Free Near Enemy by Adam Sternbergh

pamphlet. Scans it.
    I don’t know. Sounds kind of appealing, Spademan. I mean, look at Langland. All the riches in the world, best life money can buy, but it wasn’t good enough. He needed something more. Tried to find it in the limn. Which only took him further away from anything that really matters.
    Trust me, Nurse. You’re preaching to the choir.
    I point to the tract.
    If you’re interested, looks like there’s a Wakers meeting this weekend up around where you live. In that old Cloisters museum in Fort Tryon Park.
    She pockets the tract.
    Maybe I’ll check it out.
    You want an escort? You know, to make sure you don’t get brainwashed?
    She squeezes my arm.
    Let’s see how the waffles go first.
    The place is called the Waffle Hole, which is a terrible name, and it’s tucked out of sight below street level, down a half flight of dingy stairs and through a door where you have to stoop to get inside. Only four tables in the place, but we’re the only customers anyway. Chef’s name is Horace, and he’s also the owner, the waiter, and the maître d’, which means he stands over a sizzlinggriddle in the back and points you toward an empty table with his dripping spatula. You seat yourself then yell out your order, which is not a problem, because the menu’s easy to remember.
    Waffles.
    I wave to Horace, order two of the usual, then Nurse and I take our seats. She looks around.
    Nice spot. So there are still hidden gems left in New York.
    If they ever close this place, I’ll be happy to let the whole city sink into the Hudson, and stay on my side of the river for good.
    Nurse laughs.
    They don’t have waffles in Hoboken?
    I nod toward Horace, who’s approaching with two plates.
    Not like these.
    Nurse digs in. Chews slowly. Remarks with her mouth full.
    Well, you did not lie.
    There’s a question I really want to ask Nurse, but I know I shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t, Spademan. You really shouldn’t. You—
    I ask Nurse.
    So what did you promise that doorman last night? To get him to let us up?
    Why? Jealous?
    Interested.
    I didn’t promise him anything. I just told him if he didn’t let us up I might have to mention to building management about the time I walked in on him in the Media Room. He was—how shall I put it—entertaining himself.
    You don’t say.
    To be fair, no one ever uses the Media Room anymore.
    And what were you planning to do in there, Nurse?
    Entertain myself.
    I’m pretty sure she’s joking. I like her a lot, either way.
    She swipes the last bite in a tide pool of syrup.
    Spademan, I was thinking about what you asked me last night, about the night that Langland died.
    Okay.
    You asked if I saw anything unusual. It was nagging at me, so this morning, when you were still asleep, I double-checked the monitor logs. We monitor brain function for every client who’s tapped in, mostly just to look for reception patterns, maybe something that will ensure a smoother tap next time. But on second inspection, I did spot something weird. Something small. Very small. But weird.
    Which was—?
    I don’t know—some glitch. In his functioning.
    Like his brain was acting up in the limn?
    More like the limn was acting up in his brain. Like it was sending something more than stimuli. Just for a second, though. Just a blip. I don’t—
    Phone in my pocket rings. I pause Nurse.
    Excuse me—
    Pat my pockets and pull the phone free. Nurse sees it and laughs.
    You use a flip phone?
    What? They’re disposable.
    And you don’t mind that?
    I prefer it.
    I flip open the phone and answer it. It’s Mark Ray and I can hardly hear him. Cellular service is no one’s top priority anymore, especially not in New York. Plus he’s calling from upstate, so I’m surprised he could even get a signal.
    Hey Spademan—
    Crackle crackle.
    —it’s Mark, just calling to check in. I think I’m going to head back to the city later today.
    Okay.
    And I wanted to make sure you remembered to return the