The Bleiberg Project (Consortium Thriller) by David Khara Page B

up. The bellhop accompanies us to our room. On the way to the elevators, I check out the wildlife in the lobby. Actually, I stare at it. Which of these “guests” is going to stab me in the back? Is the bitch that killed my mother here? And the little fat guy with greasy hair in the badly cut suit, why’s he staring at me like that? I’m sweating. My right hand starts to shake. They could use some AC in here. The heat’s unbearable. The way my guts are torturing me, the in-flight meal must have been past its sell-by date.
    Jesus, quit staring, you asshole! He’s coming over, reaching into his jacket. He’s a hit man! Jackie’s up ahead. I yell, but she doesn’t look around. The bellhop’s feeling up her ass. She’s stripping in public. A freak, I knew it. You’ll have Jay jumping your bones, beauty! But right now, I charge the dwarf before he smokes me. Tackle him to the floor. He lashes out with his tentacles. Shit, is his skin blue? The world’s spinning around me. Suddenly, once again, the lights go out.
    “Hey!” A sudden burning sensation wakes me.
    “There you go, Jeremy. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.” Jackie’s leaning over me. A strange newly kind tone in her voice. She’s holding an empty syringe.
    “Better? What happened to me? I was in the lobby and then…I don’t know, everything just went weird.”
    “Cold turkey. With the stress and jet lag you got a fit of something like delirium tremens. I gave you a shot of a derivative of benzodiazepine. You need to drink some sugar water and get some glucose into your system. From now until we get back to New York, you’ll have to carry a bottle of water with you at all times.”
    She presses a cotton ball to my forearm. The fleeting skin contact makes my whole body tingle. Unless it’s the stuff she just injected into me. “You always walk around with that on you?”
    “Hardly. I thought it might come in handy. Bernard warned me about your alcohol issues. I thought I’d better have something with me just in case. Anticipation’s an important part of my profession.”
    “You’re doing a fine job.”
    “I wish I could return the compliment. You attacked a hotel guest. Keeping him quiet will cost the American taxpayer. Incidentally, you also called me a horny bitch and announced your plans for me. Very classy.”
    Ouch. I grab the pillow, wedge it against the headboard and haul myself into a sitting position. The gyroscope’s still off-center, and the room pitches like a sailboat in a storm.
    “No way are you getting out of that bed. The jab is palliative not curative.”
    I massage my temples and close my eyes, hoping the first signs of a headache will go away. When I open them, Jackie’s in the bathroom doorway, a damp towel in her hand and an affectionate smile on her lips.
    “Does this benzo shit have any known side effects?” Silently, she comes over and presses the towel to my forehead. Cool water trickles over my cheekbones, follows the contours of my jaw and drips onto my chest.
    “Sure. Sleepiness, loss of balance, dependence if you keep on using it. But you’ll be OK with the dose I gave you. You’ve just succeeded in making my job a bit more difficult.” I grasp her wrist with one hesitant hand and look her in the eyes. Adopting a serious expression isn’t hard for me right now.
    “I’m sorry, Jackie. For the insults and anything else I said.” She doesn’t reply, except with a look every bit as intense and sincere as mine. The skin contact flusters her as much as me. Usually I’d shamelessly take advantage, but not with her.
    Snapping out of it, my chaperone stands up. “Don’t worry. The sexual fantasies are caused by the delirium. I’m not mad at you. We’ll stay here this morning to let you recover and head over to the bank after lunch. And along with drinking all that water, you’ll have to stay away from the booze. The drug and alcohol don’t mix.”
    Barely twenty minutes later, I’m on my feet