The Typical Insanity

no wonder you hate cookies

Apparently Google was wrong and it actually takes a whole hour to get to Bronx. Oh man, my legs hurt so much, but eventually I do get to the Mob family place. It's an old bar, but it looks like it's been maintained well. I don't know what to do with the bike, should I lock it? I should lock it, but with what? I start scanning the bike to see if there's some sort of... mechanism? Some sort of device that locks the bike? I give up and just lean the bike on a nearby fire hydrant, crossing my fingers mentally that it won't get stolen. I turn back and head towards the front entrance of the bar. Before I could even hold the handle, the door is abruptly flung open with a Neanderthal of man.

"The bar is closed today, come back Monday."

I panic as he starts to abruptly close the door. "Wait, wait! I've got an appointment or something!"

He stops, and cautiously opens the door slightly. "Wait, you're the boss' 8 'o clock meeting?"

"I mean, I probably am, yeah."

"You?!"

"Yes, that is what 'I probably am.' Implied."

He looks skeptical. "But you're so... Leave it, just come in."

"Thank you." I say as I walk in.

"Stay put while I go tell the Boss you're here."

"Okie dokie."

He gives one last look of disbelief before exiting through a door in the back. I decide to take a seat at bar. My knee keeps bobbing up and down, I'm not sure if it's because I'm nervous or because I'm bored.

"Can I offer you a drink to steady that leg of yours?"

I turn around to see two new Neanderthals and shorter, older and more intelligent looking guy between them.

"Um no, I'm fine. Not that much of a drinker."

The short one was the one that was speaking. "Oh no, I insist!" He nods towards his Neanderthals. "Frankie, Fish, you two can leave us now." He looks back at me. "We'll be perfectly fine."

Once they leave, the short one goes behind the bar and pulls out two glasses. "So Mister Carter, Mister Nemo Carter, funny name ya got there. Y'know, Carter, you're not exactly what I expected you to be."

"Huh, I'm getting the feeling that quite a few people here have the same thoughts on that."

"Hah! Can ya blame us? Listen kid, when you've been in the business as long as me, you tend to be able catalog people into what kind of illegal activities they'd commit. I'd have pegged you as a white collar crime kinda but bam! Turns out you're a serial killer and anarchist kinda guy!" He pulls out a bottle of Bourbon and pours it into the glasses, and slides one over to me. I cradle the glass in my hands awkwardly.

"I'm not a serial killer, people just tend to turn up dead and I just tend to be... not sound of mind."

"The only person you're foolin' is yerself, kid. And speakin' of your, mental state, your friend Lauren told me somethin' about it, apparently you've got some sort of memory problem or somethin'? I'm a little confused there."

"So am I most of the time, but technically it's a lot more complicated than that. I kind of have voices in my head, two to be exact. And sometimes one of them takes over and I kind of black out."

"Interesting, so a whole other person takes over and you remember nothing?"

"That's pretty much the gist of it, yeah. So, um, now that you understand my little problem, is it possible if I could ask, what is it exactly that I'm doing here? And who exactly are you?"