deux: good morning

Richard had life in his step, an epiphany every time his foot touched the concrete. He felt good, loved the air in his lungs, the body he was in, the beautiful morning.

The immense pain continued to break his head open, and he could almost the cold air flowing in to take up space in his skull. Icy fingers, sheathed in thin latex, gently lay themselves on his temples. They felt like sledgehammers, and he inhaled frigid air through clenched teeth, catching someone’s attention.

“Stevens, what are you doing?”

“Whoa, relax, man. I barely tapped him."

"Looks like the drugs have been doing their work. Knock you out for twelve hours, wake up with a hangover from hell."

The sun had moved up over the apartment buildings. Flexing stiff fingers, Richard grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, and, pulling them back, eased it off of his shoulders. He was sure that the shirt underneath was stained with last night’s excursions, with panicked sweat and blood, his and other’s, and fear. None of that mattered. He dropped the jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, letting the morning sunlight warm up his skin.

“Does this mean he’s awake?”

“Who knows? I saw his eyes open, but it’s highly unlikely that can see anything- this lamp must be like a floodlight to him”

Walking past a nightclub, Richard glanced into a car parked right in front. The wasted individual inside was just beginning to react to the newly risen sun beating down on his eyelids. Just before his steps had taken him too far, he saw the young man slump over, not enough energy in his body to turn his head away.

“You’re sure your ‘operation’ isn’t gonna kill the guy?”

“Are you doubting my abilities?”

“No.”

“I’m fairly sure.”