“That bad, huh?”
“I could point out some more holes in the narrative, if you like,” the doctor says. “I could tell you that there have been no reports of bodies found at the Venetian: no butchered guests up in the penthouse, no mimes with their throats slit beside the Grand Canal. I could tell you that the security guards at the Luxor are quite certain there was only one Jane, not two, running amok in the casino that night, and none of them witnessed any laws of physics being broken—just a lot of punching and kicking. I could tell you that, but then you’ll tell me that Catering covered up what really happened, and if that explanation still leaves a few loose ends, well, it’s a Nod problem.”
“Good to see you finally catching on,” she says. “So what about Dixon? What did they make him out to be? Another security guard? A hotel employee who got in my way?”
“He was a social worker,” the doctor tells her.
“Dixon, a social worker?” She laughs. “That’s rich! Let me guess: he worked with street people, right? Deranged street people?”
“Homeless addicts.”
“Sure, of course. And that night—don’t tell me—that night, he just happened to be passing through the Luxor and heard one of his new clients had gone berserk. So he decided to help track me down and ended up getting stabbed for his troubles.”
“The police don’t know how Dixon came to be in that room with you. But that scenario sounds plausible.”
“Yeah, except for one thing: I’m not deranged. I mean, my story’s crazy, I know that, but I’m lucid.”
“You’re lucid now,” the doctor says. “But that night?”
“Yeah, well…Those X-drugs really were something. Too bad I won’t be getting any more.”
“Jane—”
“I talked to Phil again, you know,” she says. “I mean, not really…But after I killed Dixon, when I was sitting at the top of the stairs waiting to see if the cops or the Clowns would come for me first, I pretended Phil was there with me. I told him I was sorry. I’d never done that, you know, in all the conversations we’d had, but this was like the last time, so I apologized for being such a lousy sister, for leaving him that day…I told him that no matter what bad things he’d done for the Troop, it wasn’t his fault, it was all on me. I said I hoped he’d find a way to get free of them—that he could, I knew he could, if he really wanted to.”
“And what did Phil say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just listened.” She looks the doctor in the eye again. “I hope he listened.”
Before the doctor can respond, his pager goes off.
“Time to go?” She sounds disappointed.
“I have to step out for a moment,” the doctor says. “But I would like to talk some more. If you don’t mind waiting…?”
“No, I don’t mind.” She shows him her bracelets again. “It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to be.”
He stands up and reaches for the tape recorder, then hesitates. “Did she say anything else?”
“Who?”
“The bad Jane. Before you dropped her—did she say anything else about Phil, or the Troop?”
“No. I mean, it’s not like she was super-articulate with my fist in her chest. It was all she could do to scream out a few words…Why?”
“Just curious,” the doctor says. He presses the STOP button on the recorder. “I’ll be back shortly…”
He goes to the door and tries to open it, but it’s been locked from the outside. “Guard?” he calls. “I’m ready to come out now…Guard?” He raises a fist, knocks. “Guard!”
Behind him, there is a thunk of handcuffs hitting the table. He looks over his shoulder. She is leaning forward, aiming a bright orange pistol at him. “What on earth…?” he says. “Where did you…?” Then he sees it: the black tile in the floor has been flipped up to reveal a compartment underneath.
“Phil,” she says.
He blinks. “Is this some kind of joke? Did…Did Dr. Chiang put you up to this?”