Time Flies When You’re Having Fun

“Levi! Can you hear me?”

I don’t have any idea how long Megan’s been calling me. It feels like I’ve been out for days. I raise my watch to my face. It feels like the devil is wrenching red-hot fire sticks into my arm. I hope I don’t need surgery. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds. Not that it would matter all that much if I was reported. The cops around here tend to look the other way in matters such as these. Especially if you give them enough scratch. Except that I wouldn’t be going to a hospital anyway. I’d be going to some back-alley former doctor who’s a practicing alcoholic these days. I don’t have one that I use regularly, but it seems like that’s what all the doctors who cater to my specific clientele are. Either way, I’d just as soon rather not have to go through the motions. It’s a pain in my ass no matter which way you cut it.

Through the pain, I catch a glimpse of my watch before I let my hand drop down past my side and come to a rest on the floor mat of the car. Only fifteen minutes have passed since the gym. It feels like an eternity.

Megan is leaning over me, staring intently. I can tell that she’s mortified. All of the adrenaline has rushed out of her system and she’s no longer the hellfire wildcat that was behind the wheel. She’s transformed back into just a regular young woman again. I feel like I could stare at her for hours. Especially with her leaning over me the way she is. That cleavage I was so intrigued by at the gym looks even better at this angle. As another burst of pain travels through my body, I realize that, no matter how much I’m enjoying the view, the problem with staring at her is I’m wasting time. I don’t feel like dying in the front seat of my car. At least not now. Not here. And certainly not when an asshole like Bruiser’s the one to blame. I clear my throat and I can feel my mouth fill up with phlegm and blood. I can’t think of a time that it’s ever good to have blood in your throat. I spit the mucus in my mouth to the floor of the car and inhale a deep breath.

“Go upstairs,” I tell her. My voice is barely audible and every word I speak is excruciatingly painful, but I can tell by her hypnotic nodding that she understands fully. “Second floor, first door. Knock three times, pause, knock two times. Get Jacks. Bring him here.” Megan keeps nodding, but she doesn’t move. I start coughing. I feel like I’m being beaten with lead pipes. The pain is incredible. My entire body shudders. I get it under control quickly and draw a deep breath. It feels like I’m being inflated with a bicycle pump.

“Move it!” I can only muster a half yell, but that seems to be enough to get her in gear. She scrambles from the car, grabbing the keys from the ignition, and tears toward the apartment building. A cold sweat breaks out on my body. It doesn’t help cool me down. I feel like I’m on fire. I can’t do anything now but lay in wait and hope I don’t get nabbed. That’s the last thing I need right now. Knowing my luck, the only cop to show up would be a straight-and-narrow one who would slap a set of cuffs on me. I’d rather die than go to the joint. I close my eyes and try to focus on anything but the pain. It doesn’t work. Everything I think of is spliced with images of the wound on my arm, or the glass beneath my skin, or the bullet lodged in my thigh, or what I can only imagine is a concussion. A shadow falls over my closed eyelids. I’m caught.

I open my eyelids. My mind is already racking itself looking for a response to whoever is looming outside the car and my arm is trying to make its way to my gun before I realize that I’m out of bullets. Why did Megan park in front of the building? There’s a secluded alleyway out back. It would’ve been safe there. My mind catches up and I realize that I can’t blame her. She couldn’t have possibly known that. I wish I had been coherent enough to inform her of the alley. Too late. Not much else I can do at this point. I focus as best I can at the figure before me, but all I can see is a shadowy mess.

“I can explain—” I can’t tell if that’s me speaking. The voice I hear is weak. It sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a swimming pool. The shadow doesn’t respond. It raises what I can only assume is a hand and I see a flash of green before it fades back to gray. The shadow drops something into the car that flutters and lands on my face. It’s light. I figure it’s paper. I blink just in time to see the figure move away, replacing the darkness with the gray autumn sky. What the hell was that? Who was that? What’s covering my eye?

I try to lift my hand to grab it off my face. My hand won’t move for me. I try even harder but it refuses to obey. This is not a good sign. I close my eyes again. The world is spinning. Another shadow falls across my eyelids. I slowly open my eyes again. I wish someone had told me when visiting hours were.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I mumble. I can barely move my lips. My head feels light from the loss of blood. The door opens and the shadow plucks the paper from my face. It leans in toward me.

“You wanted me, you lousy prick.” I barely recognize the gruff voice. The shadow’s facial features come into focus.

“Jacks.”

I think that Jacks smiles. All I can see is a white blur where his mouth should be. “Yeah, it’s Jacks. We’re gonna get you upstairs.” I nod and I can feel his hands grab me under the arms. I wince and my lips draw back in a silent snarl as the pain comes at me from every angle imaginable. Jacks doesn’t seem to care. “Yeah, this is gonna hurt for a few minutes, pal. Get used to it.”

He drags me from the car. I didn’t think that the pain could get more intense, but the second I’m on my feet, I realize that it can. This must be what it feels like to be struck by lightning. We move to the apartment door quickly. Actually, Jacks moves to the apartment door quickly. I’m being dragged in tow. I try to move my legs, but they won’t work properly. They seem to be twisted together. Jacks mumbles a string of profanities. I stop helping.

The next thing I know, we’re at the door to my apartment. The trip up the stairs is lost to me. The first thing I think of is Megan.

“Is she all right?”

Jacks bangs once on the door. “The gal you were with?”

I realize that he can’t read my thoughts. Dammit. I do my best to nod.

“The gal you were with is fine. She’s inside.” The door opens and Jacks pulls me through and into my apartment. He drags me to the bed and sets me down on my back. I don’t want to get blood on my bed. It’s a bitch to clean up and I don’t want to get a new bed. I’ve finally gotten this one worn in. It’s bad enough I got blood in my car. I try to get up. Jacks lays a hand on my chest and pushes me back down. I try a second time, but Jacks holds me in place.

“Blood . . . sheets,” I gurgle.

Jacks puts a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. That girl—What’s your name, kid?”

The response comes from somewhere overseas. “Megan.”

“Megan already put some towels down,” Jacks tells me. “You won’t get any blood on your blankets.” It’s a good friend who can make sense out of incomprehensible babble. Maybe he can read my mind after all. My head lolls to the side. The gray is starting to creep back into my sight. I’m seeing tunnel vision. I feel like I’m going to vomit.

“Dickhead, don’t you go on me now.” Jacks taps my cheek a few times. I move my head back upright. Jacks holds it steady and looks into my eyes. “The doc I use is out of state. Do you know any doctors?”

I search through the Rolodex of my fading mind. I don’t know any doctors. I hate doctors. I shake my head. Jacks tightens his jaw. “Do you know anyone at all in the health care field?”

My rattled brain catches on something. “I know a ph. . .” I choke up on some blood. I clear my throat. “I know a phl . . .” The blood chokes me up again.

“What the fuck is a phl?” Jacks asks. I can hear his anger level rising. Patience was never one of Jacks’s strong points. I grit my teeth and dig into my brain with everything I’ve got.

“. . . botomist,” I manage. I close my eyes, thankful that the word is out of my body. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

“What?” Jacks says, I can feel his body shift as he turns his head. He’s now speaking to Megan. “Did he just say botanist?” Beneath my eyelids, I roll my eyes.

“Isn’t that a plant doctor?” Megan asks softly. I can’t help but think that these two are idiots. They’re probably thinking the same thing about me. At least I have an excuse.

Jacks turns back to me. “How the hell is a botanist going to help you?”

I shake my head, wishing I could slap Jacks in the face. I clear my throat again and take the most excruciatingly deep breath I can muster. I try to yell, but it comes out as a gurgle. “Phlebotomist.”

“Shit,” Jacks mumbles. “That makes more sense.”

“Is that going to help?” Megan asks.

I open my eyes a crack and see Jacks nodding. “It’s going to have to do.” He reaches into my pocket and grabs my phone. I want to ask him if he’s getting fresh, but I just don’t have the energy to be a smart-ass. He flips my phone open. “Okay, what’s his name?”

I groan. What is this, The 64 Million Dollar Pyramid? How many questions is he going to ask me?

“Asshole, what is his name?” I draw a blank. I’m fading faster than I expected. What’s his name? This is like a high school exam I didn’t have time to study for. The dog ate my homework. I clear my head and try to picture the phlebotomist. What is his name? As a squiggly lined picture makes its way into my head, I realize why this is so hard. It’s not a guy, it’s a dame.

“Buh . . .”

That’s all I can remember right now. Even if I could remember more, I feel that’s all I can eek out. It’s slowly coming into my consciousness. I can hear my phone beeping as Jacks scrolls through the stored numbers.

“Was that a ‘buh’ or a ‘duh’?” he asks Megan.

“I think it was a ‘duh’ . . . with a D,” she tells him. I grit my teeth and shake my head. It must look like I’m having a spasm because Jacks grabs me roughly and holds me in place. I breathe deep again.

“Buh . . . Buh . . . ,” I say.

“Definitely a D,” Jacks says. If I had any energy left in my body, I would scream. Instead, I hum, letting the noise reverberate through my clenched teeth. I can feel Jacks staring at me.

“Bee,” I say, buzzing through my teeth again.

“Starts with a B,” Jacks says. My phone is beeping spastically as Jacks scrolls through the names.

“There are nine names in here that start with B and all of them are females,” Jacks says. “Are you sure this guy’s name starts with a B and not a D?” Thank God there are no women’s libbers here to see Jacks in action.

“Eck . . .”

“Beck?” Jacks continues scrolling through the names. “Like the singer?” I’m about to go into convulsions when the beeping of the phone stops. “Becky?”

I nod. Finally, a breakthrough. Jacks dials the number. “Your phlebotomist is a fucking chick? Who the fuck wants a chick doctor?” Gotta love misogyny. Jacks stands up and moves across the room. I can hear him talking. I can’t understand what he’s saying. The gray is taking over all of my vision now. I can barely see him. I feel a body at my side. A warm, soft hand rubs my cheek. It feels like silk against my face. Fading.

“You’re gonna be fine.” Megan takes my hand. She doesn’t seem to mind the blood I’m covered in. She holds my hand gently. “Help is on the way.” I give her hand a squeeze. It’s half-assed, but it’s all I can manage in my present state. It feels like I’m in a black-and-white photograph. Megan is smiling.

“Help is on the way,” Jacks confirms, hanging up the phone. “It’ll be here shortly.” Jacks moves to my side and tears my shirt open. I groan, though it doesn’t hurt at all. This is my favorite shirt. First it was my jeans, now my shirt. Dammit. Jacks doesn’t give a rat’s ass, he starts checking my wounds. He starts with the one on my arm, moves around to the one on my scalp, and finishes with the one on my thigh.

“You lost a lot of blood, my man,” Jacks tells me, clicking his tongue. “A lot.”

I try to retort but all that comes out is a raspy, clicking whisper. I want to make some sort of smart-assed remark but I’m too fucking tired to do so. Obviously I lost a lot of blood. I can feel my tank running on empty right about now. I try to acknowledge his statement with a nod of my head, but even that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

Fuck it. It was a rhetorical statement anyway.