driver's side footwell. I get out and walk away.
It would have been easy to kill the other one too, but that turns the car into a crime scene that Adelaide Police are going to be all over. With Passenger still alive, he's going to call it in to Secutores. They're going to scramble to do clean up, and I did Driver discretely enough that they'll probably get away with it. The job will tap their resources though, leaving less guys to be waiting for me at Eden Park.
That's the first thing Passenger will do when he wakes up. Let his command know what he told me. If he lied, it means nothing; if he told me the truth—and I suspect he did—I've got a very small window of opportunity.
Ralph is startled when I appear next to his Volvo. I tap on the glass and he unlocks the passenger side. “Eden Park,” I say as I climb in. “Drive and talk. We don't have a lot of time.”
TWELVE
H is phone is more modern than my crap pay-as-you-go phone, and it offers us a route to a place far enough from the city center that the buildings get replaced by trees. His phone also has access to the Internet, and I can run a search on Eden Park while he drives. His phone's screen is small, and the search results are tiny, but I find enough to jog his memory.
“Yeah,” he says. “I've heard of the place. I thought it was shut down though. It used to be a lunatic asylum when it was first opened, like, forty years ago. And that's why it closed, I think. The term fell out of favor, and other places that were more politically correct started springing up.” He laughs nervously. “A cottage industry, you know? The pharmaceutical companies want us taking more pills, right? They don't want us to get over our depression or our phobias. They want us to be taking some sort of medication for them. We can't make you normal, but we can make you look normal.”
“Appearances are important,” I say, staring out the window.
“What happened on the boat?” he asks suddenly, trying to catch me out.
“Someone panicked,” I reply. “And then they tried to hide their mistakes.”
“Why do you care?”
“It's good to care about something, Ralph,” I say, turning my head toward him. “Don't you think?”
He gets flustered and the car wiggles on the road a bit as he fusses with the steeling wheel.
“What happened at the hospital?” he asks.
“Nothing you want to put in any story you write,” I tell him.
“If you did anything illegal for this information—”
I cut him off with a laugh. “Do you think the people at Eden Park—if this is where they're all locked up—are there legally ? Do you think Secutores is doing anything other than helping to establish a legal precedence for curtailing people's rights?”
“That's not the point,” he sputters. “Where does it end if I don't—I mean, how does the system work if no one adheres to it?”
“How old are you, Ralph?”
“Forty—forty-six.”
“Keep holding on to that childlike idealism as long as you can,” I say.
* * *
From the outside, Eden Park looks like a respectable private estate. Set back from the road and hidden by a wide screen of oak trees, the main grounds are nicely manicured and the three buildings try hard to pass for Nouveau Colonial. The only sign it is something other than it appears is the lack of shadows. Mounted floodlights keep the darkness at bay, and the grass shines unnaturally in the harsh light. There's no sign of external patrols, but I'm sure the persistent light is to ensure a clear picture on the many closed-circuit cameras.
It's quiet in the trees around Eden Park. I haven't heard a single car pass since Ralph slowed down enough along the main road for me to hop out. No sound comes from the buildings either. This iteration of Eden Park is one of those kinder and gentler psychiatric facilities than its original incarnation, and the lack of B-movie shrieks certainly suggest the unfortunates are resting quietly.
It's certainly not the same as
It would have been easy to kill the other one too, but that turns the car into a crime scene that Adelaide Police are going to be all over. With Passenger still alive, he's going to call it in to Secutores. They're going to scramble to do clean up, and I did Driver discretely enough that they'll probably get away with it. The job will tap their resources though, leaving less guys to be waiting for me at Eden Park.
That's the first thing Passenger will do when he wakes up. Let his command know what he told me. If he lied, it means nothing; if he told me the truth—and I suspect he did—I've got a very small window of opportunity.
Ralph is startled when I appear next to his Volvo. I tap on the glass and he unlocks the passenger side. “Eden Park,” I say as I climb in. “Drive and talk. We don't have a lot of time.”
TWELVE
H is phone is more modern than my crap pay-as-you-go phone, and it offers us a route to a place far enough from the city center that the buildings get replaced by trees. His phone also has access to the Internet, and I can run a search on Eden Park while he drives. His phone's screen is small, and the search results are tiny, but I find enough to jog his memory.
“Yeah,” he says. “I've heard of the place. I thought it was shut down though. It used to be a lunatic asylum when it was first opened, like, forty years ago. And that's why it closed, I think. The term fell out of favor, and other places that were more politically correct started springing up.” He laughs nervously. “A cottage industry, you know? The pharmaceutical companies want us taking more pills, right? They don't want us to get over our depression or our phobias. They want us to be taking some sort of medication for them. We can't make you normal, but we can make you look normal.”
“Appearances are important,” I say, staring out the window.
“What happened on the boat?” he asks suddenly, trying to catch me out.
“Someone panicked,” I reply. “And then they tried to hide their mistakes.”
“Why do you care?”
“It's good to care about something, Ralph,” I say, turning my head toward him. “Don't you think?”
He gets flustered and the car wiggles on the road a bit as he fusses with the steeling wheel.
“What happened at the hospital?” he asks.
“Nothing you want to put in any story you write,” I tell him.
“If you did anything illegal for this information—”
I cut him off with a laugh. “Do you think the people at Eden Park—if this is where they're all locked up—are there legally ? Do you think Secutores is doing anything other than helping to establish a legal precedence for curtailing people's rights?”
“That's not the point,” he sputters. “Where does it end if I don't—I mean, how does the system work if no one adheres to it?”
“How old are you, Ralph?”
“Forty—forty-six.”
“Keep holding on to that childlike idealism as long as you can,” I say.
* * *
From the outside, Eden Park looks like a respectable private estate. Set back from the road and hidden by a wide screen of oak trees, the main grounds are nicely manicured and the three buildings try hard to pass for Nouveau Colonial. The only sign it is something other than it appears is the lack of shadows. Mounted floodlights keep the darkness at bay, and the grass shines unnaturally in the harsh light. There's no sign of external patrols, but I'm sure the persistent light is to ensure a clear picture on the many closed-circuit cameras.
It's quiet in the trees around Eden Park. I haven't heard a single car pass since Ralph slowed down enough along the main road for me to hop out. No sound comes from the buildings either. This iteration of Eden Park is one of those kinder and gentler psychiatric facilities than its original incarnation, and the lack of B-movie shrieks certainly suggest the unfortunates are resting quietly.
It's certainly not the same as
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