Assimilation

by James Stryker

  Bullshit. Prescribing him antipsychotics so Robert could keep a tighter hold of him was a clear abuse of the so-called conservatorship. And if they’d done this, how could he even consider ending the façade with Robert and going back to them?

  I truly am alone in the world. There is no one I can trust. Nowhere I can go. The pressure of tears built, but he shoved them back. He was not going to cry in front of this motherfucking ass—

  “Hey.” Oz had reached over and nudged his shoulder. Andrew turned his head to find him smiling. The nice smile, not the cocky one. “It’ll be okay.”

  He cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah? Well, what am I supposed to do then?”

  “I told you, you were supposed to get in the car.” The man winked at him. “And the rest will work out. You have friends, remember?”

  Friends.

  And even if it didn’t put him completely at ease, Andrew still smiled. The group of misfits and their vulgar, yet rather endearing, captain were better than nothing and might be of use to him.

  Chapter 19

  “If you’re tired, you can sleep. I know how your meds are – no need to keep up pretenses,” Oz said. “We’re still thirty minutes out anyway.”

  “From where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Natalie rested. Oz knew it was partly the medication, but he also chose to believe she felt secure with him. He liked that feeling. He was rough around the edges, and sometimes couldn’t help the things he said, but he was a person who could be counted on.

  Pretty fucked that I’m your knight in shining armor.

  But although he blamed Robert, in the end it was CryoLife. And especially Brigman.

  That fucker. You’ll do anything to keep your precious company from going under. From admitting that you can be wrong. That you have been wrong.

  He imagined the doctor guiding Robert’s hand in authorizing the psychotropic drugs. Robert was a sheep. What idiot didn’t check shit out? With the information easily accessible, there was no excuse. Brigman was the puppet master, the perverted Victor Frankenstein desperately trying to keep his reputation untarnished. Robert was just a lazy douche bag. Oz would never have allowed them to give Natalie drugs he hadn’t researched himself first.

  Now you’re thinking like you’re in love with the girl, Oz. Which you aren’t. You like men. Nice, solid men. Though not too solid – still somewhat pliable.

  It’d crossed his mind last night that perhaps the attraction to her was partly sexual. A physical desire could be the explanation to the problem. Maybe the part of his brain that’d been affected was healing. He knew brain tissue didn’t regenerate, but he’d spent some time online looking at naked women to test the argument. It’d done nothing but swamp his computer with grotesque pictures and bore him. So while he knew he was still gay, the pull toward her remained. Another independent variable had been creeping into the theory however.

  Maybe I forget you’re a woman. You wear those hoodies and baggy pants. You could be a long haired man out of the corner of my eye. And if you were … Damn, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to be alone with me.

  Not that he’d ever hurt or take advantage of anyone under any circumstance; the end goal was being helpful. That’s why he’d gone to pharmacy school. This new mission didn’t compare to what had been his pre-CryoLife purpose, but being a pharmacist positioned him to impact the chain CryoLife held on unknowing patients. And while he couldn’t help anyone who didn’t use his pharmacy, or people who didn’t want to be helped, releasing those who yearned for freedom and offering companionship to the other wounded gave him a sense of meaning. It didn’t excite him, but it made him a tad less insignificant.

  And I can be useful in other ways.

  Marijuana distribution opened a vast network of contacts and put a variety of services at his disposal. It was a much better currency than money, which had a cold, slimy feel when it came to the transfer. Pot relaxed people and made them happy.

  So on that front, I’m in the happiness trade.

  If there wasn’t something Oz could do for a friend himself, someone out there would give him the plug-in for a baggy of basement-grown joy. They’d do it with a loyalty unmatched and a willingness to go the extra mile.

  Even delivery and pick-up. He grinned. Santino had been his biggest triumph – the most compelling evidence of how handy he could be and why Natalie should trust him.

  Santino always explained his situation to others by leading with the cat story, including when he’d first revealed it to Oz. It had taken many rounds to break him down enough to admit his death interest extended beyond animals. He refused to elaborate about the way in which he was intrigued by a human cadaver, and what he’d do with one. But who knew? Perhaps he wasn’t quite sure himself. Maybe he needed that chance to find out.

  Only weeks after Santino revealed this fascination to him, one of Oz’s young, female acquaintances from school had overdosed on prescription meds. So without Santino’s knowledge and for only a few bags of Master Kush, Oz secured the first body. Or, as he’d introduced her – a “gesture between friends.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Santino had said.

  Oz shut the steel doors to the back room of his pharmacy and turned on the light. In the center of the room was a table. On the table was a sheet. And under the sheet was a body. It was covered entirely, except for one shapely hand.

  “The right kind of green can buy anything.” Oz chuckled.

  “What’ve you done? Who is she?”

  “You mean who was she? Finding an ‘is she’ would’ve been a lot less trouble for me.” Oz sparked his lighter and lit a cigarette.

  Santino had a wonderful look of shock on his face. “Fine,” his voice cracked. “Who was she?”

  “Does it matter? A previous colleague of mine who decided to make a premature exit. As such, I was able to procure you an opportunity to … figure yourself out.” Oz ran his hand along the table while he walked to a shelf. “And, since you refuse to enlighten me as to your purposes, I also took the liberty of putting together some goodies for you.”

  Oz removed two gift bags from the shelf, which he then sat on the center table, next to what appeared to be the body’s head. The first bag read “Happy Birthday” in garish, vivid colors and glitter sprinkled over the counter as he pulled neon tissue paper from the top in flourishes.

  “For option one, I have some carefully selected items.” He took objects from the bag and placed them on the table as he named them. “Here’s a knife. And a fork. Salt. Pepper—”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “It makes no difference to me if you bless your food. I’m nondenominational.”

  “I’m not a cannibal.”

  “I don’t care if you are. You can do what you like. It’s not as if she’s going to mind.”

  “But you were her friend.”

  “No, I was an acquaintance, and we shared similar interests. But even if she had been, we of all people know that what matters is here.” Oz had tapped his forehead. “Once this cuts out, you’re a bag of decomposing flesh. So who gives a shit? No one is going to miss a finger, ear, or whatever the most succulent part is. That’s outside my expertise.”

  “I’m not going to eat her. I’m not going to do anything to her.”

  “Then you’re a fucking idiot. Because she’s right here.”

  Oz turned toward Santino and leaned against the table. He took the cigarette from his lips and blew a trail of smoke before meeting his friend’s eyes.

  “If it’s within the scope of your ability to have what you want, why shouldn’t you reach out and take it? Whatever it is.” He put his hand atop the rigid one resting on the table and squeezed it with a smile. “You want her. I know you do.”

  Santino’s gaze flitted between Oz, the body, and the floor as he shuffled his feet.

  “Do you want something in return?”

  “No. Call her a gesture between friends.”

  And S
antino had smiled back.

  Oz flicked his dying cigarette to the floor and flattened it with his heel before pulling out another.

  “Good. I was going to be gravely disappointed if you hadn’t accepted this token of my friendship.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I mean, I could get in a lot of trouble for this. I put my heart, my soul, my very body on the line for you.”

  “I said, ‘thank you.’”

  “It’s kind of unprofessional of me to keep expired—”

  “Oz,” Santino cut him off. “I’m sure you spent hours thinking of witty statements, but—”

  “Say no more, you’re right in assuming Cinderella will be missed shortly. I got her particularly fresh.” He checked his watch and took two steps toward his friend. “No one will bother you here; it’s a secure room. Be done by three. And clean up after. This is a place of business.”

  He walked toward the door, enjoying the last drags he’d have on his cigarette, since he only permitted himself to smoke in the back.

  “Oz, what’s in the other bag?”

  Oz had looked over his shoulder, his hand on the steel door. The other bag was a grotesque shade of bright blue with a yellow menorah and dreidel on one side.

  “Well, I thought if one’s partner wasn’t exactly enthusiastic …” He trailed off with a smile. “I left some cigarettes in there for you.”

  “I don’t smoke.”

  “Pity. It’s quite enjoyable.” Oz pushed open the door.

  From then on, they’d confided in each other their dark secrets. He had a deeper bond with Santino than he’d ever had with anyone. They had a strong, admittedly strange, connection – both hating themselves, but liking each other partially since they had that in common. There’d been many tears, many drinks, and many bodies.

  “Where are we?” Natalie woke as he put the car in park.

  “The gun range outside Pooler.” Oz cut the engine and grinned at her. “Have you ever fired a gun, doll? You’ll love it. It’s exactly what you need.”

  Chapter 20

  The long concrete building was isolated on a rise, and a town was sprinkled several hundred yards away. There weren’t other cars in the parking lot, although the end of a dirty blue pickup truck was visible on the side.

  “Oz, I’m still under the conservatorship guidelines. I can’t fire a gun.”

  “Neither can I.” He dug his wallet from his back pocket. “No, you assumed right. I did assim to my original identity. Ten years ago. But, as you can see, they never take the mark off you. You’re branded for life.”

  He flicked out his driver’s license and she took it. Her eyes went straight to the corner.

  “‘CRYO-00038-P.’”

  “That’s a composite number. Yours is prime. Did you know that?”

  “What’s the ‘P’ for?”

  “‘P’ for permanent. I have a permanent identity.”

  “But I thought when you assim everything goes back to normal?” A shadow crawled across her face as she returned his ID.

  “The conservatorship goes away, but once they give you brain damage, they don’t trust you anymore. And we’re not a protected minority. It’s your scarlet letter. There are jobs you’ll never get and privileges you’ll never enjoy. One of those being that no one will sell you a gun, or let you handle one.”

  “What if you assim to another identity? It won’t go away then?”

  “Nope. Not that I’ve ever known anyone who has.”

  Oz kicked the car door open and stepped out. He intended to be a gentleman and circle the vehicle to open her door, but by the time he closed his own, an additional bang sounded.

  “Then what are we doing here?” Natalie looked at him over the roof.

  “We’re in the South. And no matter how many fucking gun laws there are, there will always be a coot who’ll give a gun to a man with blood on his hands. Nuthin’s more important than that there second amendment,” he said, the last sentence caked in a stereotypical deep Southern accent. “One of those coots happens to be a friend of mine.”

  Before locking the car, Oz walked around and popped the trunk. He lifted the gray flap that covered his spare tire, and took out a plastic sandwich bag filled with crushed green leaves.

  “Is that pot?” She put her hand to her mouth.

  “No, it’s parsley. Come on, Holly Housewife.”

  He heard her fast footsteps on the pavement as he walked toward the building.

  “Don’t call me that.” Natalie glared.

  “Prove to me you’re otherwise then.”

  “I’m not doing drugs with you, Oz.”

  “This isn’t for you,” he scoffed.

  Oz pushed the door open and they stepped inside. The lighting was dim, the atmosphere humid. A counter stood unmanned a couple yards from the front door, the top striped and encased in bullet-proof glass with a sliding window in the middle. To the right was a closed door, and within the booth to the left, another door sat open a crack, through which came the sound of a television.

  He stepped to the counter and hit the top of the nickel call bell repeatedly.

  “Red! Red, you son-of-a-bitch!” Oz yelled as he struck the bell. “How do you expect to do any business when you’re not watching your fucking shop?”

  “I’m coming! I’m coming!” A gruff voice hollered. “Lay off the bell!”

  The television’s volume lowered, and a heavyset man bumbled out the door. He looked cross at first, but on recognizing who it was, his face brightened.

  “Oz, you piece of shit,” Red said, the latter half crooned as an endearment. He opened the sliding window and leaned out.

  “If I left the front of my pharmacy without anyone watching it I’d be robbed blind. My cough drops, my tissues, my birthday cards …”

  “And what are they going to steal here? They can take their pick, the three-year-old Life, or the Family Circle. No one comes here for anything in front of the counter.”

  “I’m also not here to sample your fine literature selection. We need to shoot a few rounds. Blow off steam.” Oz took Natalie’s arm and guided her forward. She tensed at his touch, but didn’t pull away.

  “Are you sure you’re talking about guns?” The man’s greasy eyes rolled over her.

  Oz felt the muscle in her arm stiffen. Her brows drew together and her glance darted toward the exit. An unfamiliar tightness squeezed his chest. Red wouldn’t harm her, but he had the urge to place himself between them.

  “You’re a sick fuck, Red.”

  “I mean, are you …” He swiveled his shoulders, looking between the two of them. “Fixed?”

  “No. If anyone in the room needs to worry, it’s you.” Oz patted Natalie’s arm. “But I don’t go for fat lards in wife beaters that are three sizes too small. So you’re both safe.”

  “If I were, which I’m not, I wouldn’t be after a tattooed little fucker like you.”

  “Something tells me my other advantages might outweigh the ink to sway you.”

  Letting Natalie go, Oz brought the sandwich bag into view. He shook it and the wads bounced into each other. Red wiped his hands on his thighs before holding them out. Oz tossed him the bag and he caught it, his cheeks rosy and glowing.

  “That’s my boy.” Red bounced the bag in his hand and looked to Natalie. “No offense to you, sweetie, but if he ever gets tired of this man thing, he’s going to marry my daughter.”

  “Where is she anyway? She blew off my get-together at the bar. I was heartbroken.”

  “She’s in Africa picking bugs out of an Ethiopian’s eyes. She comes home in a few weeks.”

  “I suppose that’s a reasonable excuse for missing my party. Someone has to groom them.” Oz turned to Natalie. “She’s one of our other friends you didn’t have the opportunity to meet.”

  “Oh, she’s like you, is she? And what did those bastards do to her?” Red asked.

  “Made her want nothing more than to hold a semi-automatic. So now that y
ou have what you want, set us up so we can make that a reality.”

  Red put aside his pot bag and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. When he bent under the counter, the sweatpants he wore retreated approximately five inches down his backside.

  “Red, we can see your nasty fucking cleavage, and there’s a lady present.” He caught Natalie’s grimace after his statement.

  “The sooner you tell me what you want, the sooner I’ll come up.”

  “Give me my usual, and the .22 for my friend.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  “Mine. And three clips for the .22. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  When he surfaced for air, Red placed two handguns and the clips on the table. He also removed two sets of large headphones and glasses with orange tinted lenses from the wall. He garnished the pile by adding a tiny plastic bag that contained four earplugs. As he slid the gear toward them, he gave a sharp look to Natalie.

  “Has she ever fired a gun before, Oz?”

  “I’m going to show her. Don’t worry yourself about it, old man. Take the cannabis into your hole, and string yourself out to I Love Lucy. I’ll ring you when we’re done. Open your fucking door.”

  Oz knew he could’ve convinced Red to leave them alone without the offering of weed, but any time he supplied Red with drugs, he worked deeper into the man’s good graces. “It’s your favorite, Red. Skunk Special.”

  Red’s eyes grew brighter, and he curved a fat hand under the counter to press a button. “Don’t shoot each other’s kneecaps off, and if you decide to fuck her, mop up, huh?”

  The chink of a bolt sliding came from the door in front of the booth. Red swiped his weed and lumbered into the left room. The door closed except for a crack, and the television volume cranked up. Oz turned to Natalie and jerked his thumb toward Red’s room.

  “That’s Red.”

  “Are you waiting for me to say he’s nice?”

  “He is nice. You don’t need to say it. He stores my stuff so, if they ever raided my house, they couldn’t get me on anything.”