Medic turns unsteadily into the park, hoping that the fresh air will help. He’d set out to drink, to drown, to smoke, to forget, to leave behind the mundane if even for a little while. So far it’s been “mission (more than) accomplished”.
In the same spirit he’s decided to take a night stroll through the shifty public park that at any other time he’d avoid. The moon helps to illuminate the asphalt of the straight and narrow path on the tree-lined throughway, weakly lit by sparse and sickly yellow lights that barely hold back an encroaching darkness, one crowned with silhouettes of trees and squat industrial buildings. It’s cold, wet, and unfriendly.
He plods hazily to a worn bench sitting by a dilapidated lamppost, quickly deciding against resting as he spots excrement smeared over the wooden planks, a sizeable pile of shit perched on one edge.
He trudges on.
Once or twice he thinks he hears a man sobbing from somewhere in the darkness. Or maybe it’s an injured animal. It doesn’t matter; he’s not getting involved.
Soon he can see an avenue lined with parked cars and buildings, framed by the darkness of the park’s exit. Soon he’ll be back on a city street, heading toward an empty apartment. Soon he’ll be back on the same, sad trajectory.
He sighs, swaying as he shuffles reluctantly into the inevitable.
Just then, three shapes emerge onto the path from the shadows.
The two large men instantly attract his attention. One looks like a mountain, maybe a boxer with a shiny bald head, cauliflower ears, wildly crooked nose, hands that look like anvils, and shoulders to lift them. The other one is a little shorter, has a paunch, brush cut, and a Burt Reynolds mustache suggestive of someone who spends too much time watching 70s action movies. Both men are dressed in long black overcoats exposing casually unbuttoned dress shirts. The look is professional.
Following close behind them is a petite woman. She’s dressed similarly to the men but her clothes are tailored to suit her compact frame. It’s hard for Medic not to notice the gentle sway of her body as she walks, the warm and smooth glow of her tan complexion, the way the straight line of glossy black hair frames her face.
Medic is just able to make out the trio’s conversation as they approach.
“… amateur. And now we have to burn the fucking boo. God damn it!” The woman is visibly agitated as she slaps a leather bag against her thigh.
“Don’t sweat it,” responds rogue 70s cop in a surprising baritone. “We get another one. Just gotta put in the work, you know that. I’m more worried about who’s after us.”
“Yeah, but we just got comfy there,” says the woman, throwing up her hands in visible frustration. “A room all to ourselves, private entrance, free WiFi, free coffee…”
She pauses, head cocked in anticipation of an affirmation. “Dom? C’mon, dude.”
The boxer shrugs. “Yeah, but the thing is R–“
Instantly the conversation stops as all three of them notice Medic. The woman immediately picks up her pace, strides past the two men and in a few short moments she’s standing in front of him, hand on her hip, confident smile on her face.
“Have you heard this one?” she asks, casually. “Hinx minx, the old witch winks, the fat begins to fry. No one home but Jumping Joan, father, mother and I. Stick, stock, stone dead, blind man can’t see. Every knave must have a slave, you or I must be he.”
The incoherent words pass by Medic who’s transfixed by her intensely black stare. Not only is she beautiful but those eyes, those electric, magnetic, swirling eyes …
He feels himself suddenly off balance. With a stumble and a deep breath he remembers how much he’s had to drink. Definitely too much. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he slurs, slowly righting himself.
“Umm,” replies the woman hesitantly. “I was, umm, asking if you’re okay.”
Medic seems to remember something else but he’s not sure.
“Been better. You know, shit. Bullshit. Life. Death … you?”
The woman’s smile broadens into an anxious grin. She moves closer to Medic, locking eyes with him once again.
“Really though,” she says gently, “You don’t look okay. You seem very tired.”
Staring into her eyes, Medic feels himself being tugged into their gravity for a second time. Recalling his previous effort, he somehow finds it easier to drag himself back into his own inebriated head.
He steps back and quickly glances her over; it all works together really well. Even that mild accent is kinda sexy.
He’s suddenly reminded that she’s not alone as her companions’ sizable shadows blot out the light, plunging their features into blackness. They don’t seem to have any sense of urgency in catching up to her, like they’re just spectating.
“Yeah,” responds Medic as he remembers the woman’s question. “I’m fine. Okay … I guess. Been better.” He shrugs.
Perhaps under different circumstances he would’ve been more apprehensive when approached by an attractive woman and two huge silhouettes on a poorly-lit strip bisecting lonely industrial land. Tonight, however, is different. Tonight he doesn’t care.
The woman moves to meet his gaze again. “Seriously? You’re fine?” she asks, incredulous.
The eye contact makes Medic’s head swim lightly but by now he’s managing to stay mostly upright and in his own skull. This, he thinks, is what they must mean by “swoon”.
“Yes, thank you,” he replies with an awkward smile. “And you?”
“Huh,” is her only response as she slowly replaces her sunglasses. She pulls back into a contemplative stance as one of the looming shadows behind her asks, “This the one, you think?”
She turns around to face the shadows. “Could be. My shit ain’t taking so this could be our guy.”
“Cool,” says one of the hulking shadows as they step into the light. The military / cop guy walks by Medic on one side, the boxer on the other. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” says the boxer in passing, momentarily placing his hand on Medic’s shoulder.
Medic nods lightly, unsure how else to respond.
Now alone, the woman spins around to face him.
“Yeah, so …”-she makes a clicking sound with her tongue as she extends a business card between the finger-barrels of a cocked hand gun-“gimme a shout.”
For some reason her face now seems more subdued, more genuine. Still very attractive, though, thinks Medic as he snatches the card from her fingers.
“Who are you?” he asks as he takes the card.
“Well aren’t we impertinent?” she replies, hands on her hips. Pointing to the card she concludes, “All you need to know is on there.”
With a broad smile she walks past him and into the poorly lit murk toward her lollygagging companions.
“What the fuck?” slurs Medic quietly as he resumes walking.
He holds up the business card to examine it but before he gets the chance a disheveled man stumbles clumsily out of the shadows and onto the path, right about where the woman and her companions had first appeared.
Even though he’s quite close he doesn’t seem to notice Medic. Instead, the man looks around in a daze, his long tweed coat hanging half-off, a glossy dark stain running down the inside of his trousers. He wears a grimace of fear as he hobbles down the short distance to the path’s exit. Then, turning onto the adjacent sidewalk the man disappears out of sight behind a tall stone wall.
“What,” mumbles Medic imperceptibly, “the actual fuck?”