One Taste by Allison Hobbs Page B

salary that Mr. Wheeler was making sure she got her pay vouchers.
    Cochise shook his head. Mr. Wheeler should be ashamed of himself—knocking boots with a troubled young girl he was supposed to be helping.
    “Cochise! Yo, man, you better come downstairs.”
    Cochise bristled at the sound of Theo’s slurred voice. A jolt of annoyance ran through him as he caught a whiff of the smell of cheap liquor that permeated the corridor.
    With restrained anger, Cochise looked over his shoulder. Theo could hardly stand up straight. No way could he walk a straight line or pass a Breathalyzer test if he had to. Cochise turned around and faced Theo. “Man, you’re drunk as shit. Why you fuckin’ yourself up like this? You tryin’ to get fired?”
    “I ain’t gon’ lie, man. I had a little taste, but I can hold my liquor; I’m not intoxicated,” Theo told Cochise, speaking slowly, as he tried to control his slurred speech.
    “What’s going on downstairs?” Cochise asked, unable to hide his irritation at being called away from his work to give assistance to someone who had created a mess due to his drunkenness. He blew out an exasperated breath. Mr. Wheeler didn’t pay him enough to clean up behind drunk-ass Theo. Mr. Wheeler was going to have to get his shit together and handle the business hewas contracted to handle or Cochise was going to be looking for another job real soon.
    “It ain’t me, man. It’s old man Faison. He’s breathing real hard, acting like he’s about to have a heart attack or something.”
    “Oh, damn!” Cochise let go of the handles of the automatic scrubber and ran toward the stairwell. Staggering, Theo trailed behind him. His boots pounded against the concrete stairs as Cochise took them two at a time. He made it to the ground floor in less than two minutes. When he passed through the door that opened into the lobby, a cold chill ran down his spine. He was greeted by the foreboding sight of boots with the toes pointed upward. Mr. Faison lay prone in the center of the carpeted floor of the lobby.
    “He dead?” Theo asked in a whisper.
    Kneeling beside Mr. Faison, Cochise searched for a pulse. “He’s alive but he’s gonna need an ambulance.”
    “Mr. Faison! Get up, man. Mr. Faison!” Theo shouted.
    “Man, stop all that screaming and call fuckin’ 911.” Cochise lifted Mr. Faison’s head from the floor. He’d heard about people choking on their own saliva and hoped to keep his co-worker from asphyxiating while they waited for help.
    “I ain’t got no cell phone, Cochise.”
    “Stop playin’, Theo. Use one of the office phones.”
    “Don’t you know CPR or something? I don’t think Mr. Wheeler would want—”
    “Fuck that pussy,” Cochise bellowed. Deciding to make the call himself, he rested Mr. Faison’s head on the floor.
    When his head touched the cool tiled floor, Mr. Faison’s eyes popped open. With a questioning expression, he looked from Cochise to Theo. “What happened?”
    “You passed out,” Theo informed him.
    Cochise nodded in agreement.
    “Yeah, we thought you was dead, man,” Theo continued. “I was just getting ready to call 911.”
    “I’m all right,” Mr. Faison said, though he was breathing hard and struggling to sit upright.
    “Naw, you ain’t all right. Nobody passes out for nothing. You need to get checked out at the hospital,” Cochise said firmly.
    “It’s my blood sugar, man. I got diabetes. I’ll be all right after I get my prescription refilled.”
    Cochise gave the older man a long, incredulous look. “Then get your shit refilled. Whatchu tryin’ to do—kill yourself?”
    “No, man. It ain’t that,” Mr. Faison said, reaching out for Cochise to give him a hand. “The medical coverage we got only pays for about two weeks’ worth of pills. I gotta come outta pocket to get the pills for the rest of the month.”
    Quietly seething, Cochise pulled Mr. Faison to his feet. It was time to confront Mr. Wheeler. That slimy bastard was