2 weeks earlier~
"Euck… gag" Wes's eyes shot open, and he glanced around sporadically. "Eugh… Eugh."
What the? I can't breathe!
Using his left hand, he pulled the piece of rubbery plastic out of his throat. "Ugh… oww." His voice came out hoarse. Why'd he have one of those breathing tube things down his throat?
"Cough… Where am I?" The last thing he remembered was getting beat up by those gangsters, but not much after that. It seemed the unfairly one sided beating had caused him to pass out. He groaned as he pulled himself to a seat position. A task that was rather difficult in his current state.
Now that he was propped up, he took a moment to analyze his surroundings. The monitoring equipment, the breathing tube, and the fact that he was hooked up to an IV suggested that he was at a hospital, but the room that he was in was strangely large and fancy looking, appearing more like a large hotel room instead of hospital accommodations.
Every time he'd been, usually after getting picked up after being found beaten half to death or shot or something (he was unusually skilled in the art of pissing people off), they'd stick him in a small room with nothing but an almost see-through curtain separating him from at least 3 other dudes. So, being in a room like this was definitely strange to say the least, not that he didn't mind being pampered.
Maybe they had confused him for someone else?
If he had been conscious after the beating he would've insisted on not going. His funds were limited at the moment, and he didn't want the hospital trying to come after him for not paying… because there was no way in hell he was, even if he had the money. Besides, he still had to find a way to pay off his brother's loan before something seriously bad happened to Silas.
Silas was the complete opposite of Wes, he was 10 years older, and did his damnedest to live an honest life, despite the poor cards they were dealt. He had basically raised Wes, after their parents passed away in a car accident when he was 6 years old. They had no other family, and his brother didn't want them to be separated. Even though he was a kid himself, Silas dropped out and dedicated himself to taking care of his younger brother.
After seeing his brother come home late every night exhausted, Wes started committing small-time crimes in order to help out, since he was a kid and no one would hire him, a loaf of bread here, a ladies bracelet there… nothing crazy. His brother had been suspicious at the time, but he was probably so desperate already that he didn't ask. They lived like that for a couple of years.
However, everything went to shit after Wes got caught breaking and entering at 12 and was sent to juvie. After his release, the court promptly removed him from his brother's custody, deeming him unfit and Wes lived in the system for a few years. He grit his teeth thinking back to the cramped room he stayed in with 14 other boys at the group home. There was never enough to eat, and you had to watch your belongings like a hawk or they'd go missing. Wes would know, he was one of the ones taking said belongings.
At 16 he and his brother were finally reunited after Silas was able to prove to the court that he was a suitable guardian. In the 4 years they were apart, his brother had started up his very own restaurant. He had always loved cooking… Maybe it was because there was never anything to cook at home. Wes was a little suspicious of where he got the funds to open up a restaurant, but figured that he was just able to save up without his younger brother burdening him.
It turns out he was right to be skeptical.
Business was fine for a few years, until a neighboring shop owner spread rumors about Silas's restaurant being infested with cockroaches, and said he was giving people food poisoning. His brother called a health inspector to come, so that the accusations could be squashed, but it ended up making things even worse. It seemed like that bastard across the street had figured out the inspector was coming and took the time to let loose a bunch of cockroaches and rats into the place, causing the restaurant to be permanently shut down. Wes wanted to kill that geezer, but his brother, a kind soul, defended the man, despite what he had done to them.
Weeks later, a bunch of scary dudes with tattoos and guns showed up and demanded Silas pay back the interest that he had missed for the month. He begged them for more time, but they were merciless and beat his brother before dragging him off to work at one of their businesses. Wes tried to stop them, but Silas just looked at him with tears in his eyes and told him not to do anything, and that he'd see him soon.
That was a lie of course. He hadn't seen his brother in person for over a year. Though, he talked to him on the phone about once every two weeks. Last time they talked Silas had seemed really scared, though he told Wes not to worry.
That was 5 weeks ago.
He chewed at the skin around his nail, surely his brother was still alive… right? Yeah, he was sure he would be. Silas might be a pushover, but he wasn't some frail guy. If anyone picked on Wes his brother defended him to the ends of the Earth, Wes just wished he would do the same for himself.
"Clack."
Wes saw the door handle move down, but the door didn't open.
"He told us not to go in until he saw the patient for himself. Apparently, Mr. **** wants to be the first one he sees." He heard a nurse whisper outside the door. He didn't quite catch the last name, but whoever it was wouldn't be seeing him.
If he had to think about it, it was most likely a detective or officer or something. He wasn't 100% sure he didn't currently have any outstanding warrants at the moment, leaning more towards he definitely did have them than the latter. It wouldn't be anything too serious, he was no crazy criminal. Most likely it'd just be fraud, larceny, identity theft, impersonating an officer, or something like that… at least those are the endeavors he had embarked on most recently. If he went to jail now, there was no way he'd be able to help his brother, so that was out of the question. "Whatever, they charge you for anything nowadays anyway!" He scoffed and went to pull the IV out.
"Clang."
As he reached for his right hand a metal cuff held him back."What the?"
"Clang. Clang. CLANG"
He jerked his arm a few more times. Why was he handcuffed to the bed? Did the police really catch him? Is that why he was in this room?!
Not wanting to wait around and find out, he problem solved by bringing his left hand over to his right so he could pull out the IV. It was a little bloody when he pulled it out, but that was the least of his worries. It was imperative that he pick the handcuff lock before one of the nurses, or worse, a police officer came in. He was not a fan of forceful sedation, which had happened to him once before during an escape attempt. Not only was it totally cheating on their part, but also scary as hell! One minute you'd be standing, and the next you slowly lose control of your body until you can't keep your eyes open anymore, despite doing everything in your power to stay awake and flee… like being tasered. He shuddered, yeah, that definitely was a 0/10 experience.
Luckily, he had just the thing for cases like this, he smirked and felt around his neck. "Huh?!" He used his left hand to check his ears. "No way." He laughed nervously and stared down at the thin blue blanket that was covering him.
"What am I going to do now?" He brought his thumb to his lips and anxiously chewed. It seemed the hospital had removed both his necklace and earrings. "Dammit! Those were custom made." His fist slammed against the surprisingly squishy hospital bed. Picking this lock was going to be a real pain without them, especially if it was one of those double locked ones.
The jewelry he cared so much about was a discrete lock picking set he wore for situations like this. They were the 3 most essential tools for any lock picking craftsman, the necklace being a tension wrench, and the earrings a hook pick and a rake pick.
"Tsk." He examined his surroundings more carefully, looking for a tool he could use. It was either that or he would have to try to break the bed frame, something he wasn't feeling too confident about doing in this weakened state.
As he surveyed his surroundings, his eyes lingered on a red box mounted near the sink, the label read: Biohazardous Infectious Waste, Sharps Container. "That could work," his lips curled. "Hopefully I can reach it."
"Ack!" His legs wobbled as he slowly stood up. Was it possible for them to get this weak after sleeping a couple of hours? He held tightly to the bed frame as he took a step towards the red box.