Gus Dickinson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thanksrainman) wrote2010-08-26 05:24 pm
thanksrainman) wrote2010-08-26 05:24 pm
Entry tags:
In which the situation still sucks
Gus was starting to think that he'd never get out of jail. Jail was a horrible waiting game, where nothing happened. He did not want to be one of those guys who wound up spending months in jail before even seeing the courtroom.
Everything hurt. Sitting up hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. He'd finally been looked at by sound county doctor a few days before, but that seemed to just be to shut him up, because he hadn't heard anything since.
When someone did finally come round to fetch him up again to go talk to his lawyer, he'd managed to finally fall asleep.
“Can't he come in here?” Gus asked tiredly. “Cause I don't think I can get up.”
“Nope. Come on.”
Gus grumbled more, but didn't want to press his luck. The guy was at least patient with him and let him take his sweet damn time hauling himself to his feet before leading him off to the tiny room.
“Well, the good news is everything checks out with the medical records,” Todd said, a bit too cheerily for Gus' liking.
“How is that good news, exactly?” Gus asked. “Because, let me tell you, living like this is not my idea of fun. If I'm lucky, it only hurts when I move.”
Todd sighed lightly. “It's good news because it gives you a little bit of credibility,” he pointed out. “And frankly, Douglas, you can use every once of that you can get.”
Gus just stared at him. He had a special way of insulting a person's intelligence without saying a single word. This was especially helpful when actually insulting that person would be a bad idea.
“You said you were gonna get me out of here,” he said.
“I'm doing my best,” Todd told him. “But you've got to help me out. They can't find this 'Dr Sandhu' character anywhere.”
Gus shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he started, trying to think of a new out. “He's Middle-Eastern, so that might not even be his name.”
He couldn't help but wonder about the ass-chewing he'd get for saying something like that in the bar.
“Even without that, I've got more good news,” Todd said, making a few notes on a pad. “Because everything the hospital back in Oregon gave us does check out, we're able to get you moved to somewhere you'll be able to get some proper care.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Gus said, resting his head on his hands.
“It's also giving us more leverage with your case,” Todd continued. “We can easily use the defence that you acted out of fear for your own safety.”
Gus snorted loudly. “Ya think?” he asked. “Why's this shit taking so long, anyway? Where the hell's my speedy trial?”
“Douglas, they hardly had a case before you showed up,” Todd said. “Everything has to be verified before we can go to trial.”
“Fucking hell.” This was going to go on forever. He just knew it.
Everything hurt. Sitting up hurt. Moving hurt. Breathing hurt. He'd finally been looked at by sound county doctor a few days before, but that seemed to just be to shut him up, because he hadn't heard anything since.
When someone did finally come round to fetch him up again to go talk to his lawyer, he'd managed to finally fall asleep.
“Can't he come in here?” Gus asked tiredly. “Cause I don't think I can get up.”
“Nope. Come on.”
Gus grumbled more, but didn't want to press his luck. The guy was at least patient with him and let him take his sweet damn time hauling himself to his feet before leading him off to the tiny room.
“Well, the good news is everything checks out with the medical records,” Todd said, a bit too cheerily for Gus' liking.
“How is that good news, exactly?” Gus asked. “Because, let me tell you, living like this is not my idea of fun. If I'm lucky, it only hurts when I move.”
Todd sighed lightly. “It's good news because it gives you a little bit of credibility,” he pointed out. “And frankly, Douglas, you can use every once of that you can get.”
Gus just stared at him. He had a special way of insulting a person's intelligence without saying a single word. This was especially helpful when actually insulting that person would be a bad idea.
“You said you were gonna get me out of here,” he said.
“I'm doing my best,” Todd told him. “But you've got to help me out. They can't find this 'Dr Sandhu' character anywhere.”
Gus shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he started, trying to think of a new out. “He's Middle-Eastern, so that might not even be his name.”
He couldn't help but wonder about the ass-chewing he'd get for saying something like that in the bar.
“Even without that, I've got more good news,” Todd said, making a few notes on a pad. “Because everything the hospital back in Oregon gave us does check out, we're able to get you moved to somewhere you'll be able to get some proper care.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Gus said, resting his head on his hands.
“It's also giving us more leverage with your case,” Todd continued. “We can easily use the defence that you acted out of fear for your own safety.”
Gus snorted loudly. “Ya think?” he asked. “Why's this shit taking so long, anyway? Where the hell's my speedy trial?”
“Douglas, they hardly had a case before you showed up,” Todd said. “Everything has to be verified before we can go to trial.”
“Fucking hell.” This was going to go on forever. He just knew it.