Chapter 2:
by
Ryan Munevar
When I got
out I realized didn’t have any clean towels so I used a t-shirt. Toweled off and tossed the head into the back
of my refrigerator, like the real refrigerator.
I had
purchased a large selection of Omaha Steaks and needed to store them so I was
using the Industrial head freezer for that.
Nobody
would notice the difference.
I walked
around the pool of blood on the floor and picked the radio up and logged into
base.
Then poured
a bowl of cereal and began to check my email while watching porn in the
background. I was out of Orange Juice
but fortunately there was still some Thai beer in the fridge.
Before the
girl in the porn could get a cock in her there was a pounding on my door.
“Fucking
hell…” I got up and went over to it looking through the keyhole. It was my landlady.
“Open Up!”
she yelled.
I did.
“Yea?” I
asked.
“Do you
know there is blood leaking down through the ceiling of the apartment below?”
“That’s
fucked up…” I said it with a straight face and was able to hold it for about 5
seconds before I started laughing.
“This is
coming out of your deposit!”
I kept
laughing.
“You think
that’s funny? The woman that lives below
is a devout Catholic, they really don’t have a sense of humor when their
ceiling begins to bleed. She was in
hysterics!”
I kept
laughing as I walked past her and over to the neighbors across the hall.
“What are
you doing? I’m talking to you.”
I knocked
on the door.
“Don’t
worry about it landlady, it’s all under control.”
The door
opened. Alison, a single woman, fat, in
her mid 30’s, with 2 cats.
“What do
you want?”
“Hey… I don’t mean to sound like a sexual deviant,
but can I borrow some of your cat litter?”
“What?”
Alison asked.
20 minutes later I had 10 pounds of
cat litter covering the blood pool. I
prided myself on my problem solving skills and decided to reward myself with a
Mimosa as I watched my Internet porn while eating my Lucky Charms.
Note: Clean up and show the mixing of Orange Juice and
Champagne.
Base beeped in.
“Pico to
RMU, copy…”
I sat
there, looking at the radio... Drinking
my Mimosa, chewing bits of cereal. No, you can
wait… Cocksuckers.
“Pico to RMU, copy!”
I picked up
my radio. “What the shit? Over,” I responded into it.
“RMU… Have you been drinking? Over.”
“I gave up
last Tuesday. Over.”
“You doing
alright with it? Over.”
“Easy as
dirty cows. Over,” I finished my Thai
beer and walked over to the fridge with my radio and took another beer out
opening it with the side of the radio.
“Feel like making some money? Over.”
Finished
the beer in one long gulping swig. I was
now out of Thai beer.
“Fuck
yea I do. Over.”
“Alright,
UCLA Med Center, Joshua Brown, 57, Room 238, Patient ID number, 6666666, 7 6’s
you copy? Over.”
“UCLA,
J. Brown, Room 238, ID 7 6’s, I’m rolling baby, over.”
“And
it’s a short order. Over.”
“Fuck
else would it be? And what’s the chop
time? Over.”
What’s a short order right?
Don’t worry I’ll get into that.
“Copy
that,” fuck…
“45
minutes. Copy?”
“45,
UCLA Med Center, 15 minutes tops. Over
and out.”
I
started getting my gear together. Walking
around the puddle of blood I picked up my bag and washed it off in the shower.
Tossed
it back out by the normal refrigerator and opened the top freezer compartment
and small wave of warm water came up.
“What
the shit?” I reached in and pulled out a half bottle of rum and no ice. The machine was broken.
Perfect
timing…
They
told me that they had gotten it off EBay, but I believe they had stolen it from
the Ramada Inn on Wilshire and 3355, Koreatown, “If found please report as
stolen Call 1-800-Blah, Blah, Blah…” so the giant sticker on the left side of
it said.
I
opened the bottle of warm Rum and took a swig as I though.
“7
Eleven it is…”
I
finished dressing in my one and only black suit, with a black shirt, and a
black tie. And pulled out my grey
handkerchief, the one bit of flair that CrioDyne encouraged from its employees.
Grabbed
my keys, money clip, cell, emergency golden flask filled with SoJu(an oriental
beverage of fearsome delight, in essence an exotic alcohol that could only be
understood as ass sex with out the stink of the ass itself) and a bottle of
Vicadin with a Hello Kitty sticker on the side.
She said it was for good luck…
Fucking Junkies.
Took
an emergency swig of SoJu, grabbed the crio bag, and was out.
When
I got to my green Chevy parked in the underground garage under my apartment I
popped the trunk to toss the retrieval bag in but noticed my medical hacksaw
was missing. This was not as easy as an
ice bag pick up from 7 Eleven. The
typical medical hack saw costs roughly $845, I know because I had stolen my
last one from UCI Medical Center and those mothers had try to actually bill me
for it. Audacity doesn’t even come close
to how I would describe their attempt to collect my hard earned money.
Another
swig of SoJu, which for the sake of the Orientals I am considering renaming
brain juice for how else can you explain their super human gifts in the areas
of Mathematics and cuisine.
Rummaging
around in the trunk of the car in a slurring panic I realized that the hack saw
was not present. But I did find a few
more pairs of panties and an iPod I had stolen out of a dead mans pocket from a
previous short order 2 months prior. All
was not lost.
Putting
on the iPod and taking another swig of Oriental Brain Juice I got into the
Chevy and pulled out dirty whore style tires liquefying with smoke and squeal
and then threw it into drive as I raced out of the garage the bottom of the car
scrapping against the steep cement incline at the lip of the structure.
I was new, so I was on recovery and
prep. Those cock suckers trusted me so little they wouldn’t even give me the
keys to one of the vans let alone an extra hack saw.
Time
to get creative.
No comments:
Post a Comment