Altered States by Paul J. Newell Page A

are not their style.
    Whoever it was knew a lot about him, which was scary. They knew his actions and they knew Mila. That was why he had to get somewhere neutral fast. Not his place, or Mila’s. Even a hospital would be too risky right now.
     
    Once in the hotel room, Conner stayed with Mila until she could accomplish the feats of sitting and monosyllabic discourse unaided.
    ‘What happened?’ he asked.
    ‘Walking,’ she said slowly with a slight slur. ‘Man ... grab.’ Then she clumsily mimed a syringe motion with her first two fingers and thumb against her upper arm. Conner inspected the puncture wound. She seemed to be livening up as time passed and he was confident that she had been injected with nothing more than a sedative.
    ‘What else do you remember?’
    ‘Sleep’. She shrugged and gave half a smile at the thought of slumber.
    ‘I know,’ he said compassionately, realising that Mila would be providing little in the way of useful information given that she had been unconscious for the whole ordeal.
    There was only one thing left. He had to pay a visit to Kent the clerk. He sighed heavily at the prospect. He guided Mila to the bed and pulled the duvet over her.
    ‘Stay here and don’t answer the door to anyone,’ he instructed, though was fairly confident that such a task was way beyond her current abilities.
     
    Conner thudded on Kent’s apartment door. He’d buzzed a different apartment’s number to get let into the building, just so he had the satisfaction of thudding on Kent’s door. After a moment the door opened and the person behind it was dragged into the corridor by the lapels of his pin-striped pyjamas.
    ‘Talk!’ was all Conner said as he pushed him up against the wall.
    ‘What?’ the clerk whimpered.
    ‘What do you mean what? It wasn’t Burch in that lock-up.’
    ‘Huh? Yes it was. Your guys picked him up a couple of hours back. I assumed you’d sent them.’
    Conner loosened his grip.
    ‘What?’ he stated again – a sentiment he thought was worth reiterating. He let go of Kent. ‘Stay there.’
    Conner made some calls to confirm what Kent was saying. Sure enough, Bigby was back in custody.
    Deep down Conner had known Kent would know nothing. He was a pawn just like Conner was.
    He began making his way back to the Holiday Inn – on foot this time. All his ends were dead. There was nothing more he could do. His heart rate hadn’t dropped below about one-eighty since he first popped a methamphetamine clone two hours ago. Now he was crashing big time.
    Back in the hotel room, Mila was fast asleep and breathing normally. Conner grabbed the spare blanket from the wardrobe and collapsed onto the sofa. The multitude of aches across his body had merged into one holistic dull pain. But in a rare moment of positivity he counted this as a good thing. He had no idea who was messing with him, but he knew one thing: if they had wanted him dead, he would be dead by now. The fact that he could still feel pain was very reassuring. Reassuring enough to allow him to sleep.

Nine
     
    Dressed to Sell
     
     
     
    BlueJay was the trendiest and therefore most expensive place to hang out in town. I arrived in good time, to give me a chance to settle in. The two large bouncers on the door looked me up and down with suspicious eyes. I flashed my most opulent looking smile at them, which proved rather ineffectual so I flashed a fifty at them instead to marginally better results. I received half a nod from one of them that clearly articulated he would allow me to pass but that he was offended by my mere existence. I didn’t argue. I respected the fact that his eyebrows alone were better communicators than most cab drivers around these parts. I stepped into a large atrium.
    Let me take this opportunity to tell you about the retail phenomenon that is BlueJay. It is not a standard bar or restaurant. It is a whole new concept in the genre of ... well, there is no genre – that’s the point. BlueJay