Free Automatic Woman by Nathan L. Yocum

looking down at me.
    “That’s quite an infection you got there, Mr. Fellows. You’re lucky your friend came to me when she did.”
    I pulled myself up to a sitting position. The Swan Princess was gone. Nouveau must have come during my convalescence. Shite.
    “Thanks for your help, Mister…?”
    “Doctor. Doctor Conan Doyle.”
    The young man extended his hand and I shook it with my uninjured one.
    “I’ve put a lot of penicillin in your system, and a little morphine, too. You’re not going to feel right for quite a while. At least few days, I recommend you stay put until that hand heals.”
    I put my feet on the floor.
    “I appreciate your assessment, Doc. Now help me find my shoes.”
    Dr. Doyle got a sour look on his face but had the good sense not to say anything about it. Mary found my shoes and helped me up and out of bed.
    “Look friend, my advice stands. If you need to work something out, this will give you a short boost.” The doctor handed me a capped syringe. “Extract of the coca leaf. Seven percent solution. That syringe has two doses. Only use half at a go. And remember what I said about taking it easy. I’ll show myself out,” the young doctor said.
    “What do I owe you, guv?”
    “The lady paid your bill.” The doctor gave a curt nod to Mary and left us to ourselves. I put a hand on her shoulder, more out of support than affection.
    “I owe you one, Mary.”
    “I know, you’ll pay in good time.” She kissed me on the corner of my mouth again. Christ.
    “I need to see a Frenchman. Was he here last night?”
    “Yes, he came while you were out. He took the broken lady statute.”
    “Did he say anything?”
    “Yes, but it was in French. I don’t speak French.”
    “Fair enough. Did he leave anything?”
    “No, he took his statute, said those slick weird words, and was on his way. Not soon enough. That man is a creep.”
    “Says the prostitute.”
    She took offense.
    “I still have standards. And I still don’t like creeps. I’m not numb to the world around me and all the people of the world.”
    She looped her arm around mine and walked me to the door of my room.
    “He took her and left. I kept your rubbings for myself, though.”
    “Rubbings?”
    “Last night, in your delirium you demanded I make charcoal rubbings of two of the cogs.”
    She reached into her bodice and withdrew a thick folded paper. One side was covered in black reproductions of the cog symbols, the strange foreign letters.
    “I love you,” I said.
    Mary smiled at that. “Don’t be a fool, Jolly. For at least once in your life, don’t be a fool.”
    I took hold of both her shoulders, hollow bird-boned shoulders. I could have lifted her off the ground and cradled her in my arms.
    “What’s your day rate, love?”
    “You know what I charge, Jolly. Hasn’t changed.”
    “No. For the whole day I mean. What does your day cost?”
    “Five pound gets you to the morning after.”
    I pulled a five pound note from my pocket.
    “Wait for me in my room. Please.”
    “Hurry back.” She gave me another peck on the cheek, then went tip-toe and kissed my closed eyelid. Mercy.
    I left the Piece Work on wobbly feet. Whatever the doc had loaded into my system was drawing every bit of moisture from my mouth and eyes and throwing it forth in layer after layer of cold sweat. I soaked my clown shirt on the walk from the Piece Work to the tube station. By the time I got off near Nouveau’s gallery, my jacket collar was soaked and my sleeves were heavy.
    Nouveau’s place stood as rustic and pretentious as ever, a country barn standing in a poshy high-rise neighborhood. Why not?
    The barn door swung open at my knock. The main gallery was empty. The paintings were gone. Sculptures, pedestals, the fancy green velvet ropes separating men from art, gone. I walked to Nouveau’s banquet room, the place we’d had our first chat. Empty, of course. The barn door table, the automatic servers, even the chandelier and light