Plasticity Page 11

  “Well, maybe he doesn't need me, but I'm not going to give up so easy. I don't want to go back to my old life, and I don't care if the hospital ever gets their missing plastic back. What do you think, Hayley?” He winked at her, and she was starting to think having a few more friends wasn't such a bad idea, even if one of them was only in it for the money. Whether he had intended to, or not, he had made it sound like the hospital had hired him to find her. If that was the truth, it set her mind a little more at ease. At least someone at the hospital cared what had happened to her. Of course, it was only comforting if the people who cared weren't the same people who tried to abduct her in the first place. Maybe, with Cyrus on her side, she could figure that out, too. But first, she really wanted to talk to Alan.

  “Hey, um, Blonde? I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name. Could you call Alan for us? I don't have a phone and Cyrus, here, broke and lost his phone.”

  “It's Karen, Hayley. An' I been textin' him this whole time. He's gonna be by in a bit. Says he's got sumpthin' real important to talk to you about. Didna wanna say on the phone, though.” The Blonde, Karen, poured herself another glass and raised it to the room, before emptying it. “To Alan, and friendship.” She didn't sound as drunk as Hayley would have expected, after so much alcohol.

  “You did it backwards, Babe. And your face is as red as your roots.” Lydia sounded like she was reciting a line from a play, a deadpan delivery, as if, though it was her line, she felt no emotion in it.

  “Oh yeah, 'sright. To Alan.” She downed another glass, “and friendship.” And another glass.

  “That's better.” Lydia said, softly.

  Cyrus, who Hayley had just now realized, had, at some point, started trying to keep up with Karen, had begun to snore gently. Oh well, we aren't going anywhere for a while. She thought, as she nestled herself deeper into the couch, letting her knee make the slightest contact with Cyrus's knee.

  Chapter 12: The Apartment Downstairs

  Alan Rice was frantic when he received the text message from Karen Sweeney. He had watched Hayley Acero leave the restaurant with those people, but then they all got in cars and left. Right before the first text had come in. While it was not impossible, it was practically impossible that Hayley Acero could have made it back to his apartment in the three and a half minutes between the cars driving away and the text alert sound on his phone. This did not prove that the Hayley Acero he saw in the restaurant was not Hayley Acero, but it was a good start. He left Dejah a five dollar tip, even though she had been a terrible waitress, and had not even offered him water before ignoring him. He was saddened that he would not get to talk to Charlene Becker, but she seemed to have developed a headache, so some other time was probably better, anyway.

  Although there was little traffic, Alan Rice could not bring himself to break the speed limit, and it took almost the full fifteen minutes to get home. He pulled into his assigned spot, and got out of the car, looking across the street at the mangled fence. He shook his head. Some people were just in too much of a hurry for their own good. He started walking toward the apartment building, and sent another text to the Emerald Blonde, to let her know he had arrived. He heard the notification from behind the door, just as he began to knock.

  “I've rolled my eyes, and that's all the reply yer gettin' to that last one.” He heard a girl's voice call out, just before the door opened, revealing that it was the Emerald Blonde who had said it.

  “Hello, Emera—” Alan Rice choked off the words when he saw her glare. “I mean, Karen Sweeney. May I enter?” He stood at the door, waiting, watching her eyes. She looked sleepy, and it made him feel bad that she had to be disturbed.

  “Yeah, come on, now, yer holdin' up the works.” She turned away, leaving him to close the door, while she took a seat on the floor.

  Alan Rice was surprised to see the large black man sitting on the couch next to Hayley. He appeared to be sleeping. Alan Rice could hear Lydia Black typing at a keyboard in one of the other rooms.

  “Hey, Alan Rice, how was your day?” Hayley pulled herself up, resting her elbows on her knees. “There's a weird creepy doll that showed up to the cabin and said it's her cabin. Also she's a witch. So I had to walk all the way down here, and I almost got caught by the cops while I was watching you get in that accident, then I did get caught, sort of, by one of the guys who's out to get me, which was the guy who hit you, and is now passed out drunk next to me. That's how my day was.” She sounded exhausted, even though that was not a state she could really achieve.

  Alan Rice didn't know where to start, so he figured he'd start at the beginning. “Well, I was late to work, again, but then I got to clean a bunch of stuff—”

  “Please and thanks if ya skip to the important part.” Karen Sweeney interrupted.

  Alan Rice was visibly flustered, but he acquiesced. “I saw Hayley Acero at the restaurant, tonight.” He watched Hayley Acero's face, hoping for an explanation. He was not immediately gratified. “Looked just like you, except she was hanging around with a couple of people I didn't know.”

  Hayley considered this for a moment, but was dismissive. “Is that the important thing you had to talk about?”

  “Yeah, I didn't know if you had a sister or something, but you never said anything about one, so I didn't know what to think, except that it had to be you.”

  “Eh, I'm sure there are plenty of people that look like me, so I wouldn't be too concerned about it, Alan Rice.” She could see this was not a satisfactory response to him, but she really didn't know what he expected her to say about it. She wasn't going to break out the champagne and set off fireworks just because he saw someone that looked like her. Karen made an indistinct noise and shrugged, but Hayley mostly ignored it. “So, you have any idea why some crazy witch-girl would show up at the cabin and claim she owns the place?”

  “I don't know her, I don't think. What's her name?” That was the best way for Alan Rice to remember people, even if he couldn't figure out why it didn't work for his scowly manager.

  “Tabitha, she said.” She cut him off before he could ask, “She didn't give me a last name, so I don't know it. If I had a phone, I would show you what she looks like.”

  Alan pulled out his phone and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Are you sure? If there's some kind of signature in my connection, they could track us.” Hayley actually had no idea how any of this worked, it just seemed like a possibility, so she tried to be cautious about it. Alan just nodded, so she picked up the phone and brought it up to her face. After a couple of seconds, the near-field transfer ended, and Alan had a new image in his downloads folder. She handed his phone back to him. “That's what she looks like.”

  Alan Rice opened his phone and, after a few swipes and taps, had pulled the image up. “Do you have any pictures of her sitting still?” Hayley didn't understand what he meant, until she took the phone from him. The girl in the picture was standing at the door, asking her to come back inside. Her ridiculous dress was perfectly visible, down to the crisp details in the collar, but the face was a blur, like she had been whipping her head left and right at high speed.

  “Shit, she must have censored that one. Let me give you another.” She held the phone up again, and cycled through her memories. It was risky, but the best chance for a clear picture was when she first saw her in the library. She didn't want Alan to know about it, but she was sure he'd have to figure it out sometime, so she took the chance and transferred the image. After a couple of seconds, she swiped into Alan's images folder. She didn't land on the latest image, first. The phone defaulted to the top of the list, so she started scrolling down. After it became apparent that there were going to be a lot of pornographic images before she arrived at the new one, she backed out and handed the phone back to Alan. “Here, see if this one's better.”

  Alan Rice, again, spent little time finding the new image. “No, that's the same, although the lighting is better?” He turned the phone to Hayley to prove it
, but she was not surprised. The girl was, after all, a witch.

  “Well, do you want to go out there and see for yourself? Maybe take a deed or something?” Hayley heard Cyrus snort, and turned to explain why they'd need it, but he was still asleep. Passed out drunk. Shameful.

  “I guess the deed could be in the safe or something. I could go get it tomorrow. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, except I promised to go see Sugar Sweets dance, tomorrow.”

  “We could go right now, right? Where is it?” Hayley tried not to sound too impatient, as it was best not to try to rush Alan, but he didn't seem to feel that it was as important as Hayley did.

  “Uh, uh, no way. Too dark. It's scary in the dark.” Alan Rice suddenly looked several years younger, and sheepish.

  Hayley tried to think around the problem, but she wasn't sure she could come up with a convincing argument. So, in lieu of that argument, she figured she'd start a new one.

  “You know, her name's not actually Sugar Sweets, right?” She was on the fence about Alan's interest in The Junkyard, in general, but especially in regards to this girl, who she saw as being exceptionally manipulative, even for a robot stripper.

  “It's the name she wants to be called. I try to call people by their preferred names, even if that's not their technical name.” Alan Rice got a little huffed up in defense of his habits.

  “Okay, but you call her 'Emerald Blonde.'” Karen looked up at Alan, but she just shrugged, as if it didn't bother her, though Hayley had gotten a different impression when they first met. “And you call Lydia 'Day-Walker.'”

  “That's what she wants to be called.” Alan Rice sounded slightly unsure.

  “The hell it is.” They heard Lydia call out from the back room. Karen laughed a lilting tune and Alan blushed.

  “Well, okay, I guess.” He hung his head in defeat. “But, tomorrow, I'll go get the deed or whatever, and we can go after I see Sugar Sweets dance, okay?”

  Hayley sighed. There probably wasn't as much urgency as she felt with the situation, but it wasn't like there was no urgency in it. “Fine. But, where will I stay? And what are we going to do with him?” She gestured to Cyrus with her thumb lazily extended.

  Karen downed another drink, her eleventh double-shot of whiskey, by Hayley's count, and grinned. “He can stay here, if he wants. He's a big'n. I'm sure one of us could accommodate him.” She let her head loll a bit, and poured another drink, her accent all but vanished without a trace.

  “The hell he can.” Came another burst from the back room. Karen just laughed.

  “Who is he? Is he good or bad?” Alan was always willing to give new people a chance. He liked to start off liking people and give them a chance before he decided they were just like everyone else.

  “That's what I want to find out.” Karen giggled and half-fell from her rest on the coffee table.

  “That's it. You're cut off.” Lydia called out.

  “He's Cyrus... Crap. I didn't get a last name. Anyway, he was hired by the hospital to find me, and he did, after hitting you, tonight.”

  “Oh, is he dead? Did he run away and die?” Alan Rice didn't intend those questions to come out quite like that, and he realized how stupid they sounded. He cursed himself for it, then gently reminded himself that a bunch of people probably ask stupid questions all the time. He wasn't special.

  Hayley was much more forgiving with the stupid questions. She tried to avoid talking down to Alan, even when—no, especially when—he made it difficult to resist. “No, he's just drunk and passed out. He snuck away and hid with me after the accident and we watched you drive off. The police took his car.”

  Chapter 13: Errands

  “Motherfuckers prodded me.”

  Thom pulled the phone from his face to check the clock. Early. Very early. Way too early in the morning. “Language, please. Now, who? And, what?” Portland had begun the phone call as if she were in the middle of a thought, which made it difficult for Thom to really understand what she was talking about.

  “Whoever broke into my fucking apartment, hit me with a fucking cattle prod, and took Hayley.”

  “What was Hayley doing in your apartment, again?” Thom could be dense, but it didn't take much imagination to figure out what had been going on, even with his lack of sleep. He desperately wanted what he believed she was talking about to not have happened, though.

  “She was here last night to celebrate her impending robot body, since you guys worked her parents over real good, yesterday. I feel like you're missing the point, here.” Portland was getting audibly impatient, but Thom wasn't about to leave anything to vaguery.

  “Why'd she 'stay over' at your apartment? Her car break down or something?” Come on, Portland, tell me it was something innocent. Please...

  “I fucked her, Thom. You're focusing on the wrong part of the story.”

  “Portland, she's twenty-three. She's barely more than a child. There're laws about this sort of thing. Her parents aren't going to be happy about this. It's just... just... disrespectful.”

  “I doubt her parents will have much time to focus on anything unrelated to a potential ransom demand, or a corpse that used to be their goddamn daughter, Thom.”

  Thom groaned and rolled over, dropping his feet to the floor while sitting up, but not getting out of bed. “Okay, so, what can I do? You want me to talk to someone or check something out? Did you check the surveillance tapes?”

  “They're gone. They cleared the data from a whole block of time. It skips from Hayley and me entering the apartment, to me opening the door, and running down the hall in a panic. It looks very suspicious. It makes it look like something happened, except that the time stamps are several hours apart. I have a few... errands... to run, but I need you to check with her parents. And...” She hesitated, long enough for Thom to get properly nervous. “I need you to check with Charlie. See if she's heard anything.”

  “I don't know how to get in touch with Charlie, except for the restaurant. I doubt they'd give me her phone number.” Thom wasn't intentionally balking; there were plenty of worse things she could have asked him to do, so he would be happy to just talk to people.

  “Hayley's parents know how to contact her. Hence your little tea party, yesterday.” Thom couldn't be sure, but she sounded bitter.

  “Are you... Jealous? Is that why you... did it... with Hayley?” Thom stumbled. He hated euphemisms, but disliked vulgarity, as well.

  “Watch your language, young man. I am not jealous, And I don't have to explain myself to you. Start with the parents, work your way over to Charlie, call me with anything you get, even if it doesn't seem relevant. I'll be there after my errands.”

  “Wait, where?” But, Portland had already ended the call.

  Thom couldn't remember if he had groaned already, so to be safe, he groaned again, and got up to get dressed. He didn't have a phone number for Hayley's parents, either, but their information would be at the hospital. Of course, he could always try calling Hayley's phone. That might short cut a lot of this business. But, was that too easy? He turned around, still naked, and went for his phone. Yes, it was far too easy, so it came as no surprise when her phone sent him straight to voicemail. He ended the call and sent a text, just in case, but did not expect to receive a reply.

  He didn't have to be at work for a few hours, still, but he considered just going in early. Who would be there at this time? Cynthia would probably still be there. Her shift didn't end for a while, he was sure. He dialed the number and set the phone to speaker while he got dressed. Cynthia picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Cynthia, it's Thom. I need a contact number, if you're not too busy.” He listened to her mindless banter, while she clicked away at her computer. Too many clicks later—Thom was sure she was messing with him—she asked for the name he was looking for. “Acero, Hayley. Parents, Miguel and Marianne.” Cynthia was silent for a while, the only sound coming through the phone was the clicking of a keyboard. Clicking that sounded like what Hol
lywood movies did when people used computers without a mouse. Completely fake. Fully dressed, now, he stood at the edge of the bed, leaving the phone on speaker.

  “I'm sorry, Thom, but I can't find anything with those names in here. Not even secured documents. Nothing.” Cynthia sounded genuinely apologetic, but that was exactly why she was employed as she was. Because she was good at sounding sincere when there was a good chance that any issue you brought to her meant as much to her as the sports stats of a minor league baseball player. Thom was wavering between believing her, and believing that she was a complete idiot, but it helped him make up his mind about going in early. He'd look it up himself. “Thanks, Cynthia. Must be a glitch somewhere. I'll ask around about it. Thanks.” He ended the call and winced as he realized he thanked her twice. Sliding the phone into his pocket, he headed out the door.

  It was quiet in the hospital when Thom arrived. The earliest of arrivers wouldn't be there for another hour or so, and the overnight shift was a skeleton crew, at least by hospital standards. Thom was surprised to see Meg at the nurse's station as he walked past to his office. He had expected Cynthia to still be there. “Hey Meg, in early today, too, huh?” He smiled at her.

  “Yeah, Cynthia said she had something she needed to do, and Jim spent the night at my mother's house, so I was just sitting around, alone, anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah? Was it a holiday or something?” Thom was unfamiliar with children, although he had been one himself, once. He had long ago figured out that his childhood was not the usual one for children in this country. He had few friends and no extended family here, so sleepovers with friends or grand parents weren't a thing for him.

  “Nah, I was out on a date, and I didn't want to wake him up just to take him home and try to get him back to sleep. My mom's almost always up for watchin' him.”

  “Oh, that's good. How'd your date go?” Thom instantly regretted his dumb mouth. It just said things without consulting anyone else. It wasn't just that it wasn't any of Thom's business how her date went, but the fact that he did not care in the least how her date went. This kind of stuff only fueled the rumors circulating the hospital about Thom being into Meg.