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When they arrived at the address for the underground clinic originally provided by Dr. Jackson Hiller, they found an abandoned warehouse. Kat called the guy back, but he didn’t pick up. She was just starting to get pissed when she noticed a flyer glued to a boarded-up window near the main entrance. It read:Cool music. Awesome bands. Righteous vibe. Endless party. Winston/Wall nightclub.
“What is that about?” Gila asked, her tone hushed and anxious as she glanced around.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that someone would plaster a flyer for a club on what was an underground clinic?” Kat mused.
“Maybe this place used to be a nightclub before it was a clinic,” the bodyguard suggested. “That is assuming it everwasa clinic and your doctor contact did not screw you over. Whatever it is now, it’s not what we are looking for. We should go.”
“You’re right,” Kat said, staring at the flyer. “This place isn’t what we’re looking for, but I think it might have been very recently. I think they must have had to bail unexpectedly.”
“So we’re out of luck then,” Gila said, irritated.
“We’re not just giving up,” Kat said sharply. “This clinic lead is our best chance of finding out where Mark Haddonfield might have gotten treatment for his knee and where he might have gone after that. I’m going to find it.”
“Okay,” Gila replied equally testily. “How? We are at an abandoned warehouse. We have no way of getting that information.”
“Maybe we do,” Kat replied. “Look—this flyer was put here recently. It’s not weathered, and the glue hasn’t started to peel yet. I think this was intended to direct potential patients to their new location.”
“Where do you get that idea?”
“Look at the first letter of each word in every sentence:Cool, Awesome, Righteous, Endless. They spell out ‘care.’ And Winston and Wall are downtown streets that intersect in the heart of Skid Row, less than six blocks from here, right where people would need free medical assistance. I think the relocated clinic is there.”
“All based on a flyer glued to a window?” Gila asked skeptically.
“Correct,” Kat said. “Shall we go?”
***
Five minutes later, they were walking west on Winston Street when Kat found the same flyer a telephone pole next to an alley near the intersection with Wall Street. Written in tiny black marker at the bottom of the flyer was one word:back.
“I think that’s our clue,” Kat said, starting down the alley.
“I will go first,” Gila replied, stepping in front of her. “Do not initiate anything until I give you the all clear, understood?”
Kat nodded and fell in line behind the former Israeli Special Forces soldier. The alley got darker as they left the street, and the walls of the surrounding buildings collapsed in on them. They came to a point where they could only turn right. Conveniently, another flyer was attached to that wall, too, with a small arrow drawn at the bottom pointing in the only direction they could go.
Just as at Bootie’s Bar earlier, Kat felt a creeping sense of anxiety as they moved deeper into the darkness. It wasn’t lost on her that if Ash Pierce was somehow tracking them, this would be the perfect spot to make her move: protected from public view, with no easy means of escape. But as it was too late to turn around at this point, she pressed on.
They rounded a corner and saw their destination. Fifty feet down, the alley dead-ended at a large, metal door. The place really did look like a secret, after-hours club or, in Kat's most fevered imagination, perhaps an entry into a dungeon.
They approached it and Gila knocked. After a few seconds, a small rectangular slit of a window opened in the middle of the door. Kat could only see the eyes of a very large man staring back at her.
“What?” he demanded gruffly.
Gila looked back at Kat, who stepped forward next to her.
“We’re here for help,” she said as plaintively as she could.
“You’re not the kind of chicks who look for help. You’re looking for trouble. Get lost.”
He was about to slide the window shut when Kat decided desperate measures were needed.
“So you're the kind of guy who knows what a woman is looking for, huh?" she challenged. "Are you really so scared of two women half your size that you won't open the door and at least hear us out?"
"Don't try to piss me off, lady," he shot back. "How do I know you're not packing? I open this door. You pull a gun. Suddenly, the odds are a lot more even."
“I bet you are packing too, big man,” Gila said. “So you don’t have much to worry about.”
Kat was happily surprised to have her bodyguard get involved. It seemed in conflict with her job description, but it was clear that she didn’t like the guy’s attitude.
