Managed Paranoia--Book One by Finlay Beach

Author:Finlay Beach [Finlay Beach]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Finlay Beach
Published: 2022-04-02T00:00:00+00:00

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Getting spoiled with five-star accommodations came as easily to Hank as anybody else, but two hotel rooms on the same day seemed like a waste. He pushed open the heavy door and the smell of citrus wafted out of the room, followed by a fleeting hint of tobacco. A basket of fruit was staged on a mid-century modern sideboard. No marble, gold leaf, or crystal draped lights. Instead, walls of mahogany panels and on them hung bold geometric paintings with circles and triangles so large they could swallow up a person. The low bed had a beveled wood frame skirting the bottom of a mattress and seemed to float, the legs somewhere in the cantilevered shadows. The two-cylinder shaped pillows propped against the cherry headboard added to the clean lines and clarified that function and comfort, if considered at all, took a backseat to design.

Hank looked at himself in the full-length mirror. He had to admit the Scots had a sense of style. It was a little unnerving at first since Stephanie insisted he not wear underwear, stating there is only one proper way to wear a kilt and to break that tradition would be treason. The thought she might be sticking it to the new guy amused him.

He kept an eye on the mirror and spun away from the door, checking the hem of the kilt for lift and noticing nothing, relieved that the kilt didn’t fly around from the waist like a little girl’s skirt. Even with more effort, any flouncing began below the hips, providing unrestricted movement, yet coverage where it counted. The bed looked uncomfortable, but he’d have to try it out to see. His body met full resistance when he lay down—no give—but he had slept on worse while camping. As he rested the back of his head on the fabric-covered pillow, his chin flexed into his chest. It was a design statement that would be an impossible pillow but could double as a foam roller in a gym. He sat up and opened a built-in bedside drawer and found an old, stylized black phone. Lifting the phone from its cradle, the underside of the handset revealed glowing push buttons. A dial tone droned out of one end. Not sure what he expected, he put it back into its cradle.

This time Willy didn’t knock. He just opened the door and said, “Just needed to remind you that you’re still under your initial contract until tomorrow at sixteen hundred hours. No contact.”

“I lost my phone. Remember?” Hank shrugged.

Willy pointed at the bedside table and repeated, “No contact. I’ll knock on your door in about twenty minutes. Be ready to go.”

He glanced back at the retro phone and decided he had nobody to contact, anyway. He dropped back onto the hard bed and seized the simple remote for the TV. It had only three controls—power, volume, and channel.

The large screen in his room showed footage of police dressed in full riot gear with gas masks on.

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