Chapter 7

I found the young Miss Montoya standing beside my bike when I got back downstairs. The back parking area was well lit and there was a large flowering bush of some kind that would keep anyone from seeing it from the highway, which was several hundred yards away.

"This is quite a nice bike," she said with another smile. "It looks new."

"It is pretty new," I confessed. "I bought it when I got to Seattle a week ago, more or less."

"A world traveler and rich to boot!" she grinned at me with a devilish rise to one eyebrow that warned me she was going more for effect than anything else. "I should have been a little more seductive when we first met, I see."

"Well, I'm as much a world traveler as any other of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children, I suppose," I said, dredging the slang phrase from somewhere. "I was in the Marine Corp. Stationed in Okinawa." I tried to say it in a way that gave the impression I didn't want to talk about it, and I must have done it right, because all I got in response was an "Oh, I see."

It was too late in the day to call Darius Booker and let him know I was in town, and too early yet for dinner, but a shower felt very nice, followed by an hour in front of the television watching the early news.

I had found an open package of disposable razors with three remaining, but saw no sign of shaving cream. I felt my chin and decided Cooper James and I had similarly stubbly features at this age, definitely not the kind that would respond well to a bare shave. Well, it could wait, or I could do a little wandering about the Flamingo One Stop Shopping Center, which seemed such a grand name as to suggest certain disappointment. A third option suggested itself when I went back into the bathroom. The amenities offered were much more complete than I'd anticipated, and the soap looked to be adequate to lathering up for a shave with a fresh razor.

Dinner was a very nicely done rack of lamb. When I was asked what I'd like to drink, I said beer, preferably something local and unforgettable. That resulted in something called Pliny the Elder from the Russian River Brewing Company. It fit the bill perfectly, but I was glad I wasn't driving when I left, as I'd had a second glass, and the glasses were rather large.

Dinner was followed by a few more hours of watching the tube, mostly news, as I was still trying to reassure myself that the world of Cooper James that I had entered seemed to be the same one that Harley Scoville had been part of. Based on the usual crap-tastic load of news regarding the politics of the day I hadn't taken some sort of metaphysical jump – well more than the inexplicable jump from old dying me to young unhappy me.

As I faded off to sleep that night my beginning to get fuzzy brain thought of that damned voice again and I silently hollered into the coming sleep, "Where are you now voice?"

Just as I faded to black I thought I heard the voice tell me, "Soon Harley. Soon it will be time to talk."

The morning brought another hot shower, which felt just as nice as it had the night before. I put on a fresh set of clothes, noting that I had one more clean pair of boxers and another clean t shirt. Laundry day was here, once I found a laundromat. This morning's wear included the only button-up shirt to be found in Cooper's bag and the only dark pair of slacks. This would have to be what I met the lawyer with. Hopefully the wrinkles in the shirt would smooth out from being worn between now and then.

Breakfast at IHOP was just what you might expect it to be, nothing more, nothing less. There was no sign of the young Mila. I ate quickly, not lingering over coffee and headed out on foot to see what sort of shopping the one stop shopping here actually offered. I needed shaving cream, after shave, deodorant, a toothbrush – all the usual toiletries someone on the road would need. It was strange that Cooper had not been carrying any of those things with him.