Free Garbage by Stephen Dixon

dressing the doc put on and I’m responsible, so I’ll slap your hand right off your wrist.”
    I drop my hand if I ever got it up and again go out.
    â€œYou can’t have me anymore, Mr. Fleet,” a woman says.
    â€œWha?”
    â€œI said I’m afraid you can’t have me anymore. Want me to speak louder? You see, to put it in plain layman’s language, the criminal court, in the person of the judge of such, appointed me as your lawyer because of your own inexplicit and, to me personally, rather witless self-destructive reasons why you didn’t need one, but now I have to unappoint myself because there’s no longer a criminal case. We just received corroboration from the D.A. that the man you beat up dropped charges against you—Forgive me, but we were talking about this before, don’t you remember?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYou certain you’re even conscious now?”
    â€œLet me see.”
    Eyes open all the way. Light from the outside’s in the room. Cages on the windows padlocked. Smell of public school cafeteria food. I’m asleep under white sheets in a men’s ward or was. Now I’m up. My mind sort of, not my neck or back. And it’s snowing again or never stopped. And birds, I hear birds, but it’s this whistler in the next bed like a whole flock of them and most of the pain’s gone in my head.
    â€œI don’t want to disturb you if you still want to doze.”
    â€œNo, I want to stay up. Why my here?”
    â€œI already told you.”
    â€œWhy my here?”
    â€œWell, your face is more alert. Has to be a good sign, particularly with all the painkiller they put in. You’re healthy and perky again or thereabouts—congrats. I’m Janie Pershcolt, remember? We just had a long involved conversation about your life and bad breaks of late, but all the time you weren’t even awake? How can that be? Anyway, I’m your court-appointed etcetera, not that I’m available to you now, etcetera—and you won’t flake out on me again?”
    â€œTry not to.”
    â€œHungry? Want food, Mr. Fleet? Mr. Fleet, are you there? Food. Pudding. Potatoes, munch munch, and buttered bread. You should be starved after two days of just tubes. They’re giving out the trays now and before you said you didn’t.”
    â€œStill don’t. Stomach.”
    â€œYou’re not nauseous. If you are, be a friend as I’ve been to you and forewarn so I can step aside? Anyway, as I told you previously, the reason you’re here is you were hit on the head with a pipe two nights ago or with some comparably solid instrument and possibly thrown off your bed, remember that?”
    â€œNot talking about or happening it.”
    â€œWhy would, assuming he did, and looks like to me, one of your fellow cellmates do that or any combination of the three? In your sleep conversation you said you only dreamed getting bonked.”
    â€œLooks like to me? Combination three?”
    â€œForgive me, but are you accusing all three prisoners of participating in the attack?”
    â€œThe guard?”
    â€œThe guard too or alone? Which, if either, and what’s your basis for stating that?” “Let me think.”
    â€œThat’s a pretty wild charge, Mr. Fleet. Earthshaking anytime the lawbreaker’s the law. I’m not a prosecuting attorney or your lawyer anymore, but because my field is criminal jurisprudence and the penal system and so forth, I would like to know.”
    â€œLet me think.”
    â€œI hope there’s no permanent brain damage. I mean I know there’s none permanent or otherwise because the doctor told me there’s not, so don’t let me worry you, but I hope there isn’t.”
    â€œI don’t feel it. Please, Ginny, let me think.”
    â€œJanie, Janie—So how are you today?” she says to the next bed.
    â€œFine and dandy, ma’am, and