Inspired by the story of that guy who was found in a dumpster behind a Burger King. He never did figure out what the hell happened.
June 7th, 1994- midnight, after Murdoc's 28th birthday celebration
"I can't fuckin' believe they kicked me out already! I was just gettin' started!" spat a shirtless man with a slightly drunken slur on his tongue.
"Well Murdoc," replied his stout, slightly younger friend, "they do 'ave a rather strict 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy."
"Exactly. Wot kind of a shitty pub 'as somethin' like that?"
"A shitty one?" replied the heavy-set man, named Steve.
"Right you are!" The two cackled, supporting each other's weight as best as they could in their drunken stupor. They slumped heavily against a filthy dumpster, a few feet from the back door of the pub, which the two men had exited from.
"Fuck, man, 'ow are we s'posed to get to your apartment?" asked Murdoc, sliding down against the side of the graffiti-covered receptacle until he was sitting down.
Steve scratched his head, further messing his long, tangled hair up. He then flipped the lid of the dumpster up with a heave, and explained, "Sometimes there's booze thrown out into 'ere."
"And just 'ow's 'at gonna get us home?" snapped Murdoc, and before he could finish standing up to punch his friend in the nose, Steve exclaimed, "Look! There's a dead body in 'ere!"
"Wot?" the greasy-haired man cried out in disbelief. The two peered further into the trash, and low-and-behold, the dirt-caked arm of a young woman stuck up from between a half-eaten sandwich and a beer bottle.
"And a lady, no doubt!" proclaimed the dim-witted mate.
"Well, don't just stare at it, pull the body out!" Murdoc commanded of his drummer. The two took full grasp of the petite hand, and before Steve could notice, Murdoc slipped a sparkling ring off of a middle finger and into his pocket.
Once the trash-ridden woman had been placed face-up on the cold ground, her chest clearly moved up and down, showing life.
"Shit, man, she's breathing!" reported Murdoc to his stunned friend. "Give me that bottle over there," he gestured towards the dumpster. Steve handed over a stinking, three-day-old bit of beer, which could have very well have been piss. The bassist/singer stood up over the unconscious woman, and with a yell, dumped the bottle's contents into her face.
The disoriented lady began coughing with a jolt, and sat up after a minute.
"Jesus H. Christ," she stuttered, wiping her face with the back of her ring-less hand. She stopped when she spotted the two pairs of shoes beside her—one, Cuban heels, and the other, mouldy red high tops. She looked straight up and into the faces of the dumb-founded men.
The first man, to her left, had a pathetic attempt at a moustache on his upper lip. It was a copper brown to match his mangy, un-combed mane. His brown eyes peered curiously at her, mostly staring at her chest.
The other man on her right had a peculiar red eye, alienating the other black one. His nose was terribly misshapen and he had black stubble covering the lower part of his face, matching his greasy black hair.
"Eep!" she squeaked.
"Ey little lady, don't be 'fraid," started Steve, turning on his 'charm'. He held a dirty hand out for her to take; the woman hesitated, and then reasoned she was already filthy- she had nothing to worry about. The pudgy drummer helped her up with a huge grin. He'd already decided she liked him.
Murdoc watched his band-mate lift the thin girl up, and then turned his attention to her. She'd probably look decent with a shower. She had stringy blonde hair touching her bare shoulders; brown roots grew from the top of her head. A faded and ripped denim skirt clung to her emaciated waist and an oversized tee with the bottom ripped off hung loosely off her. It advertised some band he'd never heard of.
"The bloody 'ell were you doing in the trash?" questioned Murdoc. "You a strung-out hooker or somethin'?"
"Ey, don't talk to 'er like that! She's a lady." Apparently Steve had no qualms about taking home a strange woman he'd found in a dumpster.
The girl yanked her arm away from the shallow drummer and stared at Murdoc with a look of genuine hurt and surprise. She didn't even know this man; yet he insulted her. Where was she, and—who was she?
"I-I—I'm sorry," she stammered, saying the first thing that came to her.
"Oh, Goddammit… about wot? Oh, never mind—Steve, we've gotta go. We have to, err, practice for that upcoming gig, y'know?" Even the desperate bassist wasn't low enough to take a girl covered in trash home. Maybe if she was a little more shapely. For all he knew, she was under-aged.
"Okay," agreed Steve, dumbly grabbing the hand of the woman and following his band mate. The bassist slapped his forehead in defeat and continued the distance to the apartments.
"So, miss… uh… anyways, what were you doing in there?" asked Steve, gesturing towards the dumpster.
"I don't know, and where are you taking me? Where—I mean, what planet is this even?"
"She's high as cigarette smoke, mate, now let's leave her at the nearest bus station…" Murdoc grumbled through gritted teeth. Some 28th birthday.
"No! We're going to my apartment, and I can take whoever I want,"Steve jeered in a childish manor. "You can take a shower at my place, miss," he added with a wink. She let out a squeak and pulled her shirt up over her shoulder.
"Wot is your name, anyway, and where are your parents, girlie?" Murdoc asked in a lighter tone, amused by the shy squeaks.
"Parents?" she snapped in an offended voice. "I…I…," tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks. "I don't—hiccup –know my name!"
Murdoc stopped, and his mate and the clueless girl almost ran into him. He turned on his heels and looked at the miss close-up for the first time. He noted the deep purple bruise under her right eye. She'd probably gotten the shit beat out of her, for whatever reason, and temporarily lost her memory. That, or roofies.
"I s'pose you don't care where you stay… only until tomorrow, though," she studied him cautiously. "I'll leave you alone, but… 'e's a different case," Murdoc added. He turned around again and continued towards the road. "Who's 'at band on your shirt, anyway?"
"Huh?" she pinched the shirt between her pointer and thumb and observed it. "I've never heard of it," She examined her skirt as well. "Whose clothes are these…?" she mumbled to herself.
"We 'ave a band," the drummer chimed in. "The Burning Sensations."
"The burning what?"
"It's a work in process," grumbled Murdoc.
"So, can I call you Lola? I knew a Lola once… rawr," purred Steve.
"But, my shirt says 'Alice in Chains'. I like Alice," the lady argued.
Murdoc cackled. "I knew an Alice once. Nice lady… heh heh."
Alice gulped.