other bars you could have gone to for a drink, Mr. Adams. Safer places closer to your hotel. I assume youâre staying somewhere midtown?â
âI wish I knew.â
âSo what we have is a night of heavy drinking, with possibly some recreational drug use added for good measure. Then you were slipped something that brought you to the verge of unconsciousness. After which you were struck repeatedly on the head.â Another swift smile. âIâm surprised you made it this far on your own steam, Mr. Adams.â
âEverything hurts.â
âYouâll get over it. I donât want to give you anything for the pain unless youâre in desperate agony. It might only slow the process of your brain ridding itself of whatever toxic mix itâs struggling through already. Can you manage?â
âMaybe.â
âCome back if you canât. Iâll leave a note in your file saying whoever is on duty should give you a prescription for Percodan.â
âCan you suggest someplace for me to stay?â
The doctor halted in the process of reopening the curtains. âExcuse me?â
âI donât know where I was booked. I need someplace to sleep.â
âWouldnât you prefer someplace south of the park?â
He found himself unable to confess just how desperate he was not to lose connection to the one face that seemed concerned about him. âIâd rather stay around here.â
She drew the curtains aside in a slow sweep. âThe Everest is around the corner on Lenox. Itâs clean and safe. Or as safe as you can get in this area.â
âThanks.â
âTrauma such as youâve experienced can result in a sense of severe disorientation. More than likely your memory will begin to return in a series of flashes. It could be very disconcerting. Remember what Iâm saying, Mr. Adams. This is a normal part of the process. But if you have not seen any improvement within the next forty-eight hours, I want you to stop by and see me again.â A final smile. âNow go get some rest.â
He stopped at a menâs store midway down the same block as the Everest Hotel, desperate to get out of clothes that felt glued to his frame. He dared not move enough to try anything on. He pulled items from the shelves and carried them to a Hispanic shopkeeper who watched impassively as he peeled the cash off his roll.
The shopping bag formed his only luggage as he entered the hotel. The Everest was a postwar brownstone conversion with an ancient mosaic on the lobby floor and an authentic brass railing around the check-in counter.
The desk manager was a light-heavyweight who showed no curiosity whatsoever over his battered state. âHow do you want to pay for this?â
âIs cash okay?â
âCash is always okay by me. Long as you donât mind leaving me a two-night deposit. You got some kind of ID?â
âYes.â
âThe authorities, theyâre very big on us keeping records. Me, Iâm not so worried.â The clerk could have easily tossed his new guest across the room. His neck was too thick for the shirt collar to be buttoned. His shoulders formed lumpy ridges beneath his jacket collar. âLong as my guests are willing to pay for the service.â
âHow much extra?â
âCall it another twenty a night.â
Remaining anonymous until his head straightened out sounded like a very good idea. He set another forty dollars on the counter.
The desk clerk made the bills disappear. âEnjoy your stay, Mr. Smith.â
Soon as he entered the room, the bedside clock caught his eye. He stood on the frayed carpet and stared at the red numbers counting out time that was not his to claim. Somewhere there was a life ticking away without him.
He picked up the phone. The receiver felt sticky with old sweat. He pulled out his shirttail and wiped it down. He dialed the operator.
âDesk.â
âHow do I
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley