Percival Chapter One Part Six

Percival washed his hands and opened the sliding glass door of a large stainless steel refrigerator, where the staff stored the leftovers and pulled out a long container of spaghetti and meatballs. He set it on a nearby table, grabbed a styrophome container, scooping a huge portion of pasta into it and then placed everything back where it belonged. Percival left Franco in the kitchen and entered the dim cafeteria. The sound of a vacuum drowned out the steady drum of pages on the intercom system.

He sprawled on the bench of the employee’s table, while he waited for Franco to come out with the rest of the staff. In a matter of minutes Franco emerged and waved to Percival. He sprung from the bench and retrieved his bike.

The hospital is never empty but at this time of day only a few people milled about. Franco didn’t leave through the main entrance but through a side door that went to the employee parking lot. Franco whistled as they all passed a brand new Mercedes Benz.

“I’d like to take that out for a ride. That’s fully loaded too. Shit, I’d get so much play in something like that that I’d have to unlist my number,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key chain with a copper nude lady on it . He unlocked his black Ford pickup and the rest of crew jumped in the back. Percival lifted his bike into the bed of the truck and climbed in.

The breeze from the moving truck felt good against his skin. The night sky blazed with stars and the moon hung like a clipped toenail in the air. Franco dropped off the rest of the passengers first; they lived in a rickety one story house with an knee high grass and two gutted cars in the front yard. Two women waited in the doorway for them and several children pushed themselves through them to get outside. The kids ran around the men playing a game of tag. Franco honked the horn, then screeched his tires, careening down the street.

Minutes later the Sunset Lodge’s flickering green neon sign of a palm tree lit the street as they turned into the parking lot. The siding of the building was aqua, the type plastered on resorts at the beach but there wasn’t a body of water with sand around for at least a hundred miles. Franco pulled right up to the soda machine next to the stairs that led to Percival’s room. He hopped out, slid his bike from the truck and wheeled it over to the driver side door, where Franco had his arm resting and his head sticking out.

“You better make it to that fight,” he said and spit out into the middle of the parking lot. “It’ll be good for you.”

“We’ll see.” Percival knew he wasn’t going.

“Adios,” Franco said and took off.

“Yea,” replied Percival in a soft voice, knowing Franco wouldn’t hear. He turned towards the stairway and pushed his bike up.

His room, 218, included a bedroom, a small kitchen area and a bathroom. He could afford the room because he worked two jobs; the second one wasn’t really a job but paid volunteer work. He threw his book bag on top of his unmade bed and went into the kitchen and put his food away. Once he shut the small refrigerator, he opened the cupboard above the stove and pulled down three medicine bottles. He took out three pills from the largest bottle, two from the smallest bottle and one from a light blue bottle. Flipping the faucet on, he threw three pills indiscriminately down his throat and cupped his hands under the running water and slurped a mouthful. He swallowed the rest of the pills and flipped on the television.