Save Me If You Can

Save Me If You Can Chapter 15

SAVE ME IF YOU CAN

Chapter 15

By

Lacadiva

ANTHROPOLOGY

'How appropriate,' Mozzie thought as he was being dragged by two gangly men in trendy garb, inside what he recognized – even from the alley entrance – as Club Anthropology. What better name for a night club, where humans freely relinquished all inhibitions through mind-altering substances and ritual dance to more courageously prowl for a conquest? Mozzie mused. Even in the haze of semi-consciousness, the bespectacled little man was ever analyzing, questing, exploring the world around him, in search of an angle. Mozzie was never a patron of the club. Indeed, he doubted he could ever, without Neal's help and much conniving, get past the mountain-sized bouncer. However, as was his duty as a man of resources and knowledge, he knew plenty about the club. Though right now, as his head throbbed, his vision fought to clear, and as his ears continued to ring at a most irritating pitch, he wished he had never heard of the place.

"I apologize for the manner in which you were brought here," the tall, elegant man in black said as he placed a clump of damp towels to the small injury on the back of Mozzie's head. "I also apologize for that." He gestured, meaning the repetitive thrum of electronic music filtering through the walls and causing a subtle vibration of small things on desktops.

"Linus Hauser, I presume," Mozzie said, voice still absent of its normal strength or volume.

"I'm flattered."

"You're reputation precedes you. I wouldn't be."

"Then you already know I am a very serious man, and I do not suffer fools lightly."

Hauser tossed the wet clump of towels to the floor, then indicated to the two wiry young men who dragged Mozzie in to leave. Once they were gone, Hauser rose and poured himself a drink from the club owner's personal stock and sampled it.

"Not bad. Did you know, Mr. Haversham, that the word 'whisky' comes from the original Gaelic, meaning 'water of life?'"

"Of course," said Mozzie.

"May I pour you a glass?"

"I seriously doubt that alcohol goes well with minor head injuries, so I would have to say no, thank you."

"As you wish."

Hauser pulled a second metal office chair forward, placed it directly in front of Mozzie and sat.

"So, let us move this along, shall we?"

"That would be prudent," said Mozzie, "as I have things to do."

"You have but one thing to do that matters at the moment, Mr. Haversham, if you wish to remain among the living. You must tell me where I can find Neal Caffrey."

"I wish I could," he said, feigning anger as convincingly as possible. "As soon as the Feds clipped his tracking anklet, he suddenly grew wings and flew off. To him I say, 'good riddance.' If you should find Neal, you tell him he still owes me a...well, just tell him he owes me."

Linus stared unblinkingly at Mozzie for what felt like an eternity. He smiled. And then he hit him across the jaw.

Mozzie's head snapped back, and the dizziness and nausea he thought had subsided with the return of full consciousness was now threatening to return.

"That was a warning," said Hauser between clenched teeth.

"Look, you can beat me, shove bamboo shoots under my finger nails and stick hot poker-like...things...in horribly uncomfortable places...or...not. But it won't change anything! I don't know where he is! Besides, I can't help you find him if I'm dead!"