Altered States (20 page)

Conner grew more agitated. This was his life’s work. This was his belief system.

‘But that’s too narrow a view – that’s the effect when there are laws in place and people like us trying to uphold them. If there were
no
rules,
no
enforcement, then it would be a free-for-all, and the outcome would be much worse. The legitimate companies that invest in developing new products wouldn’t exist at all if the law wasn’t there to protect them. The world would be a poorer place because of it.’

‘No.’ Mila was confident in her disagreement. She stood up and took a couple of paces before turning back. ‘That may be true of technology; artefacts of real invention and ingenuity that take years to develop. But when it comes to
fashion
, it’s the other way around. If the companies didn’t screw the consumer with ridiculous prices then there wouldn’t be a viable counterfeit trade in the first place.’

Mila moved to the window and drew open the curtains. She looked out in silence for a moment before she spoke again.

‘Look around you, Conner. This whole
town
is fake. It
runs
on fake. If that Irish bar you like so much wasn’t here in New Meadows, feeding off the
intellectual property
of hundreds of years of Irish heritage, maybe you’d actually want to
go
to Ireland to experience it. But you don’t need to because you have a cheap knock-off copy
here
.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Why’s that not illegal?’

‘That’s not the same and you know it.’

‘It’s only not the same because there isn’t a billion dollar Ireland Inc lobbying the government and bribing the officials to
make
it the same. Corporate law is written by the corporations. It’s not about what’s right and wrong.’

Conner approached the window, but he didn’t look out. He looked at Mila.

‘But people are getting
killed
. They’re getting murdered, because of this trade. Don’t you care about that?’

‘Yeah, and cops are getting beaten up.’ Mila sighed. ‘Listen. I know people are getting killed, and that’s bad. But are we helping? Really?’ She turned to face Conner. ‘The fact that this activity is deemed illegal is what has driven it underground; driven it into the hands of the kind of people who are wont to kill each other. The very fact that
we
are out there –’ she pointed out of the window ‘– trying to bust their asses, is what makes it such a hostile environment in the first place. On every street in the land Starbucks and Costa compete on the same turf, right next door to each other, and hardly anyone ever gets shot because of it. To the best of my knowledge, no one’s ever had a
cap busted into their ass
over the sale of a venti mochaccino and blueberry muffin. Because it’s not illegal. Yeah?’

Conner didn’t know how to respond. He placed both hands on the window sill and stared down at the street below. Mila took a step toward him and placed her hand gently on his. Then she spoke with a softer voice, one with no tones of confrontation.

‘It just seems like we are letting City Hall write our own morals for us. And then we’re risking our lives to protect them. That doesn’t make any kind of sense to me. Not any more.’ She took his hand as he stood staring out of the window. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong. I
do
see the bigger picture. I’m not saying the law is wrong. I’m not saying that what we’re trying to do is not the right thing. I’m just saying that I can’t care enough about it any more. Not when the only victims are the criminals themselves and the overpaid industry execs. And now
us
. You understand that don’t you?’

Conner didn’t respond; didn’t turn to face Mila. In part because he was scared that he
would
understand, and because he didn’t know what that would mean for his life. He didn’t have anything else to believe in.

‘You know as well as I do what Bigby has been questioned over before,’ Mila continued. ‘His unsavoury behaviour towards young girls. Maybe he didn’t commit the murder he’s in jail for now. But if letting the Feds stitch him up for something he hasn’t done keeps him locked up for a while then maybe that’s more important than bringing down a chunk of the rug trade, cos who knows how long that will take or what good it will do anyone.’

She let go of his hand and moved away from the window. ‘I guess this is the point where I’m supposed to grab my bags and leave. But I don’t have any bags ... or anywhere to leave for.’

Conner turned and leaned back. ‘So what now?’

‘
Now
now?’ she questioned.

‘Then I’m going to take some time out. Go stay with my mom for a bit. I like the idea of being in a whole other state for a while. In both senses.’

Conner began to nod slowly. ‘I think you’re right. I think it’s a good idea for you to get away from this for a while. As much as I hate to admit it.’

Conner stayed with Mila as she packed up some belongings at her apartment. Then he drove her to the airport and hugged her goodbye. As simple as that, a significant part of his life was gone. Again.

That afternoon he walked into town. Some automated part of his mind had registered today as a Bad Day and sent his body off to find Something Good to make it all better. If nothing else that meant he had a clear-cut no-messing plan right up till the end of the day – tomorrow morning in fact – and he was presently very pleased about this level of short-term clarity. He wasn’t going to give Today any more chances to mess him about. Unfortunately, Today had different plans and delivered him a text message to let him know about it.

He flipped his phone open to find a message from an informant of his. The gist of the content posed the following riddle. If Bigby is in jail ... how come he was able to make a deal in BlueJay last night?

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Conner as he turned around and headed back into the unknown.

First Encounters

For the second night in a row I found myself rubbing my averagely turned-out shoulders with the very well-groomed examples to be found on the clientele of BlueJay – bar, restaurant and fashion emporium. I was here for quite a different reason this time. It was still all about a girl – what can I say? I’m a man – but this time, a different girl. Mercifully, she
had largely occupied my waking thoughts over the last day and had done a good job of making sure I didn’t have any sleeping thoughts too – not in any dodgy way I assure you. She was just an anomaly in my world that I needed to know more about.

I located the barmaid I’d seen talking to the mystery woman the previous evening. I approached the bar and she smiled at me through striking – verging on scary – make-up.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

‘Dos Equis, please.’ I found myself in the mood for a Latin beer this evening. And I was swiftly presented with one, thanks to that efficient American bar service I’d become so used to paying a buck for every time I ordered a beer.

‘Thanks,’ I said, and was sure to ask her another question before she got any of my money. ‘What’s your favourite tipple?’

After a brief pause whilst she processed the information she responded. ‘I’m a typical white wine girl myself.’

It was of course just a control question because I intended to mine her for more useful information. A control is important. You may have heard of eye accessing cues, a theory posited by the NLPers, such as: glancing up and to the right is an indication of recalling a memory. There is some basis to these rules but they are too generalized to be of any use. The only rule you can be sure of is that if someone is trying to deceive you then they will behave slightly differently, in some small way. So knowing how the barmaid expressed herself when she responded to an innocent innocuous question about her favourite drink was all important.

I began fumbling dollars out of my wallet as I casually offered another question. ‘You don’t happen to know the girl who was in here yesterday with that baseball player, do you? They were sitting right over there.’ I nodded across the bar.

‘I’m sure you would,’ she said with a wink and smile. But it was not difficult to spot that her smile was as fake as her tan. Anyone can spontaneously display a beautiful beamer on their face at will. But to the educated, its construction will give the owner away. Specifically, a fake smile will only flex the muscles at the corners of the mouth. Whereas, an involuntary smile, generated in response to a genuine emotion, will also tighten the muscles that encircle the eye. It is almost impossible to tighten these muscles on demand, and it is equally difficult to stop them from tightening when you smile at something genuinely pleasurable. It’s called a Duchenne smile and the bartender’s was not an example of one.

‘I wish I could be more help,’ she added as she started to wipe down the bar with a damp cloth.

‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ I continued with a touch of despondency. ‘I was kind of hoping to put some business her way.’

‘Business?’ There was the tiniest of falters in her nonchalance. ‘How can you put business her way if you don’t know what her business is?’ She didn’t look at me as she continued to slide a cloth across the bar, trying to pretend she was just playing along at small-talk, but her tone had lost its usual built-in note of over-politeness. She was interested in my interest.

‘Oh I’m in the fashion industry. She had a certain ... you know ... something.’

‘Oh yeah, I know,’ she agreed with little sugar-coating over her contempt. She was suspicious of me. Rightly so. Personally, I wouldn’t trust me as far as I could vomit a barstool. But this was a good sign. Her air of protectiveness clearly meant she did know the girl I was asking after.

Time to play meek. They will inherit the earth after all. And are more likely to be trusted. ‘My apologies,’ I said submissively with a slight bowing of the head and my eyes falling to the bar. ‘It was rather forward of me to ask.’ I slid off the stool on which I’d been perched and turned to move away. Just as I did the barmaid spoke up.

‘She’ll be in at nine,’ she said.

I looked back and smiled. ‘Thanks,’ I said and I raised my bottle to her.

Whilst I was waiting I met a guy at one of the other bars in the place, the big long one down the side, rather than the circular one in the middle. He needed my help. Usual stuff: relationship, job, indecision. I told him something I tell a lot of people. Life is like buying a pair of shoes. I’ll leave that one with you.

A little after nine the still-unnamed enigma girl caught my eye taking a seat over the other side of the room. She was alone, but probably waiting for someone – maybe the baseball guy, maybe someone else. I couldn’t quite figure out what she did for a living. I was pretty sure she worked at BlueJay; got the impression that this was her ‘patch’, whatever that meant. I hoped it didn’t mean one thing that it could. My best guess was she was some kind of high-class escort, but also linked to fashion, considering the venue. For once in my life I would have to find out the hard way, if I dared. I had been anticipating the challenge with excitement, but now that the chance to speak to her had finally come I was scared. Scared at the prospect of speaking to a person who would respond only in words. I’d always been spoilt by having the upper hand in conversations. Now, being equal would be my weakness. An archer without his bow. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel it in my temples. But it was an opportunity that I couldn’t allow myself to waste again. I stepped up and walked over to her.

As I approached she saw me coming and turned to me.

‘Look,’ she said before I had chance to speak, ‘I don’t know what you want from me but I’m not interested.’ She’d obviously been warned about me by her friend behind the bar. I admit it didn’t look good. It looked like I was some kind of obsessive stalker. But then, filling the main criteria of stalking and being obsessed, I did seem to fit the bill rather neatly. Armed with this sudden revelation about myself I was caught a little off guard and wasn’t sure what to say.

Moreover, I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what
she
had said. I know better than anyone that people don’t always mean what they say. Sometimes they even mean the exact opposite. So often words are just served as a distraction from the truth, like a cooling breeze over skin burning in the midday sun. How do people cope when they don’t know which is the case? She was either just being cautious or she genuinely wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t know which, but common good manners suggested that I assume the latter.