Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
CASPER
“Whatcha got for me?” I jumped down from the top bunk in Bugs’s room. The fucker startled and switched on that little implant in his ear when I slapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Where the hell did you even come from?” He swiveled in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest while eyeing me like I’d just caught ?em with his cock in the cookie jar. “How did you get in here?” he grunted.
I shrugged a shoulder. Couldn’t tell people all your secrets or you had nothing to hold over ?em later. Bugs mighta had this entire place wired up but that didn’t mean he knew it better than me. No one did.
At least no one still breathing did. The dead were particularly good at keepin’ shit they knew buried with them. The only exception was Don-Don. But he wasn’t saying nothing either.
I tapped a finger on the monitor, waiting for my bunk brother to catch up. “Who are they?”
Bugs looked from my face to the window he was quick to minimize as soon as he realized I was interested. “No one.”
“Three no ones,” I hummed, spring-boarding from my feet back onto the bed. Landing so that my legs were in the air—kicking from side to side—as I propped my chin up on my hands. “And one of those no ones looks suspiciously like that old chick we had in the conference room yesterday.”
“Chicks don’t like being called old. Or chicks,” he grumbled before blowing up the image on the screen.
The same one Lambo had given to Danica. The little arrow bouncing from one face to the other.
“Veera Vaughn.” Old chick. “Gabrielle Simmons.” Not-as-old chick.
“Bellatrix Doucette.” Angry chick. Also chick who locked my dick in a death grip.
“They run some vigilante group out of an office building at the border of West Garfield. Female clients only, which is why Adrian probably called Dani in. No listed phone number or email. All business is conducted by word of mouth, a strict referral process. It’s kinda genius actually. ”
“It’s kinda stupid is what it is.” I laughed.
Bugs peered over a shoulder to look at me. “How do you figure?”
“Girls make up what? Fifty percent of the population…”
“Closer to forty-nine—” he started to say, and I waved a hand. Because I didn’t give a shit about numbers as much as Sir Jerks-A-Lot did.
“Add in the fact most chicks like the convenience of a phone or email—”
“Pretty sure most women prefer not getting caught over convenience. Considering they’re far less likely to get accused of a crime, let alone caught and convicted, I think they might have the right idea…”
“Whatever. Point is, they aren’t raking in the cash like they could be.”
“Money isn’t everything, you know.” Bugs spun around to face his computer again.
I grabbed his pillow off the bed and tossed it at the back of his head. “Says the fucker with a hundred grand worth of techy shit piled up in his room.”
“Something you’re clearly benefiting from,” he muttered before adding, “I really should start charging more.”
“You know we don’t charge family like that ?round here…” I grinned. “We trade.”
PATIENT 899: AGE 11 YEARS, 7 MONTHS
“What’s with the new kid?” Lar-Bear dipped his head towards the weirdo in white scrubs who’d been twirling a finger in the same bowl of soup for the last twenty minutes.
None of us would question why he wasn’t eating it.
We wouldn’t eat that sludge either. But it was strange how he didn’t appear to react to anything around him.
He didn’t even look up when one of the terms—that’s what we called the fuckers who were more likely to die than get discharged—snatched the Jell-O cup off his tray.
I mean, it woulda happened anyway. But usually the newbies at least put up a little fight.
Yelled, cried. Something. It was our favorite part of being the welcome committee.
Watching the hope slowly dwindle over the first few days.
I never had hope to begin with. But Lar-rence of No Labia here…
Fucker was starving for pussy and there wasn’t much around.
The pills they were feeding him meant his dick didn’t work right anyway, which was why he’d been cheeking ?em.
Point was, he took a bit longer to break.
It was one of the reasons he was so interested in everyone else.
It was a lot easier to ignore your own steaming pile of shit when you were busy watching the other guy fall face-first in his.
Me? I just liked having a good laugh at their expense.
I maneuvered my chair from behind the cafeteria-style table and rolled up next to the kid with the dark hair. Then I waited for him to notice me. He didn’t. Or he didn’t care. So I spit out my chewing gum and dropped it into his bowl. The splash had him moving back and peering up at me.
I cocked my head to the side. He didn’t seem like he had anything wrong with him.
Then again, lots of the patients here seemed that way till they opened their mouths and started talking.
That was when all the crazy came out. And if they weren’t crazy when they started, they would be when the docs were done with ?em.
I guess every last one of us was a term in that way. Some just weren’t ready to admit it. Like Lar-Lar.
“You slow or something?” I asked the new guy.
He watched my face for a minute, made some weird noises, then grabbed his bowl and dumped it onto the table. I moved outta the splash zone as he used his finger to spell out letters in the gray-orange liquid.
“P-A-P-E-R,” I repeated out loud. “Paper?”
The kid nodded.
“You want paper?”
Another nod.
“Sure. I can get that for you. But it’s gonna cost ya.” I grinned.
He narrowed his eyes and tapped at his empty pockets.
“Not money,” I clarified. “We use a barter system.” I grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet. Leading the way to my room while poor Limp-dicked Larry watched us go with a frown on his face.