort leaned in and smiled. In a hushed voice he said, “My nephew supplies all the marijuana and alcohol. The drugs are all pharmacy-grade. Don’t say anything, but they come from one of the nurses here. He supplies everything I need.”
“How about the other thingy…the molly, is it? Does your nephew make that?”
“Oh no, that comes from the girl who works the front desk. Her boyfriend is a chemist at the university. He makes it. It is very high quality.”
“The best. Totally safe,” Freddy added.
These dumbshits…Now, a little fun tonight with old Freddy, then I can let Francine do her thing and get out of this shithole of a prison…
***
Rona was packing her briefcase to go home for the day when her phone pinged. She looked at the time—6:00 p.m. Francine was in her office, getting ready to fire the night cleaning crew for sleeping half of their last three shifts. Rona opened her door.
“It’s on,” she said.
The women stared at the monitors, watching Freddy and Mother sitting in her living room. Mother asked Freddy to pour them each a glass from the tall ceramic bottle of Casa Azul.
“Damn her. She’s going to get him drunk,” Rona said.
“Let’s watch for a minute. If any drugs come out, we’ll go interrupt this little party,” Francine said.
They watched Mother and Freddy sip their drinks. Then Mother started talking.
“Freddy, that Mort is really something. It’s amazing he can get all this. It’s going to make my time here so much better!”
Freddy’s big grin was flashed across the monitors. Francine smiled, “We got the dealer,” she said.
Rona nodded.
Mother continued.
“And having such a nice nephew to supply the weed and spirits. But I’m still a little leery of that molly from the front desk girl. And that nurse is taking a huge risk selling him Viagra and pain meds,” Mother added.
“Dear…you worry too much. I admit I was a little afraid to try molly but once the blue pills kick in, that stuff makes you feel like you’re in college again. The best love making you’ll ever experience,” Freddy said, blinking his milky blue left eye.
“Aren’t you afraid the nurse is going to get busted and…how do they say it? Snitch on Mort. Then Mort might decide to turn us in,” Mother continued.
She ran her boney hand up his thigh.
“We’ve been doing this for over a year. He has a system. Please don’t worry!” Freddy replied.
“Yes, yes. Now show me how to use this vaporizer thingy! We can have a couple drinks before you take your blue pill.”
***
Rona and Francine burst into the room just in time. Mother and Freddy were two drinks in, and already stoned. Freddy had the Viagra and Molly set out on the TV table next to the orthopedic recliner, ready to go.
“The party is over, Freddy,” Francine said.
Freddy turned ashen and stammered, “She gave it to me…It’s her stuff!”
Mother glared at him.
“And I was going to fuck you,” she said.
Then Mother started laughing, a slow chuckle at first, but soon growing into a full-blown belly laugh.
“What’s so funny, Mom?” Francine asked.
“My daughter and her dimwitted sidekick finally graduated from being Lucy and Ethel and outsmarted me…well goddamn. Well played. Where’s the fucking camera?”
Rona pointed to one of the cameras in the room.
“You get everything you need?” Mother asked.
“Cleaning house tomorrow morning, first thing. Good work, Mom,” Francine said.
“Ok. Let’s go downstairs. You can cut me a check and call me a limo. I’m out of this shithole tonight.”
JD Clapp writes in San Diego, CA. His work has appeared in The Milk House, Revolution John, PovertyHouse, and numerous others. His story, One Last Drop, was a finalist in the 2023 Hemingway Shorts Literary Journal, Short Story Competition. His short story collection, Poachers and Pills, is forthcoming from Cowboy Jamboree Press in 2025.