Blood Lies by Daniel Kalla

Author:Daniel Kalla
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2007-06-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Stopping by his office on my way out the door, I saw that Joe Janacek was almost buried behind the mound of charts on his desk. He looked up from the chart he was scribbling in and appraised me with a long stare. “Dr. Horvath, you’re leaving early today?”

I glanced at my watch: 8:15 P.M. “I’m more of a morning person.”

Janacek ran a hand through his thick white hair. “You will be back tomorrow then?”

“Am I welcome back?”

“Sadly, I am not Donald Trump,” Joe said with a sigh. “I don’t have the luxury of choice. Anyone with a pulse and a less than extensive criminal record will do.”

I stiffened at the term “criminal record.” I forced a grin. “You know how to make the new guy feel welcome.”

“It’s a gift.” He pointed around the room. “What do you think of my practice?”

“I’ve seen worse,” I said.

Joe raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve worked in some American inner-city practices,” I said. “At least in Canada, there’s more of a social safety net for the addicts.”

“I suppose.” He sighed again. “Though our disenfranchised have become wards of the state. That’s expensive for us, humiliating for them.”

I cleared my throat. “Joe, um, when will I be paid?”

He eyed me steadily. “We will be paid for your billings at the end of next week. I intend to pay you then. Do you need money sooner?”

I need a roof over my head! I need food! I need a bike! “Should be okay. I wish I did a better job of saving a little while overseas. Too much travel.”

“Let me know if you change your mind, Peter.” Joe flashed his pearly whites. “I enjoy having people beholden to me.”

I said good night and headed for the door. At the reception desk, I was disappointed to see that Edith still manned her station like a guard dog. I’d hoped to unearth Malcolm Davies’s records and to steal his address and phone number, but I didn’t stand a chance now.

She looked up at me with no more warmth than earlier. “If you want to survive here, you’re going to need to keep up.”

I nodded. “Thanks for your help today.”

She shrugged her skinny shoulders. “You know we open tomorrow morning at eight.”

It was a command, not a question. “See you then.”

I walked into the cool drizzly night. Though it was early evening, the darkness had brought out a different element to Hastings Street. With the few shops boarded or gated, the people milling on the street looked to be the same aimless down-and-outers I’d spent the afternoon seeing as patients. Several people pushed shopping carts full of their possessions. Some staggered up and down the block, drunk, high, or both. A few men and women approached, requesting or demanding smokes or pocket change.

And yet I felt safer than I had in days. I knew none of the people I passed would blow my cover with the S.P.D.

Heading west a few blocks, the low-rent district suddenly gave way to the highly touristy cobbled streets of Vancouver’s historic Gastown.

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