--donation bonus (day #20, post 1/5)--
‘If it were something critically important, I’d just tell you,’ said Garovel.
‘Why don’t you go get some rest? I think you’ve trained enough for today.’
Garovel just laughed.
Hector’s room was little more than a closet. The walls hugged the bed, and there was scarcely enough space to open the door. It couldn’t be much of a step up from just sleeping in one of the cars, but he wasn’t about to complain. A bed was a bed.
After a while, Garovel woke him up so that he could eat.
Colt’s cooking was a decidedly unique experience. The man made some kind of indistinguishable gray slop, and yet when Hector tried it, he discovered that it didn’t taste that bad.
“What do you call this?” Hector asked.
Hector cocked an eyebrow. “What’s in it?”
“And some other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“Just be glad I’m good at making gravy.”
Whatever it was, Stephanie and Thomas didn’t seem to mind eating it.
Hector couldn’t keep up much conversation, still feeling tired and sore all over, and Colt didn’t seem all that interested in talking, either. Halfway through the meal, however, Hector’s phone rang. He answered it.
<“Found you a doctor,”> said Gina. <“Dr. Marcus of Walton General apparently moonlights for some, shall we say, less-than-upstanding citizens. He’s got a pretty foul reputation, though. Organ trafficking and the like. That okay?”>
“Yeah,” said Colt. “Did you make me an appointment, or do I need to make my own?”
<“This guy doesn’t really do appointments. You’ll have to go to him. And he may not be particularly welcoming unless you’ve got cash on you. A few thousand troa, at least.”>
“Alright. Tell me where to find him.”
The old clinic stood at the foot of a hill. Its boarded up windows and broken, unlit sign suggested that it no longer served patients, but that was probably the whole idea.