Chapter 3

I could feel someone shaking me.

"Jonathan ... Jonathan ... wake up, you have got to wake up."

The shaking continued. Why couldn't everyone just leave me in peace?

Suddenly I felt an icy splash.

I started to cough.

Someone had just poured a glass of water on my head. I blearily cracked my eyes open. I was on the floor of my office, staring up at a little crack in the ceiling. I could see Jim's wispy blonde hair out of the corner of my eye.

Jim was holding an empty glass, and wore an expression of concern mixed with anger.

"Jonathan you little bastard you drank yourself into a goddamn stupor!"

I simply groaned in response. My head was pounding. I had never been this drunk before. I tried to sit up, and the dull throb behind my eyes broke into a splitting blinding pain. I dropped back down to the floor with a grunt.

In the back of my mind I realized my chair had tipped over.

"Is that broken glass Jonathan? Goddamn! This is a mess." Jim was fumbling around with something that looked like a CompVac. Which is a little box on a stick that is twice as effective as a broom or a regular vacuum.

I tried to speak, but all I managed was a little gurgle.

"Some genius you are." Jim said sarcastically.

I simply groaned again.

"Well come on, we've got to get you home somehow."

I felt him grab my shirt. He tried to hoist me up by the fabric. After a small struggle he gave up and I slumped back onto the floor.

I heard him sigh. "Wait here, I've got to go get some help."

My mind was functioning enough to realize that that might be a problem. Several of my office enemies would jump at the chance to tell Director Jones about my little habit.

My fears, however, were quickly put to rest.

"Ho now! Had a little too much Irish courage have we John?" Paul's loud good natured voice boomed somewhere above my head.

"You could say that again," Jim said. "He's drunk enough to ground a bear."

Paul laughed. "Now let's say you get the feet, and I'll grab him under the arms, and we'll see if we can get him as far as the elevator."

I felt their hands tugging at me, until they finally lifted me. They carried me like a lifeless log all the way to the elevator banks.

It was late again.

Maybe 11:00 o'clock. A few people were still in the office. They glanced my way, but after a stern look from Jim they quickly glanced back.

The elevator dinged. We got in. The doors closed. They gently set me down on the elevator floor. I felt something pressed up against my lips. It was Paul. He was holding a water bottle to my mouth.

"Drink, it'll help clear your head."

I obediently took a big gulp.

"Slowly now," Paul said. "Drink too fast and you might lose your dinner."

The elevator binged again. The doors slide open to reveal an empty lobby. I was once again hoisted up and carried out the front door into the dark and bitterly cold parking lot.

"He can't drive like this," Jim said.

I could hear the smile in Paul's voice when he spoke. "No, but I've got that all figured out ... I called a taxi right after you buzzed down to me in the lobby Mr. Brown."

"He's barely conscious, how do we know the cabbie won't dump him in the middle of the road?"

Paul barked a laugh. "Leave that to me."

The tax was already parked and waiting. I could see it was one of the new brown cabs. The ones you could call and charter. Yellow cabs were just too hard to phone in.

They gently set me down on the curb, where I maintained a position that somewhat resembled sitting. My head had stopped spinning, but my vision still left something to be desired.

Paul motioned for the cab driver to roll his window down. The cabbie complied, and Paul leaned his bulky frame on the windowsill, and started talking to the cabbie.

"Could I see your license pal?" Paul asked cheerfully. I couldn't see what was happening, but I assumed the cabbie complied.

"Now then, Mr. Vasquez, my friend Mr. Creed here has had a bit too much to drink and we'd like you to take him home."

Jim handed Paul a piece of paper. "I got it off of his credentials," said Jim in a whisper.