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??And the Nurse pack??The Nurse pack costs a bit more. I have to skim it off hospital supplies. Gangster doctors use it to treat injuries the police would investigate if you went to a hospital. You, senor, I think you want the party pack.??No, I’ll take both?, I asserted. ?Both, what kind of party are you and that Redhead have going?? He chuckled, exposing the kind of deviancy that you keep well hidden. I started laying the cash on the counter, note by note until Raul held up his hand for me to stop. Not knowing how much the Redhead paid, I was certain I got ripped off, but it didn’t matter. I had my kit for Kate, and all I had to do was get Frauline Jensein out of the way.Chapter 8.Bristol reminded me of my University days, tall brick buildings separated by undulating grassy patches. A group of male students sat on a hill watching women walk by. Inspecting the cattle. Though yesterday had seen my objectives take a dramatic shift I wasn’t at all concerned, other men didn’t. Brad and the lab techs left the helicopter on the run, following the man with the flag; they found the woman in an unconscious state and sweating profusely. One of the lab techs said diabetes or hypoglycemia, and took a diabetes test kit out to test the sugar level. Brad mentally entered her body and soon confirmed that she had very low blood sugar. The lab tech said her blood sugar level was at 1.6 mmoI/L (Canadian Glucose Levels 6 is normal) and they needed an injection of glucagon. The second lab tech handed Brad a hypodermic with the maximum dose of glucagon and Brad injected it directly into the vein. In a few minutes the woman began to revive and become coherent. Brad started asking simple questions such as names, marital status and names of her children. When he was satisfied with those answers, he asked her if she was a diabetic to which she answered no. Was there a history of diabetes in her family, again no. Brad said that she would have to return to Campinas with them for.
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I could almost feel these imaginary things on my body. This smoke, these scales, those nails. And I’m hinting about bed rooms and blankets. Complaining of the cold just so you can warm me. Touch me, taste me, feel me, desire me, want me, so much that we burn with passion. So much that it aches. Tow drinks later and I’m in a backseat. One back seat later, we are at your front door. Now I’m stumbling to your bedroom, but how I knew were it was, I’ll never know. So I make your bed and lay down. Pretend I have every intention of sleep. But my claws they gently run down your spine. They tickle lightly at your skin. So your eyes open. You stare at me knowingly. I never though of being deaf until I was in your bed that night. I thought about how my eyes would talk to you. How you would stare down into my pupils and read my soul. And how like now, you would see the yearning in my eyes. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. Yes? We have? Well, I don’t give a damn. And neither should you. You.

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