15.
 Mick's strange companions kept him under tight supervision but did not hurt him. Half dazed, he was conscious of being driven through a number of drizzly checkpoints. He was removed from the car and made to walk through cool rain. They took him to a place that reminded him of a cross between a hospital and a funeral parlor, or was it a high school at night and a prison?
Inside were nurses. But they weren't nurses as Mick knew nurses, but more robotic looking shapes. They had a grip just as firm as the cops releasing Mick. The nurses, like the cops, were of indeterminate gender, shorter, squatter, dressed in white garments that resembled lab coats or jumpsuits but with articulated elbows and other joints. They smelled artificial, Mick sensed. They had smaller glass helmets—wedge-shaped, pointy in front—and elaborate paper cup nurses' uniform hats on top. They smelled alien, but clean, and they seemed kind in a firm, detached manner.
"This way, Mr. Thompson. You'll soon be in proper care." The tin can voice was almost feminine. Or was it a male buddy voice?
They walked a distance down a corridor with shiny floors. Looked like a hospital at night, with many doors on either sides, but the patients shuffling around, if patients they were, all wore street clothes and carried large folders under their arms.
"This way, Mr. Thompson. This is your first stop. It's the memory adjustment corridor. You can look if you wish, but it's not a requirement. Your memory will be automatically adjusted. Just walk straight on through to the other side."
So he walked. There were rooms to his left and right. He looked.
There was Ben, beating a man half to death in a bar. So the detective Zydak had spoken the truth.
There was Lisa, dancing topless. How he'd hated it when she flirted with her customers at the airport. So this was the deal. Ben had forced her to make the rent money by dancing topless or he'd tell Mick about her past.
There was Ben, threatening a man with a gun, and the man cried while handing money over. So the detective—what had his name been?
Then—Mick swallowed hard—there was Ben—oh no! There was Ben, on top of Lisa, having sex with her. In Mick's bed. While Mick was at the gallery pitching his paintings. Why, Lisa? Why, Ben?
"Just keep walking, Mr. Thompson. Keep on walking."
There was Ben, talking with an insurance man. And Lisa, puffing on a cigarette, nonchalant, legs cross, one hand dangling over a pretty knee while the other hand brought the cigarette to her red lips.
And then there was the freeway, the trip to Phoenix, the conversation in the meadow, and then there was what had not happened yet. They were going to throw Mick off a building in Phoenix for the insurance money.
It hadn't been Mick's time yet. But it had been Ben's. And Lisa's. The crews with the chrome balls on the other side were very efficient, reaching into the here and now to snatch up anyone whose number was up. They were a bit too efficient.
|
Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).
|
TOP
|
MAIN
Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
|
