Lab Rat part 31

Posted: February 14, 2011 in Fiction, Mental health, Test Subject

“Oh thank God,” I say, as I struggle to pull my pants up. I’m not upset about pissing all over my floor. I kind of think it won’t be my worst problem for the rest of the night. “I thought I left my door unlocked all damn day!” I don’t recognize anyone in this little quartet, but a moment of clarity pierces the alcoholic haze in my brain. I beat up some dudes who were trying to collect protection money. I didn’t check the corner store. Either the clerk sold me out to save himself, or they got the information by less friendly methods. It occurs to me that while I hope he’s okay, I’m going to be pissed if he just ratted me out like that.

“Listen kid, you upset some people with your little stunt the other night.” The man sitting on the milk crate stares at my face the whole time. I’m guessing he really wants me to finish getting my pants back up. Reminds me of a locker room. He goes on. “The Big Dog wants to have a little meeting to discuss this stepping on of his toes.” He stands. The guy sitting on my bed rises too. These guys are all bigger than me. I’m an even six feet tall, and the shortest suit is half a head taller. They could each fill my front doorway with their shoulders too.

“That’s cool,” I say. Adrenaline clears my head a little in anticipation of being beaten into a pulp. “Are we in a big rush? I wanna change out of my work clothes and I need to eat.” I hold up the injector and point. “Doctor’s orders.” The talker sniffs.

“Get him a clean shirt,” Talker says to the guy who was sitting on my bed. I point wordlessly to my dresser. I just cleaned, and I don’t want my clean laundry to land in my fresh piss. “Big Dog will have food.” The guy going through the plastic drawers of my dresser pulls out a black tee shirt and tosses it to me.

“Thanks,” I tell him and switch shirts.

“Let’s go, Brinks. This isn’t someone who likes to wait around.” Talker points me to the door. One of the armed suits steps outside. I decide that I need to be cooperative until I’m sober enough to be clever so I follow his lead. I start up the stairs after the gunman, and I can hear the heavy footsteps of the three mountains of meat following me. There’s a slam. At least they shut my door. They lead me down to a big black shiny sport utility vehicle parked in front of my building. If that was there on my way in, then I’m a goddamn idiot. The consolation prize is that so are they. No subtlety. I won’t have to worry about being out thought by these guys. Talker and one gunman take the back seat and bracket me in. The other gunman and my wardrobe guy take the front. The car stinks of cigarettes and knockoff cologne. The SUV starts with a growl, and we take off to see this Big Dog of theirs.

Is it weird that I’ve been drawing a lot of parallels between my love life and that of Church’s? Yeah, it’s weird. I made a couple of continuity errors the other day and had to spend some time fixing them. I took care of it all on the document side, but I’m not sure about the web version. My sunburn and my tattoo are healing nicely, and I’m finally getting a handle on my assorted berserk emotions. That’s good news, right? I am going to try for larger posts than my average has been, but I still have to maintain my presence at my horrible place of employment.


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