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We sat in JYD's SUV on the OSB (the Oak Street Bridge), trying to get out of YVR (Vancouver International Airport). Wulfgar sat in the front passenger seat, considerably bulked up by the armament JYD had let him choose. I sat uncomfortably close to -hb- in the back. I was uncomfortable not just because -hb- was attractive -- which she was -- but because she was one of those incredibly FEMALE women. She positively oozed a happy and inviting and unself-conscious and noncoquettish but overpowering sexuality which made all men she met turn into tongue-tied, stuttering boobs. I thought of Namagomi, and that was good, but hurt, too. I looked back at -hb-, and she smiled. I turned away and tried to concentrate.
JYD: Wulfgar.
WULFGAR: Yes? (Wulfgar looked up from cleaning and sharpening one of his cutting weapons.)
JYD: You'd met me before. Why did you make that remark about my face? Not that I'm offended or anything; I do own a mirror.
WULFGAR: Er, ah, to be honest, Junkman, when I first met you, I spent most of my time looking at yer wife . . . (his voice trailed off uncertainly).
JYD: (laughing) She does have that effect on men, doesn't she?
-hb-: Makes it easy for hubby to sneak up and kick 'em in the balls! (She joins JYD in laughter. Wulfgar and myself laugh a bit less loud, and far less long.)
RBB: (voiceover) Forty-five minutes later we'd parked near Broadway and Cambie, and were making our way through heavy rain to the location of Hairhead's last known office. Inside the lobby, while the others dripped and shook off Vancouver's liquid sunshine, I scanned the building directory. I found the same suite # as before; the name beside it was Coel-Ceph Laboratories. My heart bounced just a little bit -- not a full-court dribble, but just a little bounce. Namagomi had mentioned she was working on project studying coelenterates and cephalopods! I turned the others.
RBB: Eleventh floor. As per the plan. -hb-, you stay down here in the lobby, talking on the cell-phone with Junky. Wulfgar, you and I will go in first, if the door is open. Junky, you stay in the hall. You'll be out of the way of any gas attacks there.
(We entered the elevator. It was noon. Receptionists were leaving, clients were coming in. We stopped on every floor, our heart rates rising along with the elevator. On the eleventh floor, we let off a man with a horrible pink growth on his face, who turned to the left. I turned us to the right. We waited outside 1108, JYD across the hall, Wulfgar and I on either side of the door. I reached and wiggled the knob slowly; it was open. I took a deep breath, put my hand on the Glock underneath my coat, nodded to Wulfgar, tensed, turned the knob pushed the door open and stepped quickly inside.)
jen: Hello, what can I do for you, sirs?
Wulfgar: Coel-Ceph Labs?
jen: Just like it says on the door! (Wulfgar straightened up shaking the armanments under his coat back into place with a slight rattle. I took my hand off the Glock. Duck Lady, a woman in her mid-forties with a sweet smile sat behind a desk. Behind her was a glass wall, floor-to-ceiling stretching the wide of the suite, easily 60 feet. We stood in an interior hallway which paralleled the exterior hallway, and ended in locked and passcard-key doors at either end. JYD poked his head in.)
jen: Were you wanting to speak to someone?
RBB: (voiceover) I pulled a name out of my head.
RBB: Dr. Shakesmear, please.
jen: Have you an appointment?
JYD: No, we don't. (He smiled, and Duck Lady blanched.)
RBB: Just tell him that Richard Bernstein would like to talk to him about -- Hairhead.
(jen passed our message on through our headset. We put our heads together.)
WULFGAR: I take it this is not the same office you were in before, Richard.
RBB: It's the right size -- but it looks like a legitimate business now.
JYD: Do you think Hairhead's here?
RBB: No. Do you have any memory of this place, Junkman?
JYD: No.
The door on the far end of hall opened, and a tall, elegant man in a white lab coat came toward us. I squinted. Was this well-put-together professional the same shambling, trembling, unshaven junkie doctor I'd met less than a year ago?
Shakesmear: Mr. Bernstein.
RBB: Doc Shakes?
Shakesmear: That was me, not too long ago. Who are your friends.
RBB: They're people who know the story already, doc. (Blurting) I'm looking for someone, doc, and I think you might know her.
Shakesmear folded his arms across his chest.
Shakesmear: And why would I talk to you?
RBB: Because it involves Hairhead and -- timleary.
Bingo! The doctor straightened up.
Shakesmear: jen, call the Duck Lady. We're going to lunch.
jen: Yessir.
We met -hb- downstairs, and the six of us -- myself, Wulfgar, JYD, -hb-, Shakes, and jen milled about while we decided where and what to eat.
jen: I need to go someplace vegetarian.
WULFGAR: You may eat what you will, fair lady, but I require meat to keep m'sword sharp!
JYD: So long's I can order pork rinds on the side.
-hb-: Oo! A nice bean salad would be good.
Shakesmear: I can't be in a licensed restaurant. Even the slightest whiff of alcohol now might set me on the road back.
WULFGAR: That settles it! If I canna have a beer, I'll have to have something that bleeds!
RBB: There's no way I'll sit in a smoking section. It aggravates my allergies and gives me migraine headaches.
So we ate under the umbrella of a pizza-by-the slice cart, with the rain pounding on our backs.
I summarized the whole story for Doc Shakes. He shook his head and wiped the pepperoni-grease off his hands.
Shakesmear: I don't know everything that you want to know, and I can tell you only part of what you do want to know. First, I can't tell you where Hairhead is. I can only pass on your concerns to him. If he wants to contact you, he will.
WULFGAR: And what loyalty d'you owe him, eh?
Shakesmear: He picked me up out of the gutter, gave me work, dried me out, and now, with this project, has given me a reason to live and a chance to change the world. I owe him more than I can ever owe you!
RBB: (voiceover) Hairhead the altruist? This story was getting stranger all the time.
Shakesmear: Second, I did meet this Namagomi six months ago. I worked with her. I won't say what we worked on, but I will confirm that she went to Kamchatka several months ago, and I would like to know where she is, too! We have a lot to talk about.
RBB: Are you sure its her?
Shakesmear: I am; your description is vividly coloured by love, Mr. Bernstein. Third, I never met this timleary.
RBB: (voiceover) That was the first lie I was certain about. His eyes had just flickered away. It was only a fraction of a second, but the timing was just as good as a lie detector for me.
JYD: You ever seen me or my wife before, doc?
Shakesmear: (Scanning the two of them impassively) Oh no. I'd remember. Gentlemen, I have to go back to work. Feel free to drop in, especially if you have any more information about my colleague, Namagomi.
RBB: (voiceover) Doc Shakes strode back across the street, turning his collar up against the rain. We were onto something far, far bigger than I had imagined.
jen: (hanging behind) Hey Mr. Bernstein! You're cute! (She winked, and I gawped at her.) Namagomi's lucky. (I never know what to do when women flirt with me.)
-hb-: (whispering) You can go back to her later, Richard! She'll tell you more than Doc Shakes!
RBB: Wha--
JYD: Richard, you're sometimes pretty thick. You might haveta lay her to get the information you want. (He leered, as positively frightening occurence.) What a job, Richard!
RBB: (voiceover) I will never understand women. After a couple of years of celibacy, I suddenly meet and fall in catastrophic love with an exotic beauty, and only a day later, I have an another cutie flinging herself at me!
WULFGAR: That wasn't verra useful! (He spit his crust out onto the sidewalk, where it was pounced upon by a gull and two hopeful crows.) T'hell wi' carbohydrates, I need MEAT!
RBB: You're wrong. Doc Shakes was lying when he said that he didn't know timleary. He does. And I'm sure we can find him, or traces of him, here in Vancouver.
JYD: And if we can't?
RBB: Then it's Kamchatka or bust!
WULFGAR: After a steak or two!
RBB: (voiceover) I sighed, but my gut rumbled. These Vancouver pizzas were New-Age "Lite" slices, and contained nutrition barely sufficient for an anemic mouse. I eyed a large restaurant named "Earl's" just down street, and started walking.
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