Fiction Friday #167

This week’s Fiction Friday prompt:

Strains of Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry Be Happy” floated into the room.

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As Eric Sandburg slid his key card into the reader next to the door – there was a small plaque above it that read Insert Card for Access. Someone had scribbled in black Sharpie below it NO SHIT. Eric chuckled every time he saw it – he let out a sigh and looked up through the wire mesh embedded glass pane at the guard on the other side. Sandburg is a burly man; high school football player, bodybuilder, black belts in both Tae-Kwon-Do and Kung-Fu. At the age of fifty he left the Marine Corps and retired, but the life bored him. This is what led him to where he is today – a part time security guard at Hollow Oaks Sanitorium.

The man in the other room took note caught a motion out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see his good friend and long time colleague staring at him through the door. He raised his hand in greeting just as the buzzer sounded, signaling the door’s unlocking. Still recovering from the cold he caught in St. Louis two weeks before, he brought a finger to his nose, leaned over the side of his desk, and blew a wad of snot into the garbage can. Eric laughed at the sight of it as he entered the room. It wasn’t much that could make Eric smile, but his friend’s quirky and unpredictable mannerisms did the trick every time.

“Still sick, Marty?”

“Yep. Just like I was sick yesterday and the day before, you dirty, good for nothing wetback loving Jew.”

“Well excuse me! Fucking turtle lookin’ nigger mother fucker.”

Under normal circumstances, the epithets thrown at a man would cause offense. However, these two men shared a friendship that overcame those boundaries.

“How’s Landon doing tonight?” Eric asked, unsure of the answer his pal would return. One never knew how old Landon was doing on any given night. All they could do was keep on doing what they did and pray it was enough.

“Ah, he’s alright” Marty replied. He leaned back in his chair, placed his hands on the back of his head and continued “power went out earlier. Had a hell of a time with him tonight – ‘bout beat his damn door down.”

“You mean the music stopped?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the generators?”

“What about them? Good for nothin’ Carl ain’t been by in months. Damn things wouldn’t even fire up.”

As the two men spoke, Landon Reinhardt lay on the bed in his cell staring at the small speaker mounted high in the corner. The sounds of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”, although muffled to the point the room had to remain completely quiet in order to hear it, came flowing from the little speaker, calming him.  He wore a smile on his face. He knew he had taken his toll on the door. One more solid impact would shear the bolts and he would be free.

Martin Anderson stopped in the doorway of the small office, propping the door open with his tired body. “Later, cock sucker.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Eric replied “See ya tomorrow, dick lick” just as the door closed behind Marty. “AND TELL YER SISTER I SAID HI WHEN YER FUCKIN ‘ER TONIGHT!” he yelled. Marty walked away, raising his hand over his shoulder and extending his middle finger for Eric to see.

Eric settled into the chair behind the desk and looked up at the clock. “Eight o’clock …  eight o’ da’ clock” he muttered to himself “gonna be a long night.”

The power went out at 8:02.

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