Faust

Silver and iron

            I made my way down south to one of the Salvador clinics close to piao jie that's still open at midnight. They did some basic tending to clean my wounds and stop the bleeding. The doc was a 60 years old lady with shaky hands and a fragile smile that somehow remains on her face despite the line of work she partakes.

She insisted on sewing up the wound for me, but judging from their standard of sanitization I politely refused and promise her I'll go to the hospital right away before I took the last subway ride back to Nochnaya. The train was empty asides from me and my thoughts.

The hospital of Faust charges almost as much as all the other underground clinics, not to mention they would poke around your personal belongings and ask to see your IDs if they deem your injury could be related to criminal activities and would leave a record in the data.
In comparison, a clinic in the back of a taxi stand in Kirov seems much more preferable, and the doc there actually had three Ph.D. in medical fields...... before his medical licenses were suspended for being high while performing surgeries.

           He takes one look at my wounds and immediately reaches to conclusions.

           "Bad news is, it's going to leave a scar. The other bad news is, your blood fucking stinks which means the knife that cut you wasn't clean and it's very likely that it'll swell or you'll catch a fever if you don't treat it right now....... The good news is, There's a discount right now! Half price for every 5 mg of extra morphine!"

            I took about 45 mg and slept through the surgery and next sunrise on the operating table.

            On my way back home I got a call from Enzo, said Nicola wants to see me. So I rush back home, armed myself to the teeth, and bombarded Ivan out of his bed through phone calls to drive me there. He parked the car right in front of the alley I was in last night and told me he'll start knocking if I don't come out in 20 minutes.

           The reputation of Nicola was real. He was trying to rip me in half 15 hours ago, and now he and his crew are treating me like I'm some kind of war hero. They sit around the room listening to how I tricked Knox and his man to leave with interests piqued I their eyes.
When I finished, Enzo in the corner of the room like always was the first to speak.

            "Diavolo dalla lingua d'argento eh? Signore."

            The silver-tongued devil. He said with a sick glint in his blue eyes. And the others went along with it, Nicola grab my shoulder and pass me a drunk like last night which I hold in my hand the entire time without taking a sip.

            Minutes later I found some bullshit excuses to catch a breath outside and tell Ivan I'll be fine. Which he replied with a grunt.

            A set of footsteps made of leather shoes on brick pavement approached me As I watch Ivan drove off.

           "What did you tell the O'deans last night?" I ask without looking at him.
           "Does it matter?"
God, I fucking hate him.
           "You tell me, Does it?..... each of them told me a different version of what happened in the back last night." I tilt my head towards the front door with a 'closed' sign on.

            "Then pick the one you like." The thought of elbowing his face again crossed my mind. I take out my pack of cig and put the last one in my mouth, throw the package to the alley Knox's man was at last night.

            Before I could find my lighter, a burning match between Enzo's index and middle finger was presented in front of me.

            I take the smoke out of my mouth and place the tip on top of the flare.