(No "action" in this one, FYI)
Finally I get out of the complex around seven-thirty. Deg was heading home too, so I open the car door and he piles in. The usual jokes about my ride are as tired as we are. I've come to expect that, having the only 'Vette here.
"How's Siv doing?" he asks.
"Alright. He'll be okay. Getting the picture, I think."
"I forgot what a shock it was. Back when I discovered I was... here."
"Tell me about it." We go several blocks further. It's a warm night. Summer's coming.
Deg finishes his smoke and springs it out the window. "I wanna eat, smoke a bowl and crash."
"Sounds good."
"It's too bad you're on, I got some really good bud."
I laugh, out of reflex. "Cool. I'm not on."
"Yeah you are."
"No I'm not, dammit. Not 'til tomorrow."
"Kigo... you're on the list."
"Bullshit." I look over, and he's staring at me. Uh-oh.
"They revised it. Just after five."
"I was at the complex..."
"Did you check it? After workout?"
"No." I slam the steering wheel. "Fuck."
"Sorry, dude."
"Aaah, it's not your fault." I look at my watch. "I got... fifteen minutes. Eat, change - son of a bitch."
"Tomorrow's your usual day, though, right?"
"Means I'm on for a double." And some twisted honest impulse makes me add, "At least."
Deg nods, and doesn't say anything. Coming from just about anybody else, I wouldn't believe it without checking it out for myself. But he's always been okay to me. Not as pissed off as the rest. Like he knows this isn't my fault...
I pull up to his place, and he looks over, sighs, and holds out his hand. I grab it. "Stay strong, Wolf."
"Yeah," I sigh. "Burn one for me."
"Seeya." He gets out, and I pull down a few houses to my duplex. 7:47. I'm tired now - no way I'd be up for this, if they didn't have serious drugs...
I grab some cold cuts and roll 'em up, chewing fast. Take a leak, pull off my day uniform. Jeans, white t-shirt, jean jacket, snakeskin boots... If I walk around in anything else, I pay for it. Hell yeah.
When I'm on, it's the whole scooter trash thing. No underwear. Ratty old Harley shirt with the sleeves cut off... black chambray with buttons down the front. Scuffed black leather pants, engineer boots, vest and jacket. Fringe gloves, leather ball cap. Trade Zippos so I got a full one, slip a new pack of Camels into the vest pocket. Grab a candy bar and a handful of cookies and hit the door.
7:53. Okay. The main strip is a little over a mile long, my street to the complex. It's only a couple blocks further to the soundhouse. I always have to go to Number Seven. Sometimes they move me up in the hills...
I shut off the car at two minutes 'til. Food eaten, Camel hanging out of my mouth. I leave the keys in the car - it's not like anybody's gonna steal it. We don't have any crime. Not a problem here.
Go up and bang on the door. It won't open yet, not until I pound on it again, long and hard, like I really want in.
Then it clicks open, waiting for me to push and enter. Same old same old.
Close the door, lock it, duck into the little bathroom and take a leak. Splash some water on my face, trying to stay calm. I step back into the entry, pick up the water bottle and the little paper cup of meds. Dex and caffeine, eewww. And that's probably 'strone. Those caps could be anything - hash, Special K...
Forcing 'em all down. Draining the water. And I walk to the door, take a deep breath, and open 'er up.
The waiting room is tiny, and always really dark. I close the outer door, and lock it. Doing as I'm told. Strip down, light another cigarette, and wait, eatin' more smoke...
And within thirty seconds, as always, the last door swings in. When I can't hear it moving anymore I walk in, hands at my sides.
It's the hospital setup again.
The walls have that thick, yellowed padding. A bunch of monitoring devices around the exam table with the stained pad. Massive leather straps hang down from the sides, ruining the illusion of a medical lab.
Gloves take hold of my arms. I bring the Camel back to my mouth, and they let me... then they pull my hands behind me and start putting the cuffs on.
"Wolf One." A deep voice, lots of echo. Synthesized.
"Captor," I reply, trying hard to keep the contempt out of my voice.
"The new cub is taking much of your time."
"Some... have more trouble adjusting. Siv is doing better than he was."
"He's going on a retreat."
Oh no. Hauled off to a cabin for a few weeks. A lot of tat work, usually. Grueling nights.
"Speak your thoughts."
"I have learned not to contradict my captor." The gloves are wrapping restraints around my ankles.
"To suppress risk is also disobedience." No-win situation. I'm actually used to this...
"Yes, captor."
"Is the cub ready?"
And now I'm at a loss. It doesn't matter what I say next - for me, or for Siv. I'm in for it no matter what, here...
"You will answer."
"He's as ready as anyone ever is. No more, no less." Pretty sassy.
"Yeesss." A long, thoughtful syllable. "Clever, but not true. Either you've been wasting time with him, or you believe he's not quite ready." The voice pauses, and my ankle-cuffs are given one last tug. "He'll be examined at length. As for you, treacherous animal... time to continue measuring your responses."
The gloves push me toward the table. Beyond it, the head-strap rises up from on top of a black box. It's lined with sensors and electrodes.
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