again.
‘Thanks,’ he said groggily. ‘The name’s
Moses.’
‘No worries. I’m Blake...’ I said,
cursing the blood smears he’d just left over my favourite jacket. ‘We’ll take
your car if you have one...’
*
When I woke up, there was a hand on my
shoulder shaking me gently. It was Moses. His head was bandaged heavily and his
arm was in a sling, but apart from that he looked better.
‘How long have we been in here?’
‘Three and a half hours.’ He cracked a
toothy smile. ‘You’ve been asleep all this time.’
I looked at the clock in the waiting
room. It was nearly eight o’clock in the morning. I didn’t feel too bad
surprisingly, but I wasn’t filled with the joys of spring either. My back felt
like a piece of cardboard.
‘I thought our hospitals were slow...’
He looked at me quizzically.
‘You know any good places to get a coffee
around here, Moses?’
‘Sure,’ he said extending a hand to pull
me up.
‘Good. You can buy me a fresh one then
drop me off at the Longfellow Gallery on Second Avenue South, just west of the
Thirty-Five. Do you know where that is?’
‘I think so. It’s just a short drive
across town.’
I followed the Somalian out to the car
lot where we’d parked his battered Toyota up in the early hours. Give it a few
hours, some strong espresso and freshen up in the toilets I thought, I would be
good to go again.
I needed to meet this friend of Henry’s
too. Walter Finch. He’d organized the work placement for Olivia and was
director of the gallery there. It was a decent enough place to start the
search, and I hoped somewhat optimistically, that he might have had some fresh
information on the girl since the last time he’d spoken to Henry.
We arrived back at the white saloon and
both stood there in muted horror. Some asshole had clamped the car while we were
inside getting treatment. Perfect timing I thought, shaking my head in
disbelief, as Moses scratched his bandaged head. I’d been stuffed into a petrol
tank, fought off a gang of bikers, spent the night in a hospital waiting room
and now this...I wondered what else was in store if I continued with the job.
‘You wait here,’ I said, feeling
frustrated.
‘Where you going?’ Moses called out
sheepishly.
‘To find some implements that will unpick
that damned lock,’ I said, walking back to the hospital’s main entrance as the
snow started coming down heavier again, hoping against hope, that sooner rather
than later, everything was going to start getting that little bit easier, and
that that circling spider had completely lost interest...
Chapter Eight
‘watched’
I t took a half hour to free the car, then another to get a
decent coffee and freshen up. When we finally pulled up outside the Longfellow
Gallery, the place was already open much to my relief, leaving me the best part
of the day afterwards to follow any subsequent leads that I managed to pick up
there.
I shook Moses’s hand and watched him
drive off into the distance slowly, then turned my attentions to the impressive
angular building before me, its glazed frontage reflecting the tangerine glow
of the rising Minnesotan sun.
I walked up the massive marble steps one
by one feeling weary, then passed through revolving doors into a huge
high-ceilinged lobby filled with an array of Romanesque statues, contemporary
sculptures and bird-like mobiles, suspended like futuristic pterodactyls in the
air.
I scanned my surroundings getting my
bearings like some brainless tourist then continued to the reception area where
a pensive looking girl in a pencil skirt and even tighter smile greeted me from
behind the desk.
‘I’m looking for the curator or the
director here, or whatever you call him…Walter Finch?’
‘Is he expecting you, sir?’ the assistant
said robotically, looking down at some
‘Thanks,’ he said groggily. ‘The name’s
Moses.’
‘No worries. I’m Blake...’ I said,
cursing the blood smears he’d just left over my favourite jacket. ‘We’ll take
your car if you have one...’
*
When I woke up, there was a hand on my
shoulder shaking me gently. It was Moses. His head was bandaged heavily and his
arm was in a sling, but apart from that he looked better.
‘How long have we been in here?’
‘Three and a half hours.’ He cracked a
toothy smile. ‘You’ve been asleep all this time.’
I looked at the clock in the waiting
room. It was nearly eight o’clock in the morning. I didn’t feel too bad
surprisingly, but I wasn’t filled with the joys of spring either. My back felt
like a piece of cardboard.
‘I thought our hospitals were slow...’
He looked at me quizzically.
‘You know any good places to get a coffee
around here, Moses?’
‘Sure,’ he said extending a hand to pull
me up.
‘Good. You can buy me a fresh one then
drop me off at the Longfellow Gallery on Second Avenue South, just west of the
Thirty-Five. Do you know where that is?’
‘I think so. It’s just a short drive
across town.’
I followed the Somalian out to the car
lot where we’d parked his battered Toyota up in the early hours. Give it a few
hours, some strong espresso and freshen up in the toilets I thought, I would be
good to go again.
I needed to meet this friend of Henry’s
too. Walter Finch. He’d organized the work placement for Olivia and was
director of the gallery there. It was a decent enough place to start the
search, and I hoped somewhat optimistically, that he might have had some fresh
information on the girl since the last time he’d spoken to Henry.
We arrived back at the white saloon and
both stood there in muted horror. Some asshole had clamped the car while we were
inside getting treatment. Perfect timing I thought, shaking my head in
disbelief, as Moses scratched his bandaged head. I’d been stuffed into a petrol
tank, fought off a gang of bikers, spent the night in a hospital waiting room
and now this...I wondered what else was in store if I continued with the job.
‘You wait here,’ I said, feeling
frustrated.
‘Where you going?’ Moses called out
sheepishly.
‘To find some implements that will unpick
that damned lock,’ I said, walking back to the hospital’s main entrance as the
snow started coming down heavier again, hoping against hope, that sooner rather
than later, everything was going to start getting that little bit easier, and
that that circling spider had completely lost interest...
Chapter Eight
‘watched’
I t took a half hour to free the car, then another to get a
decent coffee and freshen up. When we finally pulled up outside the Longfellow
Gallery, the place was already open much to my relief, leaving me the best part
of the day afterwards to follow any subsequent leads that I managed to pick up
there.
I shook Moses’s hand and watched him
drive off into the distance slowly, then turned my attentions to the impressive
angular building before me, its glazed frontage reflecting the tangerine glow
of the rising Minnesotan sun.
I walked up the massive marble steps one
by one feeling weary, then passed through revolving doors into a huge
high-ceilinged lobby filled with an array of Romanesque statues, contemporary
sculptures and bird-like mobiles, suspended like futuristic pterodactyls in the
air.
I scanned my surroundings getting my
bearings like some brainless tourist then continued to the reception area where
a pensive looking girl in a pencil skirt and even tighter smile greeted me from
behind the desk.
‘I’m looking for the curator or the
director here, or whatever you call him…Walter Finch?’
‘Is he expecting you, sir?’ the assistant
said robotically, looking down at some
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