Two Black Bean and Shrimp Quesadillas, and a Pink Ruger LCP by Joseph S. Walker

Author:Joseph S. Walker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Alvin heard his name being called from a long way off. He didn’t want to go. It was nice here, warm, in the enveloping dark. It was quiet. Except not quiet, because somebody kept yelling his name, and they weren’t going to stop, he guessed, so he rolled his head and whimpered and opened his eyes, and the world came back.

He was sitting in a hard wooden chair. Tape wound around and around his forearms, holding him in place. He tried to move his feet and found they were taped to the legs.

“Mr. Van Winkle stirs,” somebody said. “About fucking time.”

It was Lamar. He was in another chair, a few feet away, and Jimmy was in a third just beyond that. They were taped to their chairs, too. They were sitting in a semicircle in a mostly bare room with cinderblock walls and a concrete floor with drains set in it. A basement?

“Been watching you doze for about an hour,” Lamar said. “Bitch must have given you too much of her magic potion. You pissed your pants a while back.”

Alvin felt the cool dampness on his thighs. His mouth was painfully dry. “Where are we?”

“No place good,” Lamar said. “They been coming to check if you’re awake every few minutes, so we don’t have long to figure this out. What the hell did you do?”

“Do?” Alvin shook his head. “I didn’t do shit. I did what you told me to do.”

“Yeah, well, something got fucked up somewhere,” Lamar said.

A metal door in the wall they were more or less facing opened, and somebody poked his head in. It might have been one of the giants he’d seen with Brittany. When he saw Alvin looking at him, he gave a nod and closed the door.

“So much for a few minutes,” Lamar said. “Here we go.”

The door opened again, and Brittany came in. She was wearing a pink T-shirt that said GIRL POWER and she looked like she should have been leading prospective students on a college campus tour and chirping happily about how great the basketball team was going to be this year. Her two pet goons were behind her, one carrying a folding chair and one the framed Picasso.

The man who came in behind them and shut the door looked like one of the colorless, humorless drones from corporate who came to the store a few times a year to tell Alvin all the things he was doing wrong. Everything about him was so bland that the eye wanted to slide right off in search of something more interesting to look at. He was wearing a dark-gray three-piece suit and rimless glasses, and his mouth was just a thin straight line across the bottom part of his face.

“Sir,” Lamar said. “This is all a misunderstanding. We can—”

The man held up a hand and Lamar instantly fell silent. The gorilla with the chair set it up in front of the bound men, and Mr. Bland sat. The other gorilla gave him the Picasso.

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