Free A Blind Eye by G. M. Ford

and then disappeared.
    Corso sat back in the bed and waited for several minutes. When Dougherty failed to show, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and set them on the floor. The cold tile sent a shiver up his legs as he slowly levered himself off the mattress. He felt weak and slightly off balance as he stood unsupported for the first time in nearly three days.
    Half a dozen shuffling steps toward the closet and his legs began to come around. Before opening the door, he stretched and groaned and rolled his neck in a circle. He pulled open the door. His Gianni Versace overcoat lay huddled in the corner, wrinkled and streaked with dust. The rest of his clothes hung haphazardly from those hangers that don’t come off the bar. His head swam as he bent to pick his suitcase up. He leaned against the doorjamb before continuing.
    He rested the suitcase across the arms of the nearest chair, popped the brass latches, and began to poke around inside. A blurred picture of his mother flashed on a screen inside his head. A moment later, her voice filled his ears.
    He listened, hoping to hear her again. Instead the voice was Meg Dougherty’s.
    “Your ass is hanging out, Corso.”
    “Yeah” was all he said as he pulled on a change of socks and underwear.
    He found a pair of jeans and then turned to face her. Her hands were no longer bandaged. They hung from the ends of her arms like boiled fish. She was wearing her brave face and her “fit in” clothes. The face, smiling but rigid, was the one she put on when things got out of control and she didn’t want Corso to know she was terrified. The clothes, a long-sleeved black-and-white flannel shirt over a pair of black jeans, were the ones she wore when they were working someplace where the vampire princess act just wasn’t going to float.
    “How’re the hands?” he asked as he buttoned his jeans around his waist and then dragged the hospital gown over his head and dropped it to the floor.
    She managed a wan smile. “A little tender, but otherwise okay.” As if to prove her point, she held them up and flexed her fingers several times.
    He rummaged around in the bag. Produced a black T-shirt. Wiggled in, one arm at a time, and then slipped it over his head, pulled it down, and tucked it into the jeans. Beneath the winged Harley-Davidson logo, big white letters, Smoke em till the wheels fall off . He hiked up his pant legs, stood on one foot at a time, and pulled on a pair of black cowboy boots. He stomped his feet until he was satisfied with the fit.
    “That what they’re wearing in jail these days?” she asked.
    “I’m going for the ominous look.” He gave her a little grin. “As I recall, about the time I get to Texas, my wardrobe choices are gonna be limited to something in the area of bright orange coveralls and flip-flops.”
    “Be sure to tell them that orange is definitely not your color. You’re a winter. Orange is definitely a fall color.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.” He chuckled under his breath and then pointed toward the bed. “The keys to the new rental car are on the nightstand there. It’s that green Expedition down in the lot,” he said, nodding toward the window. “Hertz says we should try not to total this one.”
    She retrieved the key and dropped it into the right-hand pocket of her jeans. Her brave face was slipping. Her voice was tinged with concern. “You sure there isn’t something I can—”
    “There’s nothing to be done right now,” he said quickly. “Barry’s got a legion of associates working on it. In the meantime, I’m just gonna have to roll with the punches.”
    “Maybe if I—” she began.
    Corso pinned her with his gaze. “Drive carefully,” he said. “I’ll give you a jingle whenever I get back to Seattle.”
    “I could—”
    He held up a hand. “Listen. Do me a favor here, and don’t make this any worse than it has to be. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It was wrong. I damn near got you killed,