Read Online Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) by Josh K. Stevens - Free Book Online Page B

stored numbers.
    â€œWas that a ‘buh’ or a ‘duh’?” he asks Megan.
    â€œI think it was a ‘duh’ . . . with a
D,
” she tells him. I grit my teeth and shake my head. It must look like I’m having a spasm because Jacks grabs me roughly and holds me in place. I breathe deep again.
    â€œBuh . . . Buh . . . ,” I say.
    â€œDefinitely a
D,
” Jacks says. If I had any energy left in my body, I would scream. Instead, I hum, letting the noise reverberate through my clenched teeth. I can feel Jacks staring at me.
    â€œBee,” I say, buzzing through my teeth again.
    â€œStarts with a
B,
” Jacks says. My phone is beeping spastically as Jacks scrolls through the names.
    â€œThere are nine names in here that start with
B
and all of them are females,” Jacks says. “Are you sure this guy’s name starts with a
B
and not a
D
?” Thank God there are no women’s libbers here to see Jacks in action.
    â€œEck . . .”
    â€œBeck?” Jacks continues scrolling through the names. “Like the singer?” I’m about to go into convulsions when the beeping of the phone stops. “Becky?”
    I nod. Finally, a breakthrough. Jacks dials the number. “Your phlebotomist is a fucking chick? Who the fuck wants a chick doctor?” Gotta love misogyny. Jacks stands up and moves across the room. I can hear him talking. I can’t understand what he’s saying. The gray is taking over all of my vision now. I can barely see him. I feel a body at my side. A warm, soft hand rubs my cheek. It feels like silk against my face. Fading.
    â€œYou’re gonna be fine.” Megan takes my hand. She doesn’t seem to mind the blood I’m covered in. She holds my hand gently. “Help is on the way.” I give her hand a squeeze. It’s half-assed, but it’s all I can manage in my present state. It feels like I’m in a black-and-white photograph. Megan is smiling.
    â€œHelp is on the way,” Jacks confirms, hanging up the phone. “It’ll be here shortly.” Jacks moves to my side and tears my shirt open. I groan, though it doesn’t hurt at all. This is my favorite shirt. First it was my jeans, now my shirt. Dammit. Jacks doesn’t give a rat’s ass, he starts checking my wounds. He starts with the one on my arm, moves around to the one on my scalp, and finishes with the one on my thigh.
    â€œYou lost a lot of blood, my man,” Jacks tells me, clicking his tongue. “A lot.”
    I try to retort but all that comes out is a raspy, clicking whisper. I want to make some sort of smart-assed remark but I’m too fucking tired to do so. Obviously I lost a lot of blood. I can feel my tank running on empty right about now. I try to acknowledge his statement with a nod of my head, but even that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.
    Fuck it. It was a rhetorical statement anyway.

I Can’t Keep Track at This Point
    In and out of consciousness, I can hear sounds. I can see images as though they’re television snippets. It’s like channel surfing. And there ain’t nothing on. Doorbell buzzes. Door opens. Door shuts. Becky’s here.
    Becky talking: “I’m a phlebotomist. I take blood out and I put blood in.”
    Jacks talking: “Yeah? There’s a lot of fucking blood missing from this body. Rectify it.”
    â€œI’m not a doctor.”
    â€œBut you’ve seen them work?”
    â€œWell, yeah.”
    â€œThen you’re the next best thing. Get to work.”
    Becky moves to the bed. “How are you, sweetheart?”
    I move my lips but nothing comes out. Becky pats my forehead. I met Becky at the bar I was working at. She was a fellow bartender and we were like siblings. She’s a nice lady. I feel a needle in my arm. Over and over again. It hurts like a bastard. Maybe she’s not so nice after all. I don’t have