My plan had
been to let him sleep and wake on his own, but I knew that Kate and the others
were not patient. At all. So I dumped water on his face, and he woke up
sputtering.
His eyes
were wild as they searched around, presumably for his tormentors.
“Easy,
easy. You’re okay,” I soothed.
“Who are
you? Where am I?”
“My name’s
Matt. You’re in Belport, in my office.”
There’s no telling just what state this guy
was from.
“Where?”
“Doesn’t
really matter. I’m here to help.”
“Help how?
Are you—are you one of them?” He looked caged, now.
“No, now
I’m not. I’m a private detective.”
“What the
fuck? I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Right, I
get it. Listen, how about a drink?”
They weren’t kidding. He’s kind of
high-strung.
He nodded,
and I pulled a bottle of 10-year-old Laphroaig from my drawer. I had been
saving it for a special occasion, but I had the feeling I needed to get this
guy on the bottle before he’d bother listening.