Stay Standing

{if lou==1}I cautiously take the seat next to him and hand him the cup of coffee. His hands are powerful and pleasantly firm, without being covered in rough callouses.

“Thank you, miss. Name's Lou.”{else}I set one cup on the table in front of him and then back away to lean against the wall beside the TV, which is indeed showing a soccer game.

“Okay, miss, dat’s fine too. But, don’t worry, old Lou don’ bite,” he said, reaching for the coffee with one hand and tapping his chest with the hand holding the joint.{endif}

“Lou?”

“Yessa, ma’am. Louis Deshawn Carver, that’s me.”

“Alexandra Douglas, nice to meet you.”

“So, Miss Douglas, why’s ya here?”

With a sigh, I decided to tell him some of the truth, “I got kidnapped, then sold at an auction, and now I’m here.”

To my surprise, Lou decides to take another drag on the joint and sit back in apparent contemplation. A moment later, he leans forward again, exhaling the pungent smoke from his nostrils and says, “Well, ain’t that somethin’.”

Figuring that it was about time I started steering this conversation in a more useful direction, I ask, “Lou, when you were brought here, did you learn anything about our captors—age, height, weight, distinguishing characteristics?”

Sipping his coffee, he responds, “Hmm… well, they were a bunch a Mexicanos. Seemed like this guy ‘bout five-eight, maybe late twenties, was in charge.”

“Did you see anything that would help us escape—where we are, the layout of the building, where the guards are, anything?”

“It looked like a warehouse, but I can’t say that I remember the details, since I was comin’ down at that point—crashin’ down, really. Whoo-wee, that was an awful crash. If you get the chance, don’t mix the purple powder with alcohol.”