Blanket Immunity

by Adam Van Susteren

  “Uh uh.” Jo shook her head and took a moment to steady herself. “Tina said vomiting might help but he could choke on it. Should we bring him to the bathroom and try to get him to vomit?”

  “Okay. Hold on.” Omar went to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels, Lysol spray, a bottle of water, and two plastic garbage bags. He put them in the small bathroom and came back to Jo who was taking off her heels.

  “I’ll take his legs,” Jo offered.

  As Omar grabbed and pulled Brad, Jo saw Brad’s eyes open. “Ztha pha?” Brad slurred heavily.

  Jo let go of Brad’s legs and they thudded to the ground.

  “Pick them up. Let’s go,” Omar commanded.

  “Are you okay, Brad?” Jo asked, as she picked up his legs and helped carry him to the bathroom. Jo felt Brad as dead weight, not struggling against being carried. She watched as Brad tried to careen his neck back to look at who was carrying him.

  “Whow?” Brad asked.

  “Huh?” Omar asked as they moved Brad into the small bathroom. He nodded towards the tight corner. “Let’s get him between the toilet and that wall there.”

  “Okay,” Jo said, recognizing they could use the wall and cramped space to wedge him upright against the toilet.

  “Whoo arr u?” Brad asked with a louder voice.

  Omar put Brad’s hands on the toilet and held him as Jo pushed his legs into the corner. Omar pushed Brad’s back against the wall. Brad was strong enough to lean back against it without falling over, and was able to see Omar.

  “Ohh noo,” Brad slurred. “R u killeen me?”

  “No,” Jo called out. “You drank poison. We’re trying to save you. We need you to throw up.” Jo looked at Omar with fresh fear. Brad’s first reaction to seeing Omar was to ask if Omar was killing him.

  “You going to make him throw up?” Omar asked.

  Jo inhaled deeply, thankful for her alcohol and roofie buzz. Holding her breath, she put her right index finger into Brad’s mouth and searched for something to trigger Brad’s pharyngeal reflex. As her finger struck the back of Brad’s tongue, she saw him convulse slightly, and felt a shooting pain in her finger.

  Jo slapped Brad with her left hand and was able to withdraw her finger. “Asshole bit me hard,” Jo said to Omar, and showed him little bite marks on her finger.

  Brad’s face tensed.

  “Get back,” Omar warned and he pushed Brad’s head over the toilet, knocking Jo off balance.

  Brad’s body tightened and fluids spewed from his mouth into the toilet bowl with such velocity the toilet water splashed back into Brad’s face. His body reflexively made him gasp for air between spurts of vomiting. After three rounds of expelling Omar pushed Brad against the wall.

  Seeing the water and vomit on Brad’s face, Jo unrolled a wad of paper towels and wiped it clean. She looked in the bowl and saw light fluids only. “Is that enough?”

  Omar shrugged. “You putting your finger in again?”

  “No way.”

  “Give him some water?”

  “Okay.” Jo watched Brad. He seemed awake, but had his eyes closed. He was breathing heavier than before. She wondered how she could get Brad to drink. And when Dzuy came back with charcoal, how they could get Brad to take it.

  Jo used her left hand to squish Brad’s cheeks, pursing his lips. She poured a little bit of water into his mouth, tilting his head back, and he swallowed it. It seemed, even in his intoxicated state, he wanted to clear the vomit taste from his mouth and throat.

  After taking several small amounts of water Brad stopped swallowing and leaned his head forward, so the water spilled out of his mouth.

  “Guess he’s done,” Omar said, closing the lid to the toilet and pushing Brad on top of it. “I think we want him at an angle like this, so if he vomits, he doesn’t choke on it.”

  “Uhh,” Brad groaned his approval at the idea of not choking.

  Omar pointed to the tip of Jo’s long hair.

  Jo looked down, saw it was wet and shrugged.

  “Brad’s vomit, if you want to wash it out.”

  Jo felt nauseated. She took a step back from Brad and leaned over the bathroom sink to steady herself.

  “Easy. You’re doing good,” Omar said and put his hand on her back.

  Jo shivered at his touch. She didn’t shiver from the touch of the little monster, she shivered because it felt good.

  “Thanks.” Jo pumped a squirt of soap into her hand and lathered it. Once sudsy, she rubbed the ends of her hair with it. She paused, looking at Omar in the mirror. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess. Thank you for everything.”

  “We partners.” Omar patted her back. “It’s what we do. For each other.”

  No matter what kind of memory-erasing drugs were, or could have been, in Jo’s system, she knew she would never forget that expectation. She would be expected to help kidnap, drug, and cover up a murder for Marcos Omar just as Omar was doing for her right now. I made a deal with the devil to protect me from a wolf. Dumb, Jo. Dumb.

  Omar stepped away from Jo and put his hand on Brad’s back. Brad was breathing nice and steady. “Breathing fine,” Omar announced, then left Jo alone with Brad in the bathroom.

  Jo shut the bathroom door behind Omar and looked in the mirror at her soapy, vomit-ended hair. Tears started flowing. She sobbed once, then turned on the water to cover the noise. She sobbed again. And again. And did her best to cry quietly. Tears flowed harder when she had to blow her nose and realized that the only soft paper required her to reach past Brad.

  She stopped sobbing and yanked a yard of toilet paper. She blew her nose with half, using the other half to dab at her eyes. The sound of running water called for Jo. She finally used the water to wash the end of her hair.

  Shutting the water off, she looked in the mirror. Her makeup had run. She pumped a lot of soap onto her hands and scrubbed at her face. As she was washing it off, she heard a knock at the door. She didn’t want to see Omar, so she didn’t answer.

  With her face in the sink bowl, she felt the door open and a presence enter the small bathroom. She looked up through her sudsy face and saw Dzuy with a shopping bag. She turned off the water, faced him, and hugged him tight.

  “Jo. Your face.”

  She ignored his comment and squeezed him tighter.

  Dzuy scooted to set his bag on the bathroom counter and snatched the hand towel lying next to it. He pushed Jo gently back and wiped at her face. With it mostly dry, he dropped the towel and finally hugged her back.

  Noticing Brad, Dzuy tensed hard. “Did he die?”

  “No. No. He’s okay.” Jo pressed her head harder against Dzuy and whispered, “My soul isn’t.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Dzuy reassured.

  “What about us?” Jo leaned her head back to look at Dzuy’s face.

  Dzuy shook his head. “Let’s focus on the here and now. I got the activated charcoal stuff. I think we give four pills now, 100 mg. Then one pill every two hours after.”

  Jo gave Dzuy a final squeeze and pulled away. “Let’s do it.”

  Dzuy handed her four pills and Jo pushed Brad’s head back against the wall. With the painful memory of Brad’s bite, Jo left Brad sitting like that for a second as she thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jo shook her head. “I think I got it.” She used her left hand to open Brad’s mouth and dropped the four pills in it so they tickled the back of his throat. She reached for the water bottle, pouring water into his mouth until he started choking on it.

  Brad’s reflexes made him swallow and cough, the shock to his system bringing him back to consciousness. “Whaz happennen?”

  “He can talk,” Dzuy said with optimism in his voice. “That’s a really good sign, right?”

  “I don’t know. I can call Tina and ask.”

  Dzuy looked at Brad’s limp body wedged in the corner and laying across the top of the closed toilet. “That’s a good idea. We don’t want him to die or ha
ve any brain damage.”

  “I’m so sorry that we’re here doing this. I was trying to do the right thing. I didn’t think a few pills could be so dangerous. Omar was fine with his two.”

  “And Brad will be okay, too.”

  Jo nodded. “Should we move him back to the chair?” She picked up the hand towel and wiped a little more soap off her face. As she lamented her puffy eyes in the mirror she suddenly felt exhausted.

  Dzuy pulled under Brad’s shoulders, dragging him away from the toilet and across the bathroom floor. The white bath mat scrunched under Brad as it dragged with him. Jo grabbed Brad’s legs and the two carried him to the same recliner as before. This time, they pulled out the foot rest and Brad looked comfortable. “Buttur. Hanx,” Brad muttered softly.

  “He just said ‘better’ and ‘thanks!’” Dzuy exclaimed. “Right? His brain can process he’s more comfortable here. That we moved him. Right?”

  Omar shrugged.

  Too tired to share Dzuy’s enthusiasm, Jo said, “I think so. I’m going to lay down for a bit. Can you give him some oxygen? You can call Tina from my phone…” Jo trailed off as she flopped down on the couch and closed her eyes.

  “They didn’t have oxygen bottles. They told me to try a sporting goods store. But I got a meter,” Dzuy said to Jo, who didn’t appear to be paying attention. He got the box from the bathroom and tore it open while he walked toward Brad.

  Within a few seconds, Dzuy had batteries in the little finger-clip-on machine, had it turned on and placed on Brad’s finger. He pressed a button and waited. Pulse was fifty five beats per minute, oxygen level was eighty-eight percent.

  Dzuy scoured the little pamphlet. The pulse seemed fine but there was a warning in the pamphlet that the device doesn’t measure contractility strength, the strength of the pulse, so one must ensure the pulse is strong enough to send blood throughout the body.

  Dzuy flipped the tiny page and searched for oxygen levels. Normal was 95-100. Anything under 90 was considered hypoxemia. Dzuy checked Brad’s monitor again, he was hypoxemic. “Fuck,” Dzuy muttered and looked back at the little pamphlet. Under 80 could lead to organ failure and brain damage.

  “What’s up?” Omar asked.

  “His oxygen level is a low. I can’t tell from this pamphlet thing if that’s okay or dangerous.”

  Omar shook his head. “I work out with guys who run with snorkels and masks to reduce their oxygen. The guy took a few pills. He’ll be fine. If not, I’ll take care of it.”

  Dzuy was processing how to respond to that when he was startled by Jo’s phone ringing on the kitchen island. He hustled to it and saw the call was from a Matt Terry, not the guy married to the doctor Tina.

  Setting the phone down, Dzuy asked, “Do you know if there’s a sporting goods store near here?”

  “Nope. Gotta drive to one of those.”

  “Damn,” Dzuy said with a shake of his head. “I feel like I should be doing something. Maybe getting the guy some oxygen would help.”

  “Call that cross-fit place down the street, they might sell it.”

  “Thanks.” Dzuy tapped on his phone to find the name and number of the gym. He called, pacing around the apartment while Omar played some sort of game on his cell phone. Dzuy learned they did have little oxygen containers for sale.

  Dzuy jogged to the gym, bought two hand-sized, one-hundred-breath, oxygen bottles and jogged back. He stood over Brad and pressed the cup around his nose and mouth and waited for Brad to inhale and pressed on the release trigger. Two seconds later he did it again. And again. Dzuy understood that Brad’s breath timing was like his after the jog. It was quicker and more shallow than normal.

  After ten breaths, Dzuy checked Brad’s oxygen meter and saw it was up to ninety-four percent. “Hey, Omar,” Dzuy called out.

  “Yeah?” Omar responded, with his eyes still on his phone.

  “It worked! His oxygen level went up.”

  Omar nodded.

  Dzuy checked the time on his phone. “Guess I’ll do this every fifteen minutes. I’m really kind of making shit up here. You got any ideas?”

  Omar looked up. “He’s gonna be fine. Get what you need from his phone. We’ll take him down to the border and put him in a cheap-ass hotel. He’ll think he partied in TJ.”

  “You’re not worried about him dying? Or brain damage?” Dzuy asked while looking at the oxygen and pulse meter on Brad’s finger.

  “He breathin’. Serves him right for faking rape. And trickin’ our girl,” Omar said, nodding toward Jo. He pointed at Dzuy’s laptop. “Find anything?”

  Dzuy walked over and sat down at the kitchen island. “His whole phone is copied.” He unhooked it and started running a search for video files. “Thirty-eight video files. I’ll start with those.”

  Dzuy played video after video, moving ahead multiple times in each to ensure the target video wasn’t hidden inside a longer video. Twenty minutes passed before Dzuy realized it was past time to check Brad’s pulse and oxygen levels.

  After a monitor reset, Dzuy noted the pulse was constant and the oxygen level had slipped back to ninety-one. After two minutes and twenty more breath’s Dzuy checked and it was up to ninety-eight.

  As Dzuy walked back to the laptop, Omar called, “How much longer we going to keep him here?”

  Dzuy shrugged in frustration. “I haven’t found the video file yet. If it’s not on there, what were you two planning on doing?”

  “She said she had a backup plan. Wake her?”

  Dzuy shook his head. He grabbed Brad’s phone, walked back to Brad, used Brad’s finger to unlock it, and tossed it to Omar. “Want to help me look?”

  Omar caught the phone with his left hand. He looked at it and laughed.

  “What?”

  Omar stopped his laughing with a big breath. “It’s a different phone than the one he showed me with the video clip on it.”

  Dzuy’s lips parted and his jaw dropped with disbelief. “You mean all this and we didn’t even have a chance.”

  “What a waste of a day,” Omar chuckled.

  Dzuy stomped over to Jo and shook her gently. “Jo. Wake up. Jo.” Upon getting no response, he shook her a little harder.

  “Wha?” Jo mumbled.

  “We got the wrong phone. Brad has two phones. We got the wrong one.”

  “So?”

  Dzuy pulled Jo somewhat upright. “We didn’t get the video.”

  Jo pressed her hands to her forehead. “We didn’t get the video?”

  “Yeah. This was all for nothing.”

  Jo sat up all the way. “How is he?”

  “I think he’s okay,” Dzuy pointed to the finger monitor. “His oxygen level and pulse are a little low. I’m no doctor, but think they are okay.”

  Jo involuntarily yawned. “Sorry.” She looked at Brad, then back to Dzuy. “I was hoping this was just a dream.”

  “What do we do?” Dzuy implored, as Omar quietly watched.

  “My head is foggy.” Jo took Dzuy’s hand to help her stand up. She paced around the apartment, opening and closing her hands.

  “Is that helping?” Dzuy asked.

  “Yeah. I feel the blood pumping.”

  “Oh shit!” Omar called out.

  Jo and Dzuy turned to look at him.

  Omar pointed toward Brad’s crotch. “Dude’s got a horse cock.”

  Dzuy looked. “Sometimes that happens to me when I’m sleeping. Probably a good sign, means his blood is flowing.”

  “Me too,” Omar added. “Half the time I wake up with a boner.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “You boys and your penises.”

  Omar stood up pointing to his and Dzuy’s crotches. “Our penises.” He pointed to Brad’s crotch. “Brad’s giant dick, that’s how we close today out.”

  “I’m sorry?” Jo asked, not understanding Omar’s plan.

  Omar pointed at Jo. “You figure out the legal stuff from whatever is on his computer.” He pointed to Dzuy and himself. “We’ll ta
ke care of Brad.”

  “You’re not going to….” Jo couldn’t bring herself to say kill him.

  “No.” Omar shook his head. “We’re going to let him have some fun.”

  Chapter 26

  Dzuy and Omar each had one of Brad’s arms around their shoulder and one arm around Brad’s waist as they dragged him across the apartment. The way Brad’s body leaned against the shorter Omar made Dzuy feel tall.

  The jostling brought Brad into a state of semi-consciousness, enough to be of minor help to the team movement as they approached the apartment door that Jo held open for them.

  When the group stopped, Dzuy could feel Brad put some weight on his feet. When they walked, he was mostly being dragged. As Jo led them down the hallway, Dzuy felt as though Brad was gaining a little bit of strength.

  They waited for the elevator. When it arrived, it was empty. The three men entered first. Jo asked Omar, “What floor?”

  “P2.”

  Jo pushed it. The elevator opened at the ground floor and an elderly man with a little white dog stared at the group.

  “Too much to drink,” Omar quipped.

  The man looked at his dog, then to Omar. “Uh, we’ll take the next one. If your friend vomits, it’s your responsibility to clean it up.”

  “Of course. Have a good one,” Omar said with a smile.

  Dzuy felt the knots in his stomach unwind and started laughing. Omar joined in the laughter, while Jo looked deep in thought.

  The elevator opened and Omar nodded to the left. Jo exited first, holding car keys and a clicker. She looked to her left and pressed the unlock button, searching for the car it belonged to.

  “The little white SUV,” Omar called out.

  Once Jo spotted it ten cars down, she walked ahead of the men and opened the back door. She climbed inside and scooted to the middle of the back seat. She set a plastic bag with the oxygen tanks on the floor.

  As the three men approached, Jo asked, “Can you put his feet in first?”

  Dzuy and Omar jostled with Brad and kicked a leg up. Jo grabbed it and pulled as they stuffed him into the back seat. Jo clicked Brad’s seat belt and exited through the other door.

  She handed the keys to Omar. Omar handed them to Dzuy. “I need to make some calls. Can you drive?”