Evan Arden 02 Otherwise Occupied (16 page)

His hand dropped down my chest, over my abs, and cupped my crotch.  I closed my eyes and thought of all the porn I could remember to get myself to react a little.

“You’re still nervous,” Brad commented.

“Yeah, I bit, I guess.” 
Either that or my dick really only worked for chicks.

“Don’t be,” he said quietly.  “We can go as slow as you want to.”

“Okay,” I replied.  I cleared my throat.  “Maybe some wine or something?”

“Good idea.”

There was a small bottle in the tiny hotel room bar, which I opened and poured into two glasses.  Checking over my shoulder, I quickly added Rohyphenol tablets to one of the glasses, stirred the drug until it dissolved into the liquid, and then handed it to Brad.

It didn’t take long for the drug to take effect.  Not that I needed any of that to rape him, as had become the drug’s more common usage, but it did make him nicely stupid and easy to manipulate.  Actually, he took to the stuff like I imagined a schoolgirl would.

In other words, he just dropped to the bed and started to giggle.

“I think maybe that wine hit you a little too hard,” I informed him.

“Hard,” he slurred.  “I want to see you hard.”

More giggling.

“Let’s get a little fresh air first.”

He agreed.  He would have agreed to anything at that point, up to and including taking a leap off the balcony.  If I had thought about it beforehand, and if his death should have looked like an accident, I might have gone that route.  He was a message, though – like most of my work: Don’t fuck with Rinaldo Moretti.  It
didn’t matter who you were or how many people there were around you – you were going to get killed.

Ashton half fell against me, and I felt his mouth on my neck.

“So fuckin’ sexy...”

“Yeah, I’m a dream,” I replied.  I sat him down on the bed as my phone began to buzz.

I glanced at the number, but other than being a Chicago area code, I wasn’t sure who it was.  Under most circumstances, I didn’t answer when I didn’t know the number – it was more often someone wanting me to buy something than anything else – but this time I did.

“So where you hanging out tonight?”

“Terry Kramer?”  My eyes narrowed as I looked at the phone again.  I had a number in there for Terry, but this one wasn’t it.  “What do you want?”

“Just
wonderin’ what you were up ta,” he said.  “I heard you might have left town.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one in particula’,” he said.

I could just about see his ridiculous, nonsensical grin in my head.

“Well, your information sucks,” I told him.

“So, you
wanna go have a drink somewhere?”

“Busy,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?  Doin’ what?”

“I
gotta date,” I said right before I hung up.  I looked down at Ashton, who had flopped over to his side on the bed and closed his eyes.  He muttered something as I hoisted him back onto his feet again, but I couldn’t understand a word of it.

I carried my “
drunk” friend out the back of the Westin and down the street to a quiet, deserted alley.  I found exactly what I needed about halfway down the dank passage, and I helped Brad sit down on the curb by the sewer cover.  It was heavy, but I managed to loop my fingers into it and haul it up.

“
Whatcha doin’, hottie?” he mumbled.

“I’m going to kill you, sweetheart,” I answered.

With one hand firmly around his waist, I turned his body so his head was right at the top of the storm sewer entrance.

“Whoa,” he said with another giggle.  “That makes me dizzy.”

“It won’t last long,” I promised.

I made sure my grip was firm enough to keep him from falling before I was done with him, reached down my leg to the small gun holstered beside my boot, and put it to his head.

“Rinaldo says don’t worry about paying him back this time,” I told him.

Brad’s eyes widened in recognition, but I fired before he could start to struggle.

With his head in the manhole, the spatter all went down and I stayed mostly clean.  There was a little blood on my boot, but it would come off easily enough.  All I had to do was release my grip for his body to fall into the sewer and out of sight.  I stood, replaced the lid, and walked back down the street.  A cab took me to the bus station.

I leaned back in the seat and let out a long sigh which turned into a big smile.

I felt like the end of an
A-Team
episode when everything worked out, and the heroes all got to go home and live happily ever after while the bad guys were put in jail.  Except, of course,
I
was the bad guy.

Whatever.

It still felt awesome to have had everything come together so nicely.  Ashton was dead, Rinaldo would be happy, and I didn’t have to actually take my clothes off to get it done.

There was just no way I could have gone through with
that.

I was fucking sick.

My head was absolutely pounding, and my knees ached from all the kneeling in front of the toilet I had been doing.  Though I still hated vomiting with a passion, I was almost too exhausted to give a shit if my insides did start coming up.

I almost never so much as caught a cold, but whatever I had this time was nasty and unshakable.  I had no idea where I might have picked it up, but I had spent the last day and a half puking up anything and everything I put in my mouth.  Other than calling a dog-walking service to take Odin out on a regular basis, I had barely moved since yesterday morning.

To top it all off, every time I closed my eyes, I was hit with hideous dreams of blood, dust, and bodies all around me.  Even when I could drag myself out of the bathroom, I couldn’t get any actual sleep.  When I got to the point where I was feeling too weak to even get myself a glass of water
, which I would undoubtedly throw back up, I reached for my phone.

Pride didn’t even enter into it – I knew when I was defeated.

“What’s up, brotha?” Jonathan said when he answered.  “Haven’t seen ya in a while.”

“Hey dude,” I replied, “I need a favor.”

I started coughing as soon as I got the words out.  My head started pounding in my temples again, and the pain was enough to make me squeeze my eyes shut.

“You sound like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” I agreed when I could speak again.  “Can you go pick something up for me?”

“Sure,” Jon said.

“Awesome.”  I swallowed a couple of times as my stomach lurched and the hammer inside my head began to nail up drywall on the inside of my skull.  “You know that pimp dude that hangs out by Mario’s old place?  Marvin or something, I think his name is?”

“Melvin,” Jonathan corrected.  “I know the guy.”

“He’s got a hooker named Bridgett,” I said.  “Pick her up and bring her here, will ya?  I’ll Paypal ya later.”

“You got your own hooker?”  Jon laughed.

“Just pick her up,” I moaned.

“Will do,” he replied.  “Be there shortly.”

It didn’t take him long at all.  At least, I didn’t think so.  It was also possible I passed out and lost track of time between the phone call and their arrival.  Either way, it seemed only a short time later someone was knocking at the door.  I dragged myself off the floor of the bathroom to answer it.

They were both there – Bridgett in her usual tiny skirt and fishnets, and Jonathan with an unlit cigarette sticking out between his lips.  Odin peeked out at both of them from the edge of the couch.

“You are a mess,” Bridgett said as soon as the door opened.

“Shut up and get in bed,” I mumbled.

Jonathan laughed and chewed on the end of his cigarette.

“She’s right, bro, you
are
a mess.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, asshole.”  Jonathan laughed and then apologized.  “Sorry, bro – that was just mean.  You do look like shit, though – I can’t lie about that.”

“
S’okay,” I muttered.  My stomach lurched.  “Thanks for pickin’ her up.”

“No problem, bro,” he said.  “I’m
gettin’ outa here – you ain’t paying me to catch this shit.”

With Jonathan gone, Bridgett put her hands on her hips and looked me up and down.  Her eyes narrowed as she took a step forward and placed her palm against the side of my face.  As soon as she did, her look softened again.

Her hand felt cold on my skin.

“You are burning up,” she said quietly.  Her hand trailed down the side of my face and then came to rest on my bare chest.  “How long have you been like this?”

I shrugged and ignored her question.  Any additional actions would have put me in a coma.

“I just need sleep,” I told her.  “I swear I haven’t slept in days, so get in bed, okay?”

“When was the last time you drank anything?”

“I’m not that kind of sick!” I snapped.  My head began to spin a bit, and standing became quite a chore.

“You are that kind of dehydrated!” she retorted.

She probably had a pretty good point there.

Moaning, I turned and dropped down on the couch because I just couldn’t manage to get myself back to the bedroom.  At least there wasn’t anything in my stomach to puke up.  Bridgett started going through my refrigerator looking for something to force me to drink.  I heard her thumping around, and the noise took the shape of the aching in my head.  I leaned sideways until my head hit the arm of the couch and then I closed my eyes.

“Do you have any Gatorade?” Bridgett asked.

“I have no idea,” I groaned back.

She came around the couch holding a bottle of water with a straw sticking out of it.  I had no idea where she even came up with a straw, but I let her hold my head up a bit as I took a drink.  She disappeared for a minute and then came back out to shove a couple of pills down my throat and make me take another drink.

“It won’t stay down,” I mumbled.

“Maybe,” she said, “but it’s better than nothing.  How long have you really been like this?”

Completely relentless in her questioning, she kept harping on it until I finally told her.

“Since yesterday morning.”

“Could be worse,” she mumbled.

Her hands grasped onto my bicep, and she helped me off the couch and into the bedroom.  Once we got there, I flopped down on the bed and went completely immobile.  I was actually pretty sure if I did move, it would be my last action.  The water and pills in my stomach felt like they were being dragged behind one of those circus shows with the chick on the horse chasing dogs or something.  Maybe it was dogs riding elephants – I wasn’t sure.  I just knew it was all threatening to come back up again.

“Do you have a thermometer?” Bridgett called out from the bathroom.

I couldn’t answer her, so I just moaned in response.  I only wanted her here to help me sleep, not to play nursemaid.  I might have told her that if I could have formed a coherent sentence without my head exploding.

“This is the cleanest medicine cabinet I have ever seen,” she was saying from the bathroom located just off the far side of the bedroom.  “It would be more useful if there was something in it beside a razor and an extra toothbrush.”

“It’s for you,” I mumbled.  “In case you forgot yours.”

She poked her head out of the bathroom and looked over at me.  I returned the gaze, but I couldn’t really focus on her.  She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips again.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked rhetorically.

“Please lay down.”  Yes, I had resorted to begging.

With an overdramatic sigh, Bridgett climbed into bed with me.  My arms immediately wrapped around her, and I placed my head against her shoulder.  Even though I was currently going through an episode of feeling cold instead of hot, it feel good to have her cooler skin against my face.

Her hand trailed from my temple down my jaw line.  I didn’t open my eyes, but I could both hear and feel her long sigh as she wrapped an arm around my head.  My body seemed to melt into her, and I thought for a brief moment that nothing else could feel this welcoming.  A warm, heavy feeling came over me, and I wondered if this was how it felt to be on heroin.

Then I was asleep.

There were times when I knew she was waking me up to get me to take a drink or medicine or whatever.  I was pretty sure at one point I heard her take Odin out as well, but I couldn’t be sure.  There were also dreams – lots and lots of dreams.  Some were benign, but most were far from it.  They weren’t awful, though, and when I woke up, Bridgett would be there.  Usually she was sitting up in the bed with my head on her stomach or against her shoulder.  Sometimes she was reading one of my books, and other times she would be reaching down to scratch Odin’s head with one hand while she ran her fingers over my hair with the other.  One time she was asleep beside me when I woke up.

My head had been pounding and was especially achy on one side right near my cheek.  Reflexively, I reached up and found a hand there.  I pulled it down against my chest as I opened my eyes and looked into Bridgett’s sleeping face.

She was curled up next to me with her head pressed into the pillow slightly above where I lay.  Her face was relaxed in deep sleep, and her breathing slow and regular.  I reached out and touched her cheek, and the touch made her flinch from whatever dream was going on in her head.  I moved my arm up around her middle and pulled her against me, which seemed to settle her down.

I swallowed a couple of times, which made me wince from the pain in my dry throat.  I had to pee, and my head spun around as I tried to get myself out of the bed.  I stumbled towards the bathroom and ended up having to actually sit down on the seat with my boxers around my ankles because I couldn’t stand long enough to take a piss.

When I stumbled out of the bathroom, Bridgett was there to take me back to bed, give me some nasty tasting liquid medicine, and then tuck herself around me as I fell back to sleep.  The dreams came back, but they were foggy and muted.

Sand.
  Constant, relentless sand.

I know there is no way I will ever enjoy a vacation at the beach again.

It’s in my nose and throat, making me cough all the time.  As if that isn’t bad enough, the meager food I am offered contains the shit as well.

I still eat it.  I’m far beyond being stubborn about taking anything from them.  My assumption is that they will kill me eventually – when they decide once and for all that I won’t tell them anything and that the U.S. government wasn’t going to give into any demands to get me back.

Trying to move, my shoulder cramps up painfully.  I can’t move enough to get it out of the position it has been in for weeks, and I think it’s possible it’s been dislocated.  The ache is so familiar; now I barely notice it.

A sound.

Footsteps in the sand off to my right.  I turn my blindfolded head towards the distraction, and open my mouth as foul-tasting water is poured into it.

Disoriented, sweaty, and confused, I w
oke with my head on a soft stomach and feminine scent all around me.  My head was pounding, but there was some comfort in the small hand running over the top of my head.  I recognized the scene immediately.

“Lia,” I mumbled as I tucked my head against her.

Her body went a little tense, and her hand stopped moving.  I realized how pissed off at me she must be and tightened my grip on her.

“I’m sorry I left like that.  I didn’t want to.”  I tried to turn and look at her, but the throbbing inside my temples forced my eyes closed and sent me back to unconsciousness.

“What the fuck?”

I hear the sound of a woman’s laugh all around me.

“I’ve always wanted to try this.  You were in the military – it’s just like the quarter test on the bed after you’ve made it up.

“What, on my ass?”

“Exactly!”

The giggles are back, and they join my own laughter as Lia flings a quarter at my ass over and over again.  Every time she misses, it clangs on the floor.

“I can’t find it!” she calls out.

I roll over to help her look, but the wooden floor of the cabin has turned to sand.  As my hand reaches into the dry grains, I feel the round, metal object but can’t quite reach it with my fingers.
  I push to the side of the bed but lose my balance and fall.  Sand fills my mouth…

When I woke, I really had no idea how long I had been out – only that Bridgett was still there with me.  I recognized her scent immediately and found it comforting.  I didn’t even bother to open my eyes.  My fingers twitched slightly against her side, and I pushed my nose into the skin of her neck.

Her soft voice curled into my ears.  The sound was far away, muted and windy-sounding.  After a minute or so, the words took form and began to make sense.

“I can’t really do that…I would have to wake him up…”

My eyes opened a crack to see her with one of those cheap flip-phones held to her ear.  Her expression was worried, and her fingers tensed minutely against the device as she spoke softly into it.

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” she continued.  There was tightness around the edge of her mouth.  “I don’t know if…no, Mel, he’s just sleeping…he’s been using me pretty hard.”

She shifted a little, and her hand came up to the back of my head.  Her fingers moved through my hair.

“No, I can’t.  I really don’t think he wants people knowing where he lives…”

I ran a hand up the side of her body as I stretched and yawned.  For the first time in a long time, my head was not pounding so hard that I couldn’t hear anything in my ears outside of my own heartbeat.

“Is that your pimp?” I mumbled against her skin.

Bridgett’s head turned to look at me, her eyes widened, and she nodded once.  Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she watched me.  I held out my hand, palm up, but she just continued to look at me and not move.

“Give me the phone,” I eventually said.  I could still hear the pimp’s muffled voice coming from the phone in her hand.