I have a bad habit...

I can't just let a sleeping dog lie. Shit man, this always happens. I drop out of writers' group for a few weeks and it goes on a six month hiatus. What the hell, man? So, in the interest of bringing back the beast, here's a new story for y'all. It's a long one, but we need a long one to make this bitch breathe again. It's called "Smoke 'Em If You Got Em".

Smoke 'em If You Got 'em



Andrew woke to darkness, darkness and a rough, scratchy surface covering his face. He opened his mouth to say something and suddenly the sack was removed from his face, the harsh light stinging his eyes. Once the dazzle settled from his eyes, he looked around. He was in a warehouse, it looked like.
"Are you comfortable, Mr. Reeve?"
The voice came from behind him, and he tried to turn, but couldn't.
"Oh, yes. Let me get those for you," the voice said again, and he felt someone loosening the knots on the ropes that bound him to the chair. After a moment, he heard the sound of movement behind him, and a small, thin man stepped into his field of vision, carrying a chair in one hand and a small wooden table in the other. He set these down in front of Andrew. "You are no longer bound, Mr. Reeve. You can move about freely, but be warned that you are not allowed to leave just yet."
Andrew stood up, feeling pins and needles shoot through his legs. "How long have I been out?" he asked.
"No more than half an hour, I suppose. But I understand that the ropes can do horrible things to your circulation. Feel free to stretch, if you must."
"What do you want from me? Money?" Andrew asked.
The man laughed. "No, Mr. Reeve. I suppose this is what you would call an intervention."
"An intervention? What do you mean?"
"Ah, yes, where are my manners? My name is Bannister, and I am here to help you quit smoking."
Andrew laughed disbelievingly. "You? What are you going to do? Hold me here, slap patches on me, make me sip herbal tea until I don't want to smoke any more? Look, buddy, quitting's not a problem. I've done it hundreds of times."
The man smiled thinly at this. "Ah, yes, quite an old joke for you, isn't it?" He picked up a small brown bag from near his feet and picked through it until he found a folder. He opened it up and flipped through it for a few pages before he said, "Here we are. Let's see, the first time that your wife recalls you saying that was in December of nineteen-eighty-one. At your office Christmas party, predictably enough. Looks like it was a variation on the theme, however, as you said you'd quit 'dozens' of times by then. Keeping track, are we?"
Andrew looked at the file, then back at Bannister. "You've got that much info in that file?"
Bannister snapped it shut and favored him with another of those thin-lipped smiles. "That, and more. This is quite a detailed little file here, filled with every single detail of your life that friends, family, acquaintances, and of course, your wife, could recall."
Andrew snorted. "So, Ginny sent you, huh?"
Bannister gave a slight nod. "Yes, I was hired by a Mrs. Virginia Reeve. She's been quite concerned about your health lately, you know. She gave me full permission to do whatever I have to do to get you to quit."
Andrew leered at him then, getting up close enough that he could have kissed the smaller man, if he'd had a mind to. "And what's going to stop me from walking out that door right now?"
As quickly as if it had been magicked there, a small, pearl-handled revolver appeared, pressing into the underside of Andrew's chin. "Mostly this," Bannister said, in the same calm, conversational tone he'd been using thus far. "I won't shoot to kill, of course, not unless it comes to that. But I will take out a leg. Both, if necessary. Now, if you would be so kind as to sit back down, we can begin your treatment."
Andrew sat down with a hard thump. He looked smaller somehow, almost deflated. "So what do we do then? Do we just sit here, eyeball to eyeball while I go cold turkey or something?"
"Actually, not at all. Would you care for a smoke?" Bannister extracted a pack from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table between them.
Andrew eyed the pack warily for a moment, as though he expected it to sprout sharp teeth and bite off a finger if he reached for one.
He stared at them for a moment longer, then said, "Alright, I'll bite. What's the catch?"
Bannister leaned forward and smiled. This time he looked predatory, showing off every single tooth in a too wide grin. "Why, I'm glad you asked. This pack of cigarettes is your brand, is it not?"
Andrew looked down and nodded. "Yeah? So?"
"So, I can tell you this. Half of the cigarettes in this pack are absolutely normal, not a thing wrong with them other than the usual gumbo of carcinogenic ingredients."
Bannister paused, obviously waiting for Andrew to say something. Finally, Andrew said, "And the other half?"
"Laced with a slow acting poison. It won't kill you outright. It usually takes six or seven of the bad ones to do that. But you will start to notice certain things. Memory loss, tremors, twitches. That sort of thing."
"Only half of them, though, right?"
Bannister nodded.
Andrew reached down, opening up the pack and looking down at the cigarettes. "Ah, hell. I like those odds. You got a light?"
Bannister seemed pleased, and extracted a silver lighter from the same pocket. "Excellent. Now, you are welcome to smoke as many as you like, Mr. Reeve, but you must answer a few questions for me each time you do so. Are you ready to start your first set of questions, Mr. Reeve?"
Andrew exhaled a large ring of smoke towards him. "Shoot."
"Okay, let's see here... Ah, here we go. Tell me about your childhood, starting with your date of birth."
"Yeah, okay. Let's see... I was born September 2nd in 1954."
"Good, go on."
"My parents were named Ralph and Maggie, and I had an older brother named Alex who was killed in Vietnam when I was twelve years old. He was twice my age, twenty-four, when he died. I didn't really know him that well, since we were so far apart in age, you know. Anyway, I graduated from Roosevelt High School in 1972, and I married Ginny in '73."
"Excellent. And you started smoking when you were... let's see, fifteen, it looks like. That would mean you've smoked for... what, nearly forty years now?"
"Yeah, I guess. Can I borrow your lighter again?"
"Of course." Bannister took out the lighter and set it on the table. Once he was done with it, he started to hand it back. Instead, Bannister held up a hand and said, "Set it on the table. You'll be needing it again soon, I think."
Andrew shrugged and said, "Fine with me."
"Okay, next set of questions. Are you ready, Mr. Reeve?"
"Fire away, chief."
"You said you were born in '54. Who was president then?"
"What?"
"You heard me. Who was President of the United States back then?"
Andrew laughed. "That's your question? I don't know who you been talking to, but I ain't no history major. I could barely tell you who was president ten years ago."
Bannister smiled. "Your best guess then."
Andrew looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. His fingers traced delicate smoke patterns in the air as he thought. Finally, he said, "Christ, I dunno. Truman?"
Bannister smiled again, then said, "You're right, Mr. Reeve. You aren't a history major. By the time you were born, Truman had been replaced by Eisenhower. And you're on your second cigarette."
Andrew recoiled as if he'd been slapped. "So? Like I said, I ain't no history major. Doesn't mean I got one of your bum smokes."
"No, it doesn't. But it is interesting. I know that Reagan was office the year I was born."
Andrew laughed. "Reagan? Christ, you're a kid. When were you born, '82, '83?"
"I was born on January 20th, 1981. It was the day he took office, in fact."
"Well, hooray for you. What are you doing in this business, then?"
Bannister didn't say anything for a moment, then said, "Let's just say that I enjoy my work."
"Whatever," Andrew said, reaching into the pack and grabbing another cigarette. "So, how long do we play this little quiz game here? I mean, are you trying to bore me into quitting smoking or what?"
"No, actually. We play until you decide to quit yourself, or..."
Andrew looked up at him, exasperation on his face. "Ah, Christ, enough with the dramatic pauses. Or what?"
"Or we play until the poison sets in, and you die."
Andrew smirked. "Poison. Yeah, right. Poison, my ass."
"Actually, they are poisoned. That one you have right there in your hand, in fact, is one of my 'bum smokes', as you called them."
"Yeah, sure they are."
"Yes, they are. If you look by the filter, you'll see a small red dot. I use those to keep track of how many you've had, and adjust the questions accordingly. Your next round I will want a little more detail, if you please, Mr. Reeve."
Andrew froze, the cigarette hanging from his lips. After a moment, he took the cigarette away from his lips and looked at it.
The red dot stared out at him, and he made a panicked motion to stub it out.
Like magic, the revolver reappeared, and Bannister said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm afraid that it's a rule. You take it out of the pack, then you smoke it. All of it."
Andrew slowly pulled his hand back and put the cigarette back in his mouth. He inhaled and said, "All right, fine. I need one after you shoving that gun in my face, anyway."
"Excellent, that's the spirit. Now, tell me about your family."
Andrew felt a drop of sweat start running down his face, and he said, "Shit, like I said, my parents were Ralph and Mandy, my wife's name is Virginia, I got one kid, a girl. Named Maggie, like my ma."
"Maggie? I thought you just said your mother's name was Mandy."
Andrew smiled weakly, the sweat running faster now. "Did I? I meant Maggie. Yeah, my baby girl, named Maggie, after her grandma."
"When was Maggie born? Your daughter, not your mother."
"A few weeks after you, I guess. February 2nd, 1982. Groundhog's Day."
"More than a few weeks, Mr. Reeve. I would be a full year older than your daughter."
"You said you were born January 20th."
Bannister nodded. "I was. I was born January 20th, 1981. The same year Reagan took office, remember?"
Andrew nodded back. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I remember now." He took a puff of his cigarette and said, "Fuck Reagan. Never liked him anyway."
He reached for another cigarette, then paused. He tilted the pack towards him and tried to look down into it when he heard a soft click. He didn't even have to look to know what it was, and it only solidified matters when he heard Bannister say, "No peeking."
Andrew picked one out and checked the filter.
Bannister watched as his face went white. Keeping the revolver cocked, he said, "Smoke 'em if you got 'em."
He watched with some satisfaction as Andrew lit his cigarette with a shaking hand. "Are those tremors I see, Mr. Reeve?"
Andrew blew out smoke harshly, shouting, "Of course there are fucking tremors. I'm scared, okay? There, you happy?"
Bannister smiled at him. "Yes, I am. So if you're scared of them, quit smoking them."
Andrew took a deep drag, then said, "I can't. Jesus Christ, I can get you money if you want, but I can't quit, can't you see that, I can't fucking quit and you're going to kill me if you don't let me go."
Bannister shook his head. "No, Mr. Reeve. You will have no one to blame but yourself. Now, are you ready for your next round of questions?"
"Please let me go, I can get you money, I can get you lots of money, just let me go."
Bannister shook his head again, and this time he looked as though he were filled with genuine regret. "I'm sorry, Mr. Reeve, but I can't let you go. Not until you quit, or you finish the pack. Your choice."
"Please."
"No, Mr. Reeve. Now, are you ready for your next set of questions?"
"I'll do anything."
"Fine. Don't grab another cigarette. If you can go for twenty minutes, I will let you go."
"I can't."
"You can't do twenty minutes? Not even a full hour, not even half an hour, and you can't do it? You see, that's why we're here tonight. I'm trying to help you, I promise. Even if you finish the pack, I'll be helping you."
Andrew snorted. "How will you be helping me? By killing me?"
"Yes. By saving you and your family from tracheotomies, from lung cancer, from a slow and painful death in a hospital bed. I'm trying to help you. Meet me halfway."
Andrew looked down at the cigarette, the red dot already half burned away. "Twenty minutes? Starting now?"
Bannister nodded. "Actually, I'm feeling magnanimous. Twenty minutes from when the offer was first put on the table. That leaves you with eighteen to go."
Andrew stubbed the finished cigarette out. "I can do this."
Bannister clapped his hands together in excitement. "Excellent. Are you ready for your next set of questions?"
"Sure. Throw them at me."
"When did you buy your first pack of cigarettes?"
"Excuse me?"
"When did you buy your first pack of cigarettes? Describe the experience to me. Make me feel as though I'm there with you, watching you take that first drag."
Andrew glanced down at the pack, then back at Bannister. "That's not fair."
"I doubt anyone would accuse me of not playing fair, Mr. Reeve. I've been level with you from the start. Look at it this way. If you can get through this, then you can get through anything."
Andrew glanced at the pack, then away, as though he was afraid they might burn him. "Okay, fine. What do you want to know?"
"Why did you start?"
Andrew laughed. "Why else? To impress a girl. I dunno what I was thinking. My parents never bothered cleaning out my brother's room after he was killed in 'Nam, and I was digging through his stuff to find something, I don't even remember what. But I stumbled across a pack of his Lucky Strikes, and I figured that this girl I was lusting after would be impressed." He laughed again, caught up in the memory for the moment.
"And was she impressed?"
"Oh, yeah. Real impressed. Fifteen year old kid smoking an unfiltered Lucky the first time he ever tried smoking? Not to mention that my brother had been dead for four years, and those were probably sitting there from before he got shipped out, so they had to have been at least five years old? Yeah, she was real impressed right up until I blew my groceries all over her shoes."
Bannister laughed. "Then why did you keep smoking?"
"Figured I just had to practice at it, show her one day that I'd learned how to do it right, and she'd start thinking I was real manly. By the time I got it right, she was going out with Bobby Stockwell and I was up to a pack every other day."
"I see. And what was it like when you got it right?"
"What do you mean?"
"That first drag where you really got your first look at what it could be like? That first drag where you didn't cough, didn't vomit, just tasted that rich smoke?"
Andrew pulled another one out of the pack and lit up without thinking. "Pretty damn good, kid. That first drag is what keeps you coming back. It's never as good as that first drag, but you keep hoping. That's why you keep..." He stopped in mid-sentence, looking down at the cigarette dangling from his lip. The red dot stared up at him from just above the filter.
"You tricked me," he said.
"Not at all, Mr. Reeve. I didn't put that in your mouth. You did."
"You know what I mean. You might as well have handed me this and lit me up."
"Don't blame me for your addictions, Mr. Reeve. If you had quit before today, you would never have seen me."
"Well, you're certainly not helping. I normally don't smoke like this, you know. You just..."
"I just what, Mr. Reeve?"
Andrew took a long drag before answering, "You make me nervous."
"Then I am doing my job. I believe that makes number four of the 'bum smokes', Mr. Reeve."
"No, it doesn't. This is three. I've had three of the ones with the dots, I've been counting."
"And how many of those have you had, Mr. Reeve?"
"I've had five, and the first two were clean."
"Were they? You didn't start checking until the third one. Are you certain the first two were clean?"
Andrew felt sweat forming in a small pool beneath his nose, and he swiped it away before he said, "I'd have noticed."
Bannister just smiled. "Would you have? Well, then, let's agree to call it three, and just keep in mind that six is usually enough to kill someone."
"Six? I thought you said seven."
Bannister nodded. "I did. I said six or seven. It's not an exact science. One man made it down to four cigarettes left in the pack before he finally keeled over. When I checked for dots, he had two left. So, I suppose the current record is eight. Would you like to try for the record, Mr. Reeve?"
Andrew stared at the pack for a long moment, trying to make a decision one way or the other.
After a second's hesitation, he reached in and grabbed another one, anxiously checking the filter.
No dot.
He breathed a sigh of relief and lit up.
Across from him, Bannister smiled and said, "Well played, Mr. Reeve. That's the spirit. Now, are you ready for the next set of questions?"

Two hours later, the pack was empty, the final cigarette dangling from Andrew's fingertips, forgotten for the moment. A thin curl of smoke still issued from the tip, but he made no move to smoke it.
Bannister leaned forward, tapping Andrew lightly on the shoulder. "Mr. Reeve?"
Andrew's eyes opened sluggishly, and he looked up at Bannister with no recognition in his eyes. "Who are you?"
Bannister grimaced at him for a second, and then forced the grimace into something resembling a smile. "Just a friend, Mr. Reeve. Can I get you anything?"
Andrew lifted his head slowly, turning to stare at the now-dead cigarette in his hands. The red dot had been burned away. He lifted it to his lips anyway, sucked weakly, then threw it away in disgust. "Actually," he said, slowly. "I'm just dying for a cigarette. You wouldn't happen to have one, would you?"
Bannister kept the smile on his face, even though it felt horribly fake, as he reached into his pocket and extracted another pack. He unwrapped the cellophane and extracted a cigarette, placing it in Andrew's mouth. Andrew didn't notice the red dot on the filter, didn't notice anything but the cigarette in his mouth, and the sensation of smoke filling his lungs as he sucked.
Bannister watched him smoke for a minute, then set his lighter on the table. Andrew looked up at him with a confused look on his face that broke into a smile when Bannister said, "Keep the pack."
Bannister walked out of the warehouse, turning back only once to watch as Andrew lit up another cigarette, still wearing that same smile as he pulled the first drag of smoke into his lungs.