The Thought Pushers (Mind Dimensions #2)(31)

“Right. And no going to the apartment to get shit, Eugene,” Mira says, and I hear her also mumble something along the lines of ‘a couple of pussies.’

“Wait, I just realized I forgot some stuff at the hospital,” I say, patting my pockets.

“Are you looking for this?” Eugene says, getting a gun from the glove compartment.

“I was actually thinking of the Gameboys I left in that room, but that’s also mine,” I say. “Where’d you get it?”

“Mira got it out of your pants before the paramedics got to you,” he says. “I’ve been holding on to it.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, trying not to focus on the image of Mira getting something from my pants.

We don’t talk much more on the way to the city, other than my asking Eugene to stop near a juice bar. A beet-carrot jumbo cup of juice is all I want today. I don’t think I can keep anything more substantial down.

As I drink the juice, we make plans, which are very simple. Keep our heads low for a couple of days, and then regroup. Mira suggests we don’t use credit cards for the time being, and we all stop by a bank to get cash.

I suggest a hotel that I know is halfway decent, but they refuse, preferring to stay in Brooklyn. I decide to go to that hotel anyway, having had enough of Brooklyn, and we agree to split up.

After that, I doze from the sugar high of my juice, only to be awakened later by the sudden stop of the car.

“This is you,” Eugene says.

Looking out, I see the Tribeca Grand Hotel—my destination.

“Thank you,” I say. “Thanks for the ride. And thank you, Mira, for looking out for me at the hospital. I really appreciate it.”

She leans over her seat and gives me a peck on the lips.

I get out, my brain too overwhelmed with near-death experiences to puzzle out the meaning of Mira’s little kiss.

Operating on autopilot, I get inside the hotel. It’s nice, but its grandioseness is presently lost on me. I buy some Tylenol and water at the hotel kiosk, take four pills, and hope my liver doesn’t fail. Then I request the biggest room they have available.

As they’re setting everything up, I text Bert the names of my biological parents and the phone number of Arkady.

On the way to my room, I get some ice for my head. Then I get in, plop on the bed, order some Pay-Per-View, and mindlessly watch TV.

The Tylenol and the ice make the throbbing in my head subside a bit, and the exhaustion really hits me. It’s still early, but I don’t care. I’m going to go to sleep early yet again. If I keep this up, I might become one of those early-bird people.

As I get in bed, I set the alarm for eleven a.m. I know I’m being overly cautious, given the current time, but I do it anyway. My shrink appointment is during my lunch hour, and this time around, I’m determined to make it.





Chapter 15


I become aware of some annoying noise. It’s my phone alarm. Why did I set it? I wonder lazily, opening an eyelid.

Then I remember. I wanted to make it to my appointment. All of a sudden, the whole thing seems like a drag, and I try to go back to sleep. I rarely, if ever, keep my appointments with my shrink, so why rock the boat? It’s not like I need to express my feelings and get in touch with my emotions. What possessed me to even think about going?

But as some of the ideas why I should see her begin buzzing in my head, sleep eludes me. After a few minutes of just lying there, I grudgingly get up.

I order room service and check my phone. I have five missed calls from Sara and one from Lucy, so I call both of them back.

Yes, I’m doing better. No, it doesn’t hurt anymore—at least not much. Yes, Mira is a nice girl.

Done with my moms, I see an email from Bert.

I’m using an app Bert personally put on my phone. Allegedly, the email sent through this app is seriously encrypted, to the point where even the NSA might not be reading Bert’s correspondence. He’s paranoid like that. If you ask me, hiding so much might actually make the NSA more curious about you, but there is no way I can convince Bert of this. In any case, as I read, I see that this specific email is among those that I do need to stay private:

Dude,

The guy whose phone number you got is named Arkady Bogomolov. He’s extremely dangerous. Not worth f*cking with, trust me, even for someone as hot as Mira.

As for your parents, I’m surprised. I’m not finding much. Lucy has a case file on the murder, but don’t tell her I know this. Glancing through it, I have to say, it seems very shady how they died. No clues as to who did it. Lucy clocked an unbelievable number of hours on that case without any luck, though you probably already know this. Anyway, I can get that case file for you if you swear to never talk to her about it. There was this OB-GYN, Dr. Greenspan, that your mom was going to, but his digital records don’t go that far. I tried my phone con on them, but, get this, the physical records were stolen recently. Weird coincidence. I will keep digging, but don’t expect too much. Sorry.

Bert.

I write my response:

Can you find out more about this Arkady character? Particularly, I want to know where he can be found in the near future. I just want to look at him from a distance, so don’t get your panties in a bunch.

Yeah, and get me those files if you can. I don’t want to ask Lucy for them. I won’t tell her about the files, obviously, since I realize that you’re much too pretty to go to jail.