Slow Bear by Anthony Neil Smith

Author:Anthony Neil Smith [Smith, Anthony Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-25T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Back at the office, Santana showed Slow Bear his executive bathroom–or ‘shitroom’ as the boss called it. It was nice and warm, with toilet, sink, and a walk-in shower. Thick towels. Santana told him to get himself clean and they’d see about getting him some decent clothes. Clean ones, anyway. Santana buzzed June out in the front room, told her to get Mister Bear’s sizes and pick up something at the fleet store.

Slow Bear locked the bathroom door and stopped in the buzzy silence. Closed his eyes. Calm, please. He reached out for the sink but the room kept right on spinning for another minute or two. That might have even been a tear in his eye, but he was so pissed off it evaporated from the heat.

He got the shower temp right and shed his clothes. Now that his head had settled, he could tell why Santana was so insistent. Slow Bear smelled like a garbage buffet, something pigs would like. Layers of filth. He climbed in and the hot water hit him like a heroin rush. Good God. For a moment he almost forgot he had only one arm, and he imagined himself running his hands through his hair. For the longest time he stood still and let the water beat him senseless. He watched dirt run off him, swirl around the drain.

After that, he lathered up, his muscles crying out. Too many days of sitting at the bar, sitting on his trailer. Not enough doing things like walking or lifting heavy things. He’d really let himself go since the shooting. It wasn’t the best condition to go chasing Lady’s captors, but it would have to do.

Rinsed off. Dreaded turning off the water, but he did it anyway. Toweled off and then wrapped it around his waist. Thought about taking his old clothes with him, but fuck it. He’d wander around in a towel.

He must have been in the shower a hell of a long time because when he walked out of the bathroom a bag from the fleet store waited. Carhartt jeans, a Wrangler western shirt with flowers sewn on it, gray socks and a box of CAT work boots. Tighty-whiteys.

The new clothes stuck to his skin after the hot shower. The sleeves on the shirt were too long–ha, ha–but he would worry about that later. The jeans were snug, the seam on his crotch cutting his balls in two. The boots were fine. Surprised she didn’t buy him a hat. He stepped back into the bathroom and dug his trucker cap out of the pile of discards. It smelled like eggs-from-hell, but he set it on his head and pulled down the bill.

Then he walked out to Santana standing with a couple of men in real suits and ties. Jolly laughs and handshakes all around. Manfred stood by the door, hands tucked behind his back. Slow Bear didn’t make himself known. He just leaned against the wall and waited. Eventually, the suits looked at him a little funny and their jollies turned into nervous giggles.

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