Skit
“Hey, buddy, you awake?” asked Matt.
He could just barely see the outline of his partner’s body sitting criss-crossed on the far end of their cell, head drooped and eyes closed. Black and white-striped prison garbs hanging from his medium-built frame and mousy stubble growing on his chin, he looked quite the part of a bedraggled criminal. Skit glanced up then smiled widely, nodding his head a bit in response. It was an all-too familiar expression, but that was to be expected. After spending year after year imprisoned with nobody but your accomplice in crime, everything was familiar. No matter the amount of interrogation they were put under, or the mind games the law had played on them, both criminals had remained stubbornly loyal to one another, refusing to part with their secrets. Matt felt quite content sitting in his comfortable cell with naught but Skit for company anyways. As far as he was concerned, his soft-spoken friend was all the social interaction he needed, and free food and shelter wasn’t bad either.
“Hey, Skitz, lend a hand here, will ya?” he implored, scooting closer. “Something itches terribly back between my shoulder blades. Could you get it?”
Skit shook his head while putting his hands behind his back.
“Look, I know you don’t like touching people, but this is really driving me crazy! I’d get it myself, but all things considered…”
He shook his torso for emphasis, allowing the buckles on his jacket to jingle against one another. How those iron loops vexed him, binding him considerably more stoically than a boa constrictor. At the very least, those damned feds had kept their jackets off Skit when they were captured. Truth was, he gladly trailed after Matt without restraint or urging. Yep, Skit was one of the greatest friends a man could’ve asked for. He had plenty of opportunities to turn tail and leave his partner when the agents came to capture them, but did he? No.
Matt beamed with pride at him and shrugged. It was just a little itch. Who was he to ask his companion to do something so out of his comfort zone? He flopped over on his side then pressed his face against the soft floor. One of the nice things about his cell was that every surface doubled as a bed, the stark white cushions padded onto every surface always a welcome feeling when his jacket bothered him most. It was strange how much he was being pampered, but Matt supposed that he deserved special treatment, since the police still wanted information from him.
As if on cue, clicking sounds could be heard from the doorway as the numerous locks to his cell were undone. In stepped two beefy agents, both of them clad completely in white scrubs like hospital nurses. Cracking jokes every now and then to Skit about how such big men were dressed like pansies, Matt ritually poked fun at the ridiculous uniforms every time the feds left.
“Time for your meds,” one of the men trilled, presenting a plastic box from behind his back.
Matt shot him the coldest of glares he could muster while jutting out his chin. “Another truth serum today? What dirty tricks you people play!”
One of the agents rubbed his forehead, the other rolling his eyes and replying, “Yeah, truth serum. Now hold still, Pete. This’ll only take a second.”
The criminal leaned against the nearest wall and rose to his feet as best as he could. “My name is Matthew! Stop calling me Pete!”
One of the feds picked him up as if he were a doll, while the other one wheeled in a gurney. Shortly after the feds had entered the room, Skit had scurried into a corner of the room, his lip curled and eyes narrowed. Matt could tell that he was secretly conjuring up a number of sour insults to shoot at their captivators.
With a gentleness uncanny for a man of his size, the fed holding Matt slowly lowered him onto the gurney’s iron surface, passing cords through the loops of his jacket and fastening him down. While he was doing so, his partner filled a syringe with a clear liquid and checked the measurement.
“You’ll never know where the money is! And Skit won’t tell either! Our lips are sealed, and we’ve thrown away the key!” Matt blurted as he eyeballed the metallic needlepoint.
The agent holding the syringe loomed over him, smiling gently like a mother might smile at her baby. “Yes yes, we know, Pete. You and Skit went on all kinds of adventures, stealing money from Oprah’s house and hiding away in Mexico. But now, it’s time to sleep.”
Matt’s mouth stretched into a scowl. He’d called him Pete again, and he could hear the slightest hint of mockery in the fed’s voice.
“Listen here, government swine, I-“
Before he even knew what was happening, his eyelids began to fall and his muscles went numb.
“Don’t…..don’t hurt…..Skitz…”
The agent smiled down at him, packing the syringe away once more in its plastic case.
“No worries, Pete. We can’t.”
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