Thursday, August 10, 2006
New Beginning 63
Reginald Bigelow pushed aside the documents cluttering his desk and stabbed the intercom. “Send in General Arnold, please.”
He drummed his fingers until the door swung open. An orderly appeared, garbed in crisp dress whites. Jones by name. A nice kid. A good young man. But when Bigelow looked at Jones now, all he saw was a grey skull under pink flesh, waiting to bloom in death. He popped a Tums, then waved Jones out.
Bob Arnold waddled through the doorway, plopped his big ass down in the recliner, and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a hammy fist. “What’s up, Reggie? he said, his voice curiously high-pitched for such a big man. “What’s the goddammed emergency?” Catching the look on Bigelow’s face, his eyes narrowed, looking like two coals in a meat pie. “Uh-oh. Trouble?”
"It's Jones," said Bigelow, cutting to the chase. "He's been bitten."
Arnold's jaw flopped open. "My God. Do you think he's infected?"
"Of course, Bob. The bites are always infected." Bigelow leaned forward across the desk and lowered his voice. "I need you to go back to your office, real casually, and get your gun. Just act like nothing's wrong."
Arnold nodded, got up, and waddled out.
Bigelow smiled. Either Arnold would return with the gun, or Jones would be too gorged to pursue Bigelow as he made his escape. Either outcome worked for him.