Page 19 of Kodiak

“What is going on with you, Luna?” Demi asks, scooting closer to me on the bottom bunk where I’ve been for the past couple of days. It’s directly next to the toilet which makes things convenient when my stomach starts rolling.

“I don’t know, Demi. I’m exhausted and feel the need to empty my stomach all the time!”

“We need to get you out of here and get you to a doctor,” she remarks. “You don’t look so good. You’re clammy and your color is off.”

“We don’t have anyone to bail us out,” I remind her. “I’m the one who gets you out of these messes. We don’t have a backup.”

“Well, this is a fine kettle of fish we’ve gotten ourselves into, my friend,” she teases. “Maybe we need to find a BFF we can use as that backup?”

Despite feeling like death warmed over, I start giggling. “And what would we say to this fictitious friend? Hey, you wanna be friends with us? Sometimes, Demi gets into trouble and will need to be bailed out and rarely, very very rarely, I’m along for the ride. I can see this mythical being running for the damn hills.”

I briefly wonder if maybe I can reach out to my personal assistant, then nix that idea. She’s signed a non-disclosure agreement with me, but she doesn’t have access to my money so there’s no way she’d be able to pay either of our bails.

“How many more days?” Demi questions. Not like she hasn’t asked that same thing each day we’ve woken up behind bars, but it’s kind of like a little kid asking, ‘are we there yet?’. It’s annoying, especially since I feel like shit. I’d call Marcum, but I’m too embarrassed to admit that I was thrown in jail for being part of a bar fight.

Me. Introvert extraordinaire. Tossed in the pokey because of some bitch who decided to put her hands on me. I do think she might’ve gotten the worst end of the deal, however, because she was covered in puke from head to toe and got locked up alongwith several others. I snicker when I picture her face; she was equal parts horrified and grossed out.

Echoes of footsteps as they walk down the corridor between cells have my ears perking up. Demi reaches over and grips my hand with hers. The guards so far have been sympathetic and understanding, but there’s always that chance that they’ll have one come on shift who isn’t empathetic to our plight.

My favorite guardsman walks up to the cell door and smiles at us both. Instantly my shoulders relax and my anxiety dissipates. “Today is your lucky day, ladies. You’ve been sprung.”

“By who?” Demi asks, craning her head sideways.

“Don’t know, girlie,” Pierson answers. “Does it matter? Take it as the gift it is instead of analyzing it to death.”

I snort then say, “He’s got your number, Demi.”

“Bite me,” Demi playfully spits. “I’m not that predictable.”

Rolling my eyes, I retort, “Really? I coulda told you how this was going to pan out the second that woman put her hands on me!”

“No one touches my girl,” Demi replies, pointing her finger at me.

“I know, I know,” I state, holding my hands up in a stop motion.

“Besides that. I’m protective, notpredictable,” she continues to argue. “I’m a free spirit after all.”

I roll my eyes and huff before saying, “In more ways than one.”

“Hey, are you trying to say I’m easy?” Demi asks, hands now firmly planted on her hips.

“If the shoe fits,” I sing as Pierson ducks his head, hiding the fact that he finds our banter amusing.

“Woman, if you weren’t feeling so down in the dumps you and I’d be having words… with our fists,” Demi rebukes. Internally, I giggle because she and I have had a few scuffles throughout our long-winded friendship. However, those usually end with us rolling around laughing our asses off.

“Maybe try not to say that in front of the jail guard,” I hiss. Pierson just laughs while shaking his head.

“If nothing else, you two have been entertaining at least,” he says. “And for what it’s worth,” he leans in and looks around to make sure no one else is nearby, “that chick you puked on probably had it coming to her. She is the definition of a high maintenance bitch.”

This sets both of us off and we’re soon holding each other up while tears of laughter pour down our faces. “Sh-sh-she couldn’t decide whether to vomit or hit you,” Demi stammers, slapping her thigh with her hand. “You destroyed her fancy ass outfit too. No way that stain’s coming out after it set fordays!”

It figures that Demi would find that hilarious. She loves it when Karma pays a visit to those who are deserving. Hell, if she could, she’d offer to drive the bus, I’m sure.

“Come on, ladies. Get moving. Y’all can reminisce later. I have a schedule to keep,” Pierson reprimands us.

We both mumble, “Yes, sir,” and straighten up before sending each other mocking looks. We’ll be talking about this for years to come.

Once the paperwork is taken care of and we’re giving our discharge papers, we head out of the station like the hounds of hell are nipping at the heels of our feet.

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