Chapter 10

Donovan’s clinic was around the corner from a strip mall. The anchor tenant, long ago forced into bankruptcy by the megacorps, who used to lease the largest square footage, had gone through a long string of tenants. Currently, it was subdivided into something of a mini-mall. Donovan had rented space and started his clinic. Knocking out some cinder blocks and installing a metal door created an entrance on the side street, giving the patients a little more sense of privacy while trying to minimize the sense of commercialism.

As Spector walked past the strip mall’s shops, a mom and pop restaurant caught his eye and his rumbling stomach reminded Spector he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and there was no telling how long the quest would take. As he continued walking, Spector checked in with Skid to see if Joey had sent up a slew of drones to track the Prairie Cat. Skid reported Joey was just now getting back to his shop. Spector thanked Skid and cut the connection, then hurried a bit faster.

Donovan greeted Spector when he finally arrived at the clinic. “Rev, I was expecting you all day. Glad you finally made it,” the doctor said.

“Sorry, Donovan. Today just did not go anything like I’d hoped it would, and when it started going south, I had no idea how long the delay would be. Lucky for me, you don’t have to patch me up and I only need to do a few more things,” Spector said. “Have you got a place I can astral project from?”

Donovan said, “If you want to go in room three and get into a gown -.”

“Doc, I just need a place to lie down for right now so I can project. I’m not ready to start the quest just yet,” Spector said.

“Sure, go into room 3,” Donovan said.

Spector hurried to it speaking back over his shoulder, “Maybe we’ll order some takeout from somewhere when I’m done with this. Your choice, on me.”

Spector closed the door to room three behind him and quickly laid down and astrally projected, rushing to Joey’s at the speed of thought. Arriving just after Joey, Spector hovered in astral space and spied on the man, waiting to see what his next move would be. Teflon Joey parked Spector’s bullet damaged car and told one of the guys to fix the windows and bodywork. “And let that dirtball outta the trunk.”

Joey went to his office, stood his chair upright and sat down on it behind his desk. Twice he started to reach for the phone as he stewed, his aura going through various ranges of anger. Noticing the penknife, Joey picked it up and used one of its small blades to clean under his fingernails, then seeming to notice his soiled attire, he went into an adjoining bathroom and removed it. He washed up, lingering over the spot where Spector pricked him, then put on a set of coveralls. He returned to the chair behind the desk, but checked his watch before sitting, left the office, locking the door behind him. Saying goodnight to the nearest guy, Joey went outside and got in a slightly stretched Caddy. Spector returned to his meat body and called Skid.

“Joey just left the shop, can you have a drone tail him? He’s in the black Cadillac. We may need to know where he lives or at least if he is going to see someone right now,” Spector said.

“Sounds like a good idea, I’m on it,” Skid said.

Recalling Donovan’s earlier prompting to get into a gown, Spector disrobed. He left his socks on, they could cut them away if need be. As he arranged his clothes to stow, the hardness of his phone reminded Damon he’d said he’d call Mara from the clinic and made the call. It went to voice mail and he left a brief message. Coming out of room three, his clothes in a neat bundle around his weapons, Spector asked, “Where to now?”

“Well, the pizzas should be here any time. We have a little area over here for the staff to take a break, Donovan said, guiding Spector to a small dinette table. A nearby cart held a microwave with a coffee maker stacked atop it. Taking his clothing bundle, Donovan said, “I’ll put this under lock and key for you.”

“Hold up,” Spector said and fished out some of the confiscated cred cards, thought about how easy they might be to track to the clinic and put them back and retrieved his own card. Donovan took his bundle into an office and locked it in a file cabinet, returning as the pizzas arrived. Spector paid for them and the staff filtered through grabbing slices as he and Donovan sat and ate.

“I wasn’t really sure what you liked on them,” the doctor said, “so I ordered a variety, figuring it wouldn’t be polite to eat in front of everyone.”

Spector said, “No problem. I’d rather get on their good side than have any lingering resentment when I’m out. Did you get enough for everyone? I’m sort of hungry.”

“If they get a slice or two, at least you shared, “Donovan said with a wink, “but I don’t think there will be a problem. We have a pretty small staff.”

Spector quickly ate his fill then asked where they wanted him while he was astral questing and was pointed down the hall. As he went, he looked back to see if the nurse and the receptionist were checking out his ass, and catching them glancing said, “Sorry ladies, no bare ass hanging out in the wind to see here.” At the end of the hall, Donovan could be seen around the elbow in an area set up as a recovery area.

“Pick a bed, make yourself comfortable and do your thing and I’ll have a nurse get you hooked up to some monitors in no time. We’ll wait until you need anything else, but we’ll probably start a drip to keep you hydrated in a couple hours and a nutrient drip tomorrow. Spector picked a bed as Donovan spoke and was conjuring a spirit to accompany him on the quest as Donovan left and a nurse came his way.

The summoning went fine, but Spector blew the backlash. Grateful countless time for having the trauma damper implanted, it absorbed some of the impact, but left him cradling his hand and rocking, trying not to disturb his dislocated fingers while holding back a flood of profanity. The unabsorbed Drain backlash was severe enough to cause the muscles in his hand to betray him and dislocated some fingers from their sockets. Spector was chanting, “Oh shee,” over and over through clenched teeth as the nurse rushed to him and hooked him to the monitors. She consulted the med advice, entering visual data. It quickly said and read: diagnosis dislocated fingers and instructed how to set them back in their socket. The Nurse quickly and professionally did so and Spector quit his mantra, the pain gone, and thanked the nurse profusely. “Sorry to get off to such a bad start, but I am soooo glad I decided to come here.”

Trying to relax, Spector checked the wall clock and estimated he had time to rest and recover from the numbness in his hand and the throbbing headache. He considered calling off the quest. The way this day was going he’d likely have to run the gamut of places, no doubt dying just before reaching the Oracle. But then Spector recalled assensing the free spirit before it departed. He knew its force and its native plane and he got greedy for the power it could give him. He instructed the spirit to attack any who did him ill.

When he could flex his hand, just feeling a warm glow in his fingers, and the pounding in his temples subsided, Spector figured there was nothing left to wait for and astrally projected for the metaplane of man. Spector’s way was immediately blocked by The Gatekeeper. This time it appeared in the black void looking like a clown. Not being one of those terrified of clown’s nor particularly fond of clowns, Spector said, “Out of my way, clown.”

It replied, “Your daughter is not your blood.”

“No kidding,” Spector said then asked, “what was your first clue?” No reply.

“What do you want me to do to get you out of my way, clown?” The void disappeared.

Spector was back at his high school. More precisely, he was back at his high school’s carnival day in a booth with the beautiful female elf who was checking her make-up in a compact mirror as some clown drifted past the back of the booth. He remembered this day. The elf was about twice the age she was pretending to be, hiding out from some alleged pursuer. She had stolen most of the money from the kissing booth, leaving him holding the bag. And he’d let her get away with it because he was infatuated with her. Spector tried to recall what his quota had been, recalling one hundred dollars and recalling how long and how many unattractive girls had paid for kisses. And then some gay man had decided to test the waters and Spector’s stomach lurched at the memory and the humiliation.

Spector thought. The passing women seemed to notice Spector and they were lining up. And they were actually somewhat attractive, not like when this was really happening and his least repulsive customers were pimply underclass girls.

The elf beside him said, “My, what do we have here?” Spector looked to his other side, dreading he would see the spirit he had brought along and wondered what it might look like. But no spirit - or anything else - was there. “Oh silly, I meant you,” she said as she touched his arm, “you handsome stranger.”