Damn Good Reasons **DISCONTINUED - SEE NEW VER!**

Chapter 22 - The Next Chapter

"And that short, redheaded dick you told me about? You were right – it was him who told Lewis where to find Cass. He'd been scoping her out for weeks, just waiting for his buddy to get into town."

"Did you go looking for him?"

"Yeah. And we found him easy. Stupid dumbass went home. So we beat the shit outta that fucknut and put his head through a window. It'll take him a week to pick the glass out of his face."

"That's fucking mean," Eyeball said with a cruel snicker.

"At least he won't be back – guaranteed."

"What about Lewis? He gone for good too?"

"I'd bet so. Carl almost finished him off right there in the driveway. Can you imagine getting hit by that motherfucker? It'd be like getting bowled by a wrecking ball. But they took him inside, barely conscious. Gotta admit, the guy sure could stand up to a good beating."

"Did you get paid?"

"They're gonna get someone to drop it off in a few days. We did show up out of the blue."

I had woken to hear Ace and Eyeball chatting quietly in the kitchen, and I stayed on the sofa in the living room to listen to them for a while. It was still dark and my watch read 3 o'clock, so I must have been out for a couple of hours. Getting to my feet wasn't easy. My head felt woozy from all the blood loss, and the immense pain of my arm made me feel lethargic. I walked into the kitchen to join them, dragging my feet, and slumped onto the chair next to Ace. I noticed he had changed clothes and had a clean look about him, so I guessed he'd been back for a while.

"Where's Vince?" I asked.

"Gone home. What's with the towel?" Ace had noticed a bit of it hanging out from under the sleeve of his borrowed T-shirt.

"Lewis left me a memento."

"Show me."

"Alright, just... be careful." I lifted my arm to him, and he pushed up the sleeve and peeled back the towel.

"Jesus Christ..."

I was horrified to see how much the infection had deepened. Lewis's knife must have been filthy. At least the bleeding had stopped.

"He's paying his dues," Ace said. "Carl was one happy man when he saw us pull up. I'd be surprised if Lewis lives through the night."

"Well, I'm not gonna say I'm happy to hear that because I'm not," I said. "But I am grateful to you guys for being there and for helping me out. Anyway, I need to clean my arm."

I scuffled off to the bathroom just to get away from that morbid conversation. I didn't really want to clean my arm; I didn't want to touch it. Everything I tried only seemed to make it worse. I stood at the sink just staring at it and feeling helpless and frustrated. It was like it wasn't really part of me; like some wild parasite had slithered up and attached itself and refused to get off. I thought back to happier times – like earlier that evening - when it wasn't there.

"That's not lookin' good." Ace walked into the bathroom carrying a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and an amber half-gallon bottle of Clorox bleach in the other. He set the bottle of bleach aside and then unscrewed the whiskey and poured a shot into the lid. "Take a swig of this."

I stared wide-eyed at the bleach, knowing just how he planned to use it. He insisted with the shot, and so I took it from him and downed it. After another three, I felt a little better. That familiar euphoric sensation was a good distraction and it calmed my nerves.