Free Falling

Can't Make Me

Jamien hated drinking excessively. Sure, there were days when he'd pound down 40's and smoke a blunt before doing a mission, but he'd learned since then that being inebriated made it harder for him to shoot accurately. It stopped him from second-guessing himself, but prolonged shootouts. Besides, it was harder to enjoy things when well and truly wasted. It made his memory fuzzy. According to Pierce, there was plenty of stuff that Jamien later wanted to remember. Good things.

He tossed back a shot of vodka and put another toothpick in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he resumed carefully digging out the bullet that had lodged itself in his shoulder.

"Seriously, a doctor is out of the question?" Pierce asked, cringing as more blood poured from the wound.

"We can't take a chance that STAG is watching the hospitals," Shaundi explained, diligently wiping away the blood for Jamien.

"Yeah," Jamien grunted. "This is just a flesh wound. I'm not dying."

"But you could." Pierce turned away, unable to stomach any more gore.

Jamien laughed. "You're such a pussy! We've been doing this for years, man. Why does it bother you all of a sudden?"

Pierce shrugged. "I guess it's different when you're doing it to someone else. Seeing you do it to yourself... Well, it makes me wonder just how insane you are."

"Hey, but you trust me with your life, right?" Jamien poured another shot with his free hand then held the glass up to Pierce. "Need a drink?"

Pierce gladly accepted it. "I thought you were a Jack Daniel's fan."

"I am. So much so, that if I start, it'll be sometime next week before I stop." He grinned. With a wet pop, the bullet hit the counter of the bar where they sat, and Jamien let out a groan. "Fuck, that hurt." He rotated the shoulder that he'd kept still for hours and sighed.

"Geez, it's after midnight. That took you about four hours. You okay?" Shaundi asked pressing the wound with gauze to try to slow the blood. "You probably shouldn't have had any alcohol, all it did was thin your blood. You could bleed out."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jamien waved dismissively. "I thought about smoking a little weed, but then I thought," he tilted his head back thoughtfully, "would it work? Could I possibly get high enough to dig a bullet out of my body? I mean, sure, it would take the pain away, but would I be able to function properly? Then I realized that I work better drunk than high."

"I'm amazed you thought it out." Shaundi shook her head. "It's slowing down..." She kept patting.

"No, you should be amazed she didn't wake up while I stitched up her shoulder." He pointed to the girl who laid on the couch on the other side of the bar, still unconscious. "Pierce would have woke up screaming." He let out a mock shrill scream.

"Would not." Pierce frowned.

Shaundi frowned, eyeing the girl. "She's still around? Why didn't you dump her off somewhere?"

Pierce poked her, testing to see if she'd wake. "Is she still alive?"

Jamien poured himself a glass of vodka and Red Bull. "Yes, she's still around. I couldn't just dump her off somewhere, and she's unconscious. There's no telling what would happen to her. And, as far as I know, she's still alive." He sipped his drink. Pierce put a finger under the girl's nose, felt her breath, and nodded in agreement.

"Get rid of her. She'll only slow us down." Shaundi shook her head and crossed her arms. "What happened to Candi? That stripper you like so much? If she sees you have a new piece of ass-"