Page 57 of Into the Fire

On Evan’s left knee, Jerry Z’s reply arrived on the RoamZone: MCDONALD’S @ CRESSENT HEIGHTS + SUNSET TOMOROW @ 10PM DONT B LATE BRING ALL THE CASH

“We are simply not safe until this madman is in custody.” Hugh removed his black-framed glasses with soap-opera aplomb and wagged them at the captive audience. “Now, as many of you know, Mia Hall is helping with this issue. It’s not often we get a big-case DA overseeing a robbery. She has graciously offered to update us on the investigation.”

Under the table Evan tapped a reply to Jerry Z. NO PROBLEMO. SEE YOU TOMORROW.

Another hum on his right knee, another threat from the Unidentified Caller on the Turing Phone: AND THEN MY MEN WILL DO WORSE TO YOU.

Mia rose slowly to address the group. Noting Evan’s distraction, she frowned at him with concern and mouthed, You okay?

He flashed a low thumbs-up.

Left knee: I’M AFRAID WE’LL HAVE TO PUT THE DOG TO SLEEP TOMORROW.

Evan had a moment of confusion until he saw the 323 area code. This was the animal shelter now, not Jerry Z, purveyor of stolen jewelry.

Left knee: WE’RE WAY PAST CAPACITY, AND NO ONE WANTS A FIGHT DOG.

Right knee: YOUR TIME IS COMING, BOY. I AM CONSULTING THE KAMA SUTRA FOR NEW IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO VIOLATE YOU.

Left knee: EVEN BAIT DOGS. SAD BUT TRUE.

It was like Dada poetry but even more awful.

“Can we have pets?” Evan blurted out.

A painful silence ensued. Mia’s hands were clasped, her shoulders squared. Clearly he’d interrupted her closing-argument-level focus. Her head was cocked more in disbelief than irritation.

“Absolutely not,” Hugh said, punching the words to make clear his irritation at the non sequitur. “This is a strictly allergy-free building. No pets, no smoking. Even the plant life in here requires a board approval process.”

Right knee: IT WILL BE LONG.

Left knee: I’M SORRY.

Right knee: AND MORE PAINFUL THAN YOU CAN POSSIBLY IMAGINE.

Left knee: THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO.

Across the table another tossed olive struck Peter’s chin and flew into Lorilee’s cleavage.

Peter reddened. “Oh, boy.”

Evan used the distraction to ease back from the table and slip away.

Though his balance was still in and out, Evan managed a shower, bracing himself against the wall. Toweling off brought forth a swell of nausea, and he rushed to sit down on the bed. He wanted to go to the bureau to get a pair of boxers, but his head hurt too much, and the city lights, diffuse through the window, started to streak.

The RoamZone indented his sheets where he’d tossed it, and he picked it up, thumbing down the brightness as a concession to his light sensitivity.

A deep, long sleep could be incautious; a patient was supposed to be awakened every hour and checked for focal neurological abnormalities that would suggest damage worse than a simple concussion.

To be safe, Evan set the RoamZone alarm and turned the volume all the way up before collapsing onto his side. A clammy sweat enveloped him. Closing his eyes seemed to intensify the pain where his head met the pillow.

He told himself to doze lightly so the alarm could pull him out for a self-exam.

Before he went under, a parting thought glanced off his consciousness: It would’ve been nice to have someone here to look after him.

24

Amphetamized