Free The City Under the Skin by Geoff Nicholson Page A

explain.
    â€œUrban exploration: investigating the city, creative trespass, going where I’m not supposed to, getting into abandoned structures, factories, closed-down hospitals, derelict power stations. You know?”
    â€œSo you spend all your workdays dealing in representations of places, and you spend your free time exploring actual places.”
    â€œDoes that sound weird?”
    â€œNot to me. What do you think I was doing the other night when I found Utopiates? Walking, looking at the city, taking pictures.”
    â€œA woman after my own heart,” Zak said, and immediately felt like a fool. At least he hadn’t used the word “soulmate.”
    Without being asked, the bartender delivered two bags of ice, suitable for the care and treatment of black eyes. Zak remembered why he liked this place so much.
    â€œYeah,” he continued, “on my days off, I get in the car, go to some disused flour mill or iron foundry or whatever, and you know, just poke around.”
    â€œYou have a car? You don’t look like a car owner.”
    â€œHow do car owners look? It’s just a company car, a big brown station wagon, good for hauling stock and not much else.”
    â€œBut still,” said Marilyn, “it creates possibilities.”
    Zak took a moment to consider what these might be.
    â€œYou got any tattoos, Zak?” Marilyn asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œEver thought about it?”
    â€œNot really,” said Zak. “I wouldn’t know what to get. It’s a big commitment. Not that I’m afraid of commitment.”
    â€œHow about a tattooed map?” Marilyn suggested.
    â€œEven bigger problem. Of where?” he said. “Atlantis? Pangæa? The Batcave? And I definitely never thought of having one on my back.”
    They suckled on their drinks.
    â€œWe got beaten up,” said Marilyn, “just because of something we saw.”
    â€œI don’t think the guy even knew that you saw it until you told him. In any case, I reckon you got beaten up because you hit him with your backpack.”
    â€œIt seemed like the right thing to do,” she said. “So I guess we’re not going to call the cops, are we?”
    â€œNo,” Zak agreed. “Calling the cops would involve telling them what I saw, and according to the guy who beat me up, I didn’t see anything.”
    â€œBut doesn’t that kind of make you want to tell everybody everything?”
    â€œNot really,” said Zak. “And I still don’t know what I saw.”
    â€œNot quite true,” said Marilyn. “We know what you saw, we just don’t know what it means.”
    â€œNow you’re starting to sound like me.”
    â€œAnd where do you think that poor woman is now?”
    They both knew it was an impossible question to answer, but Zak suspected it wasn’t quite a rhetorical one. He felt she was testing him, seeing how his imagination worked.
    â€œOh, I’m sure she’s living a life of quiet contentment somewhere in the countryside,” he said dryly.
    â€œOr maybe she’s lying dead in a ditch,” said Marilyn. “Either way it would be good to know.”
    â€œWould it?”
    â€œYes. Don’t you feel some responsibility?”
    â€œNot really,” Zak admitted.
    â€œSome basic human concern?”
    â€œWell yes, okay, maybe a little of that.”
    â€œThen don’t you feel we ought to do something?”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œMaybe track down this guy and his Cadillac, see where he lives and who he is. Find out what he did with that woman.”
    â€œAre you serious?”
    â€œWell, do you have a better idea?”
    Zak had several, and none of them involved tracking down a Cadillac and its violent driver, to who knows where, in order to find a tattooed homeless woman who might not want to be found. He didn’t see how this could lead to anything other than another beating.