Chapter 3: American Mary
Mary sat at the operating table, carefully and meticulously stitching up a turkey that had been sliced open multiple times.
Ethan Rayne was repairing the flickering surgical lamp overhead.
The light sputtered on and off like a dying heartbeat.
After finishing the sutures, Mary examined her work, peeled off her gloves, and suddenly asked, "Ethan, do you know why I'm really here?"
"Because you like me."
"Cut it out."
"Because you saw the potential in this clinic and got in on the ground floor. Once we expand, you'll be set for life."
"..." Mary didn't even bother responding this time, just stared at Ethan like he'd lost his mind.
"Alright, alright." Ethan raised his hands in surrender. He thought for a moment. "Because I saved your life and helped you get payback?"
"That's only part of it."
"Then maybe it's because we actually trust each other."
Mary went quiet, her mind drifting back to their first meeting.
"Miss Mason, our records show you have an overdue balance."
Mary's voice was clipped. "I know. I called last Friday and made a forty-dollar payment."
"Yes, our records confirm a payment on Friday." The customer service rep's tone was polite but emotionless. "However, forty dollars typically doesn't cover—"
Mary's jaw tightened, frustration bleeding into her voice. "Nobody told me my service would be cut off when I called Friday. Nobody mentioned that."
"Then they made an error," the rep said smoothly. "That's not our usual protocol. I'll reactivate your service without charging a reconnection fee. When can you make your next payment?"
"Um..." Mary gripped the phone harder. "Maybe... two weeks? I can deposit something then... How much do I need to keep the service active?"
The rep shuffled papers on the other end. "You're three months past due. Three hundred sixty-four dollars should bring you current."
"Okay, so..." Mary's throat felt tight. "What's the minimum payment you'll accept?"
"Three hundred sixty-four dollars." The line went dead with a sharp click.
Mary stared at the blank screen, her knuckles white around the phone.
Back in her apartment, the only sound was the refrigerator's low hum.
She opened the fridge and scanned the empty shelves—just expired milk and half a bottle of ranch dressing.
Sighing, she collapsed onto her bed and pulled up job listings on her laptop. Every posting demanded "prior experience required," "full-time availability," "bring resume to interview." Her scrolling grew frantic.
She made a call.
"That's because they shut off my phone service," Mary explained, embarrassed.
A warm, elderly voice answered. "What? They shut it off? When did this happen?"
"This afternoon, I think? But it's back on now. It's handled."
"I've still got some savings," her grandmother said with concern. "I'll go to the bank tomorrow."
"No, Grandma, please don't." Mary cut her off quickly, her eyes catching a new job posting on her screen—
"$1000/WEEK - NO SEX - CASH PAID NIGHTLY"
She clicked it. The description loaded:
"Upscale gentlemen's club seeking attractive women for sensual massage and private dance entertainment.
NO SEX REQUIRED!
Weekly earnings up to $1000 plus generous tips!"
Mary's chest tightened as she stared at the words. She forced herself to breathe and spoke into the phone again.
"Seriously, Grandma, I don't need it. I sorted things out with the bank. The phone company made a mistake, that's all."
"Alright." Her grandmother sighed softly. "Nobody's giving you trouble at school, are they? No boys breaking your heart?"
Mary managed a weak smile. "I don't have a boyfriend. Nobody dates in med school—there's no time."
"I saw this show on TV," Grandma's voice dropped conspiratorially, as if sharing a cautionary tale. "There was a girl who wanted to be one of those... working girls. And when her friend found out, she made up this whole story so everyone would think her friend was the prostitute instead. Kids these days, stripping down at the first opportunity, no shame whatsoever."
Mary smiled despite herself. "That's just TV, Grandma. They exaggerate everything for ratings."
"Things like that would never happen in the old country," Grandma said firmly. "Back in Budapest, they had a specific street where those women would—"
"Uh-huh..." Mary half-listened while typing her response to the ad:
"I'm very interested in the position you posted on Craigslist.
Where should I come for an interview?"
She hit send, exhaled slowly, and closed the laptop.
That evening, Mary stood outside a building bathed in neon lights. The sign above the entrance swayed in the breeze, and the mixed scent of bourbon and cheap perfume hit her immediately.
After asking around, she finally found the owner, Billy Barker.
"What's this?" Billy asked, eyeing the paper Mary handed him.
"My resume. I wasn't sure if you needed one."
Billy looked her up and down. "You don't need a resume for this kind of work, but—hey, now I get to learn a little secret about you."
He scanned the page. "High achiever, huh? Medical school? You gonna be a doctor?"
"A surgeon."
"A surgeon?" Billy raised an eyebrow. "So you're good with your hands?"
Mary nodded. "Very. And I'm broke. I need money fast, so..."
Billy smirked. "I appreciate the honesty."
He set down the resume and leaned against the bar, drumming his fingers. "Alright, Mary, now we get to the awkward part."
"You're not... heavy, are you?"
Mary straightened. "No. Poor student who can barely afford food."
Billy gestured vaguely. "If you don't mind, I need to see for myself."
Mary hesitated, then unbuttoned her coat, revealing the black lingerie she'd deliberately worn underneath. "This work?"
"Works just fine." He nodded approvingly.
"Good."
"Walk for me. A few steps." Billy's eyes tracked her legs. "Make it sexy."
She took a breath and forced herself to move.
Billy clapped lightly. "Not bad. Now give me a shoulder rub. Come on."
Mary blinked. "Right now?"
"Yeah, now."
She stepped closer and placed her hands on his shoulders.
"Not through the jacket."
Mary bit her lip and adjusted.
"Put some pressure into it, Mary."
"Okay." Her voice was soft, her movements stiff.
Billy closed his eyes, feeling her awkward attempt at massage.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps pounded from outside. A massive, long-haired man burst through the door.
"We got a problem!"
Billy turned his head. "Mary, keep going."
Then to the newcomer: "Lance, can't you see I'm in the middle of something?"
"Blake's hurt bad."
"Take him to the ER!"
"We can't go to a hospital."
Billy slammed his fist on the bar. "Goddammit!"
He jumped up, told Mary, "Stay here!" and rushed out.
Mary rubbed her palms together, standing frozen, unsure what to do.
Moments later, Billy came barreling back in, his tone urgent. "Mary—how close are you to being a surgeon?"
"Still got a ways to go," she said cautiously. "I still need to complete my residency, but I've learned most of the—"
Billy's eyes lit up. "You want to make five grand?"
They headed toward a dim stairwell leading to the basement.
"What do you need me to do?" Mary asked as they descended.
Billy lowered his voice. "Don't ask questions. You do this, I give you five thousand cash, and you don't have to take your clothes off tonight."
Mary hesitated. "What exactly am I doing?"
"Too many questions? Forget it then!" Billy waved dismissively and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Mary grabbed his arm. "For five thousand dollars, I'll do whatever you need tonight."
Billy turned back and studied her face. "Follow me."
They entered a room in the basement. It was dark inside, filled with several gang members and a man covered in blood sprawled on a table.
Billy gestured at the victim. "We don't want him to die. We already gave him some pills. Just... operate."
Mary froze, staring at the blood-soaked figure, her mind racing.
Billy paused, then added with a cold laugh, "I'm no doctor, but I know you need to move fast."
Mary snapped back to reality and took in the scene—the bar's dingy basement was barely lit, the air thick and stale. On the makeshift operating table were beer bottles, dirty towels, and a single bare bulb swinging overhead.
"Here? You want me to operate here?"
She shook her head. "I need a sterile environment. At minimum, I need proper instruments and anesthesia."
Billy's expression hardened as he looked down at the bleeding gang member on the floor.
The man's chest had a bullet wound, blood pooling beneath him. The air reeked of sweat, alcohol, and iron.
"What the hell are we supposed to do? He's dying!"
Another gang member shouted in panic.
Billy clenched his jaw, about to curse, when someone nearby spoke up: "Wait—I remember seeing a new clinic that opened nearby. Around the corner on Seventh."
"A clinic?" Billy turned sharply.
"Yeah, just opened recently. Young doctor running it. Buddy of mine went there—they take cash, no questions asked."
Billy gritted his teeth and looked at Mary, whose hands were already stained with blood.
"Take her. Both of you go. Now!"
"But—"
"Move your ass! If we wait any longer, he's checking out tonight!"
Mary took a deep breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, but her gaze remained steady.
"Let's just hope he doesn't die on the way."
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