This is part of a story started here->
After further inspection, he decided the back of his eyelids had not changed since the last time he visited them.
He came to in what he assumed was the back room of his last known location, a Vegas pawn shop. If not, it should be. The essence of nicotine was strong here. So was the pain.
“I told you your lifespan had a limit and there is no aftermarket warranty,” said Ivan.
He didn’t know his name, “Ivan” just fit.
He also had no idea what this man was saying. Oh, he understood the man’s English, it had no problem cutting through the fog that currently enveloped his mind.
He just didn’t know the reason for the beatdown.
“May I trouble you with a question oh kind sir?”
Immediate pain to the back of his head rudely suggested that sarcasm was not the proper tact to take with this individual.”
“I told you to knock it off with the noir crap.”
His original opinion on the man’s English changed. He wanted to give him a dictionary with the word “noir” hi-lighted but two other thoughts convinced him it was not a good idea; 1) He was plumb out of dictionaries, 2) He was averse to continual pain.
“I apologize, I may have misunderstood your use of the word but how did I get here?”
“You walked in here you fool.”
“Yes, but why am I duct-taped to this chair?”
“Really? Is that your only question?”
“Is asking “Who is your decorator?” out of the question?”
Again, pain danced on the back of the head.
“Ok you want to keep the style to yourself I get it.”
“I told you that you had one week to pick up the package and two weeks to turn that into the two hundred big ones for me.”
His first reaction was to come back with a remark about keeping his private life private but decided the ensuing beatdown was not worth it.
“Who am I, David Copperfield?”
Head meet your new friend pain.
“I apologize, I should have gone with someone less dated. Chris Angel perhaps?
Cue the lights….