Love you, too.
—
A skinny, stick-legged man was exiting the FD ambulance, elbows gripped by two EMTs.
Medium height, caved-in thorax, long gray hair, ragged beard. He wore a brown T-shirt several sizes too large, droopy jeans, and sneakers. The hair flapped as his head shook from side to side in protest.
“Our reporting person,” said Milo. “Care to meet him?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
As we walked toward Enos Walters, Milo said, “The posing. You said stage production. It reminded me of one of those museum dioramas.”
I said, “What would you title it?”
“Un-civilization.”
—
When Walters saw us he tried to break free of the EMTs’ grip, couldn’t, and shouted, “Fuck this! I’m no suspect!”
Milo said, “Let him go, guys. Mr. Walters, Lieutenant Sturgis, we spoke briefly before.”
“What, you think I can’t remember?”
“You were a little shaky—”
“Wouldn’t you be, seeing something like that?” Walters shook himself off like a gun dog shedding water.
The taller medic said, “His blood pressure’s been all over the place and his atrial beats are premature. We recommend hospitalization for observation.”
“Fuck that,” said Walters. “I’ll outlive you, asshole.”
Milo said, “Up to him.”
“Fucking-A.”
“Your decision, sir.” The EMTs returned to their ambulance and drove off.
Enos Walters said, “Shitheads strap me down, wanna take me to some hospital where they wanna fuck me up.”
Raspy voice accustomed to anger, speech slightly fuzzed as it emanated from between sunken lips. No teeth on top, a few on the bottom, cracked and brown.
Milo said, “Sorry for the inconvenience—can I call you Enos?”
“Ee-no,” said Walters. “Ee-nos sounds too much like…I had enough of that—okay? Got it? Ee-no.Can I call myself what I want?”
One scrawny hand balled, the other scratched a deflated cheek. Crude blue-black tattoos climbed up a stringy neck: lopsided crucifix, tiny devil, incongruously pretty pink rose in full bloom. Under the beard, a haggard hatchet face was dotted by eruptions of nasty-looking pimples. Meth rash.
Walters’s eyes bounced and roamed. “Believe this shit? Build a castle and let assholes party in it?”
“Crazy,” said Milo.
Walters tensed and stepped back, nearly tripping but waving off Milo’s helping hand. “Iain’t crazy. My heart’s okay, too, I’m not celling up in some fucking ward.”
“No offense intended, Mr. Walters. I meant the situation.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Eyelids twitched. “I need to get out of here.”
