Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

needed now was sleep, but my instincts told me this was not the time to lie down and check out.
    I washed up in the bathroom and spotted a clock on the way out. It was 8:00 a.m. I paid with a twenty and left the place feeling considerably better. I fished the pair of sunglasses out of Tony’s pockets and stepped into the growing glare outside. The desert sun was over the buildings now, and painfully bright. The streets had been populated mostly by garbage trucks when I had entered the restaurant, but now a fair number of pedestrians had appeared. I kept my coat pulled tightly over my stolen medical garb and managed to look normal enough. Still, I received a number of wary stares from passersby, which I stoically ignored.
    I reached the address on Tony’s card without incident and went around to the back. It was off the Strip by a few blocks, but it was close enough to get some of the traffic. Hanging over the alley entrance was a single security camera. I waved at it briefly, figuring Tony wouldn’t be reviewing the footage from the grave. I dug out the keys and triedeach one. The third key rattled, then clicked. The door swung open a fraction with a shriek of unoiled hinges.
    “Who are you?” a voice asked.
    I whirled, knowing the action would make me look all the more guilty, but I was unable to help myself. A woman stood some twenty feet away. She was young and pretty, but she had experienced, suspicious eyes. She wore a short leather jacket and a short leather skirt—all black. I would have stared at her shapely legs on a different day, but I was in a suspicious mood. I eyed her hands for weapons—or strange little statues. Neither was apparent.
    “I’m a friend of Tony’s,” I said, looking back into her blue eyes.
    Her face changed from narrow-eyed suspicion to an expression of surprise and recognition.
    “Oh,” she said, taking a step back. “That’s his coat, isn’t it?”
    I nodded. “And these are his sunglasses,” I said, pulling them off and putting them away.
    She watched my hands as I folded the arms of the sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket.
    “Are you handling his affairs?” she asked.
    “I’ve been asked to look into things here, yes.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t know,” she said. “I’ll come back later then.”
    “Wait a second,” I said as she began to walk quickly away. “Do I know you?”
    She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
    I pushed the door the rest of the way open, causing it to squeak louder. The interior was dark and smelled of cigarettes and spilled beer.
    “If you want to come in and have a look around,” I said, “you’re welcome to join me.”
    She paused, clearly uncertain. I could read worry in her eyes now. Worry and indecision.
    “Why are you here?” I asked her conversationally.
    “I—I came to pick up my last check.”
    I nodded. “No one around at this time in the morning, eh? I’m not surprised. Strip joints aren’t usually known for their breakfast specials.”
    She shrugged. “It’s been closed since the accident.”
    I nodded, thinking to myself she must want that check pretty badly. The place had been closed for days, yet she was here first thing in the morning. But I kept the thought to myself. I suspected she recognized me, and I hoped she knew some details about my situation.
    She took two hesitant steps toward me.
    “You want to come in and see if he cut your check?” I asked.
    After a moment of further soul-searching, she said, “OK.”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Wildfire.”
    “No, not your stage name.”
    She flashed me a resigned look. “Holly,” she said.
    I thought about the note I’d seen on the dead flower when I’d first awakened. It had been signed Holly, and I didn’t believe in coincidences. I did, however, believe in playing my cards carefully, so I smiled at her reassuringly.
    I walked into the gloomy interior and waited. After about seven seconds, I finally heard her clacking heels. She followed me into the place and let the door groan and click behind her. I approved. It seemed she didn’t want anyone discovering us inside either.
    “Where are the light switches?” I asked.
    “I’ll just open some of the blinds,” she said quickly.
    “OK.”
    I watched as she walked deftly around the tables, each of which was circled by a huddle of pushed-in chairs. I could tell she knew the layout of the place well, which made her story about having worked here more believable. She twisted the blinds