the doctor's


I imagined that the doctor’s study would be full of bottles of formaldehyde preserving severed body parts. I remember reading somewhere that a doctor went to prison for preserving a still-born baby in a bottle of fluid and I used to think all doctors did shady things like that until I had an argument with a doctor at a wedding. I forget whose wedding it was. That’s a shame because it wasn’t such a bad wedding.

Getting into the surgery wasn’t very hard; the door we opened had terrible locks that shattered virtually as soon as we touched them. The floors that were cordoned off were covered with green linoleum, and in the waiting room checked black and white. There were two main offices – one each for a doctor – both covered with wood cabinets full of things. Both offices also had great big heavy desks.

We found jars of medication, syringes, some money – which was lucky because these places are usually gutted even when they’re open for business. The place was full of paperwork. Medical records lined the reception office like you’d expect, but both doctors’ offices were literally packed full of paper.

The dank office down the end of the green lino hallway was particularly laden with paperwork. Personal correspondence was strewn all over the doctor’s huge desk. There were letters from John Smiths, Mary Whatshernames, Joe Bloggses – you name it, several decades worth of letters of this old doctor’s life were laid out in his office. None of the letters seemed that important at first because what we were really looking for was dexamphetamines and money.

We didn’t actually find anything of real immediate worth in the building after long. We sold the medication to a guy because he thought he could use it to make speed, and the syringes didn’t go for much. Snagglepuss told us that the money we’d found was irradiated, and that all it was good for was buying groceries. So you could say the heist paid off, but the letters were something else.