Bourne showed the man the EMS credentials he'd lifted after the crash. "I'm quite serious."
"Dear me." The man gestured. "He's in the loo, at the moment. Battling the eel pie he ingested last night, I shouldn't wonder."
The neurosurgeon was young, dark as an Indian, with the long, delicate fingers of a classical pianist. He had very delicate features, so he wasn't, in fact, an Indian. But he was a hard-nosed businessman who would not proceed until Soraya had pressed a roll of bills into his hand. Then he rushed away from them, consulting with the ER doctors who had done the workup on Moira while he strode toward the OR.
Soraya drank her shitty coffee without tasting it, but ten minutes later, while she paced the hallway uselessly, it began to burn a hole in her stomach, so when Arkadin suggested they get something to eat she agreed. They found a restaurant not far away from the hospital. Soraya checked to make sure it wasn't colonized by insects before she sat down. They ordered their food, then sat and waited, sitting across from each other but looking elsewhere, or at least Soraya was.
"I saw you without your top," Arkadin said, "and I liked what I saw."
Soraya snapped into focus. "Fuck you."
"She was an enemy," he said, referring to Moira. "What law is she protected by?"
Soraya stared out the window at a street as unfamiliar to her as the dark side of the moon.
The food came and Arkadin began to eat. Soraya watched a couple of young women with too much makeup and too little clothing on their way to work. Latinas showing off their bodies with such casualness still astonished her. Their culture was so far from hers. And yet she felt right in tune with the aura of sorrow here. Hopelessness she could understand. It had been the cultural lot of her gender from time immemorial, and was the major reason she had chosen the clandestine services where, despite the usual gender bias, she was able to assert herself in ways that made her feel good about herself. Now, for the first time, she saw those girls in their too-tight tops and too-short skirts in a different light. Those clothes were a way - perhaps their only way - to assert themselves in a culture that continually demeaned and devalued them.
"If Moira dies, or if she can't walk - "
"Spare me the toothless threats," he said, mopping up the last of his huevos rancheros.
That was Arkadin's business, she thought. No matter what he might think to the contrary, he was in the business of demeaning and devaluing women. That was the subtext in everything he said and did. He had no heart, no remorse, no guilt, no soul - nothing, in short, that defined and distinguished a human being. If he isn't a human being, she thought with a kind of irrational terror, what is he?
The men's loo was five doors down from Professor Giles's office. Giles was clearly being sick behind the closed door of one of the stalls. A sour stench had pervaded the room, and Bourne strode over to the window and shoved it open as far as it would go. A sticky breeze slowly stirred the stench as a witch will her bubbling pot.
Bourne waited until the noises had subsided. "Professor Giles."
For some time, there was no answer. Then the stall door was wrenched open and Professor Giles, looking distinctly green around the gills, staggered out past Bourne. He bent over the sink, turned on the cold water, and buried his head beneath the flow.
Bourne leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. When Giles picked his head up, Bourne handed him a handful of paper towels. The professor took them without comment, wiping his face and hair. It was only as he threw the wadded towels into the trash that he appeared to recognize Bourne.
At once his back stiffened and he stood up straight. "Ah, the prodigal returns," he said in his most professorial tone.
"Did you expect me?"
"Not really. On the other hand, I'm hardly surprised to find you here." He gave Bourne a wan smile. "Bad pennies continue to turn up."
"Professor, I'd like you to once again get in touch with your chess-playing colleague."
Giles frowned. "That may not be so easy. He's reclusive and he doesn't like answering questions."
I can imagine, Bourne thought. "Nevertheless, I'd like you to try."