A rough night

Watching Carlos is harder than I thought it would be. He is sweating like he’s inside a coal furnace. He’s in a drug induced trance, facing the industrial fan at the back of the night club. His mouth is in a Mona Lisa sort of smile.

“How much did he take?” I ask Luz.

“I don’t know,” she growls and curses as she dumps a bucket of ice on his head. Carlos doesn’t flinch.

“We’ve got to get him to a hospital, I can see his heart beating from here. It’s like there’s a hummingbird trying to escape from his chest.”

“Hell, no!” Luz stomps her foot. “They’ll call the police, and then we are all done for.”

She’s right. A trio of intoxicated illegals will earn less sympathy than dumpster rats. We stay by Carlos until the moon fades and edges of night begin to dissolve.

Luz falls asleep shortly after Carlos does. He seems to be though the worst. I look at my resting friends, wondering what wild scenes are playing in their minds.

They don’t even react as I give them another injection. Then I fill out the report on my phone and send it to the financier of our freedom.