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"Never gonna dance again...."
Fealty Lost
Slaughterhouse: Bloody Remains
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Van "Runner" Bolton, Top Man for Slaughterhouse Bath and Lodgin', looked up from his clasped hands resting on the table before him.

"Okay, let's have it."

His Second Man, Ulysses "Pistons" Urguhart, locked eyes with his boss. "Well, it ain't good." he started. "Doc' says she's going to be 'under' for at least another two weeks...something to do with her insides getting all shot up out there last time she was out. After that, maybe...?"

He looked at some notes he had scribbled down that the Doctor at the Elmsfield Hospital had said concerning Kassandra "KassAss" Kepplinger, one of their senior drivers and senior members. She'd taken an autocannon round through the abdomen. It was a wonder she'd survived, he thought, reading the damages list he'd copied down.

"...say, three months after that? Rehab'...you know the drill, Top'." he finished.

"Yeah. Yeah I do." Boltan steepled his fingers and placed his index fingers against his chin. "Alright, I'll handle it."

"Pistons" nodded. He understood the euphemism. He'd read up on them in some old books they'd found, once, and now kept locked up, about what a euphemism was. He'd even seen an old vid-disk of some grotesque orange-looking old dude saying something about if ::garbled:: wasn't his daughter, he'd 'date' her.

That was a euphemism for saying he'd f::radio edit:: his own daughter. F::radio edit:: pedophiles. he thought. Funny thing was, he reminisced, this pedo' was supposedly the President of what used to be the United States. How the f::radio edit:: did that happen? he wondered.

No big surprise the world went to shyte. He shook his head, collected his papers and stood; nodded to the Top Man and left the office.

Yeah, he knew she'd be 'handled.' That's the way it was in Slaughterhouse.

Bolton had prepared for this. Keeping Kassandra in the hospital was becoming an expense not worth the return. He'd been surprised when she came out of retirement and asked for another turn behind the wheel of one of Slaughterhouse's combat vehicles. He'd given her the shot and she'd been doing alright...until she stopped and got herself shot up after making a bad decision in the middle of a hairball.

He'd gone to the hospital complaining of bad headaches (not a lie, really) and while he was sitting in the exam room, waiting, had jimmy'd the lock on the "Sharps" box and found a needle hadn't been totally bent over, probably by someone in a hurry. Didn't matter. He had what he needed and the fingerprints of the person who'd used it last.

He'd kept it wrapped in plastic (also liberated from the hospital) for just such an occasion. He put on rubber gloves and carefully, touching as little of the needle's reservoir as possible, lifted it and inserted it into a rubber-stopped bottle of sodium chloride. He pulled the plunger back until the needle had filled. He packed it back in the plastic and stashed it up the sleeve of his Slaughterhouse duster, in a spot usually reserved for a hold-out knife.

Then he walked down to the stables, climbed into the "Semyaza," his personal Buzzer, and drove on down to the hospital. He timed it to arrive just before visiting hours ended. Most people would be gone and the night shift would be coming on. There'd be plenty of activity at the nurse's station and in the Doctors' lounge, but little in the patient rooms.

He stood quietly as the elevator rode him up to the 5th floor. He walked through the opening doors just as enough room became available, just in case anyone wanted to get on. He turned right and headed down the hall towards 523. There was a nurse turning the corner up ahead pushing some sort of electronic-laden cart. He slowed. Gave her time to make it a ways up the hallway before crossing the intersecting corridor and across it to Room 523.

There she was, he saw as he slipped in, easing the door closed with a barely audible 'snick' of the locking mechanism giving any clue someone might be entering. He walked up to her bed. She'd been a real beauty, once, a long time ago, when they were both rookies looking to earn their stripes. They'd 'hooked up' for a while, becoming almost a couple, before he started getting promoted and had picked up more duties and had more females available; those looking to hitch their wagon to a rising star.

He smiled, slightly. Those were the days, he mused. He sniffed, scrunched up his nose. Back to the task at hand. He pulled the syringe out, freeing it from the plastic, again being careful not to smudge the fingerprints that might or might not still be there. Even a partial would help. He had hope.

Not for Kassandra, of course, he thought as he slipped the needle between her second and third toes and depressed the plunger. When it emptied, he pulled it out and let it fall between the foot of the bed and the mattress, then turned back to the door...eased it open. Seeing the hallway was clear he slipped out just as he heard Kassandra's body starting to wake up to what was coursing through her veins. There would be alarms in another 15 seconds. He used that to cross to the elevators, knuckle the button. Found it was still waiting there. Boo-ya.

Walked briskly into the elevator and knuckled the "L" button, just as he heard the first wail of an alarm siren down in the nurse's station.

He turned to face the doors as they slid shut.

I've probably got time for a quick one at Dexter's, he thought. Wouldn't hurt to be seen out right about now.

He'd have to post up an opening bill around town.
.........................
vet wv

Posted Apr 29, 2020, 5:36 pm
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