Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys]

  ***

  My stay in sickbay was forgettable, barring the fact Rico retained a death grip around the back of my neck as the doctor numbed my brow and inserted stitches where Bridgework unzipped me.

  Not to be forgotten, I vowed to myself. And I'm the proud possessor of the much heralded CerebStix.

  Mindful of my original mission to kennel Bridgework, I now owned the most powerful bait for a trap I would lay upon our arrival in Los Angeles. There would be, too, a moment of retribution factored in, an accounting for Bridgework's reckless and cowardly treatment of me on the deck above.

  "It took only four to close," the ship's medic remarked with a touch of surprise in his voice. "Must not have been wearing his ring today."

  "Ring or no, it stings enough. Now, would you kindly amputate the guerilla from my spine?" My skin tone had run a gamut from the flesh color of April's ample bosom to the olive drab of Rico's suntanned hide, with a brief layover in the shade matching the stitcher's white cotton medical garment.

  "Sorry. My instructions were to stop your leakage. In that respect, I just patched a rusty pipeline, old man."

  It was not the 'old man' reference which drew my ire, but instead 'rusty pipeline'. To this day, I am not certain why, but the phrase struck a match to my inner bonfire in such a blazing manner I immediately lunged for the syringe of pentobarbital the steadfast physician had prepared for application to me. "Take that, Hippocrates!" I decreed, finding his fleshy bicep with the needle and plunging the sedative into his system.

  "Why, you!" A weakness had already entered into his thinning voice.

  Like a sturdy and reliable tower clock sitting high above the town square, Rico's hammer came down to ring my bell, driving me from my perch on the examination table and into the path of the fading doctor. It was a worthy punch delivered from behind, serving to free me from the goliath's grip while toppling me to the tight confines of the floor. Already in a heightened state of vexation, Rico launched the table into the wall and bore down upon me like a maddened lobster, presumably this time to snap my neck with his crusher claw.

  Keenly aware of protecting the CerebStix flash drive in my shoe, the option of kicking him in the groin fleeted in and out of my defensive strategy portfolio. Instead, I grabbed blindly at the items shelved in an open dispensary while scrambling to my feet, finding the bedpan I was now holding served perfectly as a makeshift helmet. Mounting it to my brow, I lowered my head and, like many generations of desperate warriors before me, initiated a desperate charge at my opponent's solar plexus. The resulting collision sent us into the now staggering doctor who unwillingly became an active and useful participant in the scrum.

  Rico swung wildly, landing blows upon the medic as I managed to stay covered up within the safety of his mammoth barrel chest. Stepping on the big man's foot, I heaved to and sent the ruckus we had become plummeting to the floor with a loud clang, which turned out to be Rico's cranium striking the rim of my bedpan helmet. The metal receptacle was, regrettably, badly dented and Rico quite thankfully out cold.

  I immediately dusted off and located a roll of elastic bandaging, which proved highly effective in gagging Rico when wrapped around his head and intertwined with the doctor's considerably smaller frame. Once completed, the two formed an uncanny resemblance to ancient conjoined twins having been ritualistically mummified.

  "Sleep well, formidable adversaries," I said, admiring my handiwork before slipping a master key from the belt clip of Rico's pants. Shutting off the room lights, I checked the passageway before exiting and securing the deadbolt door lock. There were only two places onboard offering me sheltered protection and it was imperative I choose the correct one.