The Variant Effect: PAINKILLER
smile.
    Suddenly the woman looked around the
table—panic in her eyes, before she noticed her water glass and
Borland’s were upside down and unused.
    She flipped her own and filled it from the
pitcher and then smiling, looked at Borland’s and gestured with
trembling fingers. “Would you like some water?”
    There was something in her eyes, some spark
in the dark brown setting that dried out Borland’s throat, really
made him thirsty, so he said: “No thanks, I’m having coffee.”
    The pitcher hit the table with a thump .
    There was a pause .
    The strange woman’s features fell,
registering a rejection. A wounded look softened her eyes as they
shifted off the table and over to Borland’s belly. Then a tear
rolled down her cheek, and she nodded, mouthing a silent word of
comfort to herself.
    She glanced at Borland’s belly again and
blushed. He knew he didn’t have a chance with her so he let it hang
out.
    She smirked and shook her head, then squeezed
the ice pack over her injury.
    The young black man whirled out of the
kitchen and deposited a rigatoni dinner in front of her.
    “No meat!” he announced. “Only cheese.”
    “She can’t eat chicken,” Rough-trade said,
for some reason, as the strange woman popped a few pieces of
rigatoni into her mouth and chewed.
    There was another pause. More
tears ?
    She glanced a final time at Borland and then
stood, left her meal and hurried across the dining room and out
without a word.
    Borland watched her go—a strange sensation—an
instinct ignored rose in his gut again—but it flickered and
disappeared when Rough-trade said: “She can’t eat chicken.”
     
     

CHAPTER 7
     
    Turned out to be lunch after all. Borland
blamed the small portions for the fact he managed supper two hours
later. After entering the dining room a second time, he grabbed a
chair at the closest table—a group of middle-aged men. Hockey Dad
and Rough-trade waved from another table across the way.
    Absence makes the heart grow
fonder .
    There was no sign of the strange woman.
    Mind your business .
    Rough-trade said: She used to be a
cop .
    So she can take care of herself.
    Borland knew from his days on the Metro
police force that the ranks were full of burnouts and nut-jobs.
Couldn’t hold a candle to the Variant Squads back in the day, but
law enforcement took its toll on everyone, even the enforcers.
Thinking back, he decided that the squads inherited wild characters
from all the services. Where else could you get drunk and
hunt people?
    Ssskin .
    Strange idea coming from a captain. Borland
kept his eyes on his lap.
    He shouldn’t have thought that . He was
already a marked man if the truth got out and irresponsible
thinking led to stupid actions. Internal investigations were
usually close behind, and that was out of the question.
    The inner debate kept him out of the table
talk. He tried to appear withdrawn, possibly dangerous or crazy. He
handled any niceties with a scowl.
    Borland downed his meal and hurried out of
the dining room. Tall windows opened onto the contemplation pond.
Long orange bands of sunlight were growing but he had a couple of
hours to kill.
    The orientation meeting had described the
evening for new arrivals. After dinner they were free to wander,
but had to be in their rooms by eight-thirty where they would be
given sleeping pills and sent to bed. Some would be showering that
night and others with operations later in the day would shower in
the morning.
    Easy as pie .
    Borland had to shower before bed.
    Perfect .
    As he hurried past chairs and a piano in
another recreation area, he tapped the flask of whiskey in his coat
pocket. He planned to take a couple blasts, watch the setting sun
and then toothbrush and shower away all evidence.
    Borland rammed through a set of glass patio
doors and stalked quickly across the flat stones around the
contemplation pond. His shoes scraped on the asphalt path as he
passed under pine trees.
    He had to reach the acres of grass and
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