Prepping the IV

[Robin Landseadel]

	"Shake it up and pour it," I said. "Who put me in here, why and
	how? I'm in a wild mood tonight. I want to go dance in the foam.
	I hear the banshees calling. I haven't shot a man in a week.
	Speak out, Dr. Fell. Pluck the antique viol, let the soft music
	float."

	"You are suffering from narcotic poisoning," he said coldly. "You
	very nearly died. I had to give you digitalis three times. You
	fought, you screamed, you had to be restrained." His words
	were coming so fast they were leap- frogging themselves. "If
	you leave my hospital in this condition, you will get into serious
	trouble."

	"Did you say you were a doctor—a medical doctor?"

	"Certainly. I am Dr. Sonderborg, as I told you."

	"You don't scream and fight from narcotic poisoning, doc. You
	just lie in a coma. Try again. And skim it. All I want is the cream.
	Who put me in your private funny house?"

	"But—"

	"But me no buts. I'll make a sop of you. I'll drown you in a butt of
	Malmsey wine. I wish I had a butt of Malmsey wine myself to
	drown in. Shakespeare. He knew his liquor too. Let's have a
	little of our medicine." I reached for his glass and poured us a
	couple more. "Get on with it, Karloff."

	Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely