D-Tox Page #4

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our resident psychiatrist was an

air-force consultant here for four years.

When the facility shut down,

she signed on with us.

She's pulling double duty as a nurse,

till we get fully staffed.

We used to take care of

almost 100 patients here.

There's only ten of you cops.

But judging from your case files,

I don't think anyone's gonna be bored.

This is Jack Bennett, one of our orderlies.

Jake Malloy, new arrival.

If you need anything, ask Jack. He knows

the place like the back of his hand.

That's what they say.

I know every inch of this nuthouse.

Anything else, ma'am?

I don't think so.

Manny, this is Jake.

See if you can fatten him up.

Hey. Hope you ain't a vegetarian.

- Gilbert, say hi to Jake.

- Hey, Jake. How you doin'?

You wanna hear about the generator?

Don't worry. I'll keep her hummin'

with spit and balin' wire if I have to.

- And the boiler's about to go, too, Doc.

- Then fix it. You're the caretaker, Hank.

Have you managed to get settled in?

First night's a b*tch.

- How long you been here?

- Couple of days.

No one's been here more than a week.

Don't have to meet them to know them.

Take Noah there, all buffed out like a fag.

Completely paranoid.

Back-to-the-wall type.

Got SWAT written all over him.

F***!

F***in' motherf***er's motherfucked!

Lopez. LAPD.

Reverend Jones. Worked homicide before

he found Jesus at the bottom of a bottle.

Check out Jaworski. This guy

couldn't even swallow a bullet.

Stupid f***er missed his brain

and blew half his cheek out.

See the old guy? McKenzie. Member

of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Word is he froze up,

let his partner get shot.

They put him on the rubber-gun squad.

All right, let's get started.

This is what I call the witchin' hour.

No lessons, no Twelve Steps.

This is your time.

They told me to put 'em in the bag.

The pieces.

They were so tiny.

Little fingers.

Every once in a while

I'd get a whole hand or... part of a leg.

Mostly blood. It was everywhere.

Their little fingers were just...

rolling around.

I dropped it. I...

I tried to gather 'em up,

but there was so much blood.

I can still smell it.

Some of their fingers

still had paint on 'em.

They were finger-painting

when it happened.

You got somethin' to add, Noah?

This ain't the Boy Scouts. This ain't

about helpin' old ladies across the street.

- He's just a kid.

- Oh, bullshit.

He's just weak, like the rest of you

mamsy-pamsy motherfuckers.

If you can't stand the smell of trash, why

are you workin' in the garbage business?

Maybe he's not as strong as us.

Maybe he never learned to like the smell.

You laugh it up, smiley. You sure as sh*t

won't see me swallowing my gun.

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