Switchback

Chapter 26

Richard opened his eyes to blackness.

He tried to raise his hands. They were bound - the same with his feet and forehead. Panic set in. He pulled against the straps. There was no give.

The sound of shuffling feet and muffled speaking rose nearby. Richard's mind spun. He couldn't remember what happened at the Trench to land him in his current position.

A door opened with a creak, footsteps followed. He felt bodies approach. The smell of aftershave and the sound of breathing was strong. They stopped beside him.

A light flicked on. The effect was blinding. It revealed he was in a small, windowless room with green walls. Whoever had entered stood just out of sight.

"This is weird Mick," said a voice Richard didn't recognize. "I'm having a hard time with it."

"I'm with you on that Jimmy. Thought I was prepared to see this fat bastard but no way. Huge mind fuck." A face drifted into Richard's line of sight. It had a wide, set jaw, dull brown eyes, thick eyebrows and black hair. "I can't believe he's not in there anymore."

"I doubt many people cross paths with a Switch," said Jimmy. He was close but Richard still couldn't see his face. "Very few out there."

From the way their voices echoed it was easy to tell the room was empty – just the three of them and the table he was strapped to.

"What's he want with him?"

"Answers," said a third voice. This one was raspy. "Out of my way."

Mick's face disappeared and was replaced with a much older, narrow one. His left eye was milky and a scar ran along his cheek. "You're a popular fellow Mr. Sobel," said the old man. A whir filled the room and the table began to tilt. "I wondered if I'd ever make your acquaintance."

When it was almost vertical the table stopped with a jerk. All three men stood in front of him. They wore similar expressions of interest. Jimmy was slim with blonde hair slicked to his scalp while Mick was a monster, with a thick neck and chest.

The old man was hunched and wrinkled. He wore an expensive looking charcoal suit and leaned heavily on a cane. There was something unsettling about him. Despite his age he seemed dangerous.

"Does it hurt?" the old man asked.

Richard's voice caught in his throat. He didn't know how to reply because he didn't understand the question.

"Well?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Switching bodies. Does it hurt when it happens?"

"No." Richard croaked. "You don't feel anything at all."

This seemed to satisfy the old man. He tapped his cane on the floor a few times. "What about pain from the new body? How does that feel?"

"Exactly like it would in any body," Richard replied. His chest felt tight.

The old man nodded. The others did too.

"Finding you was a fucking challenge. I couldn't believe how someone so infamous kept such a low profile. We had guys looking everywhere."

"Why?"

"Because of Charlie. I was there when he was killed in your body. So I felt we needed to talk." The old man moved closer. His battered face frightened Richard. "A few hours ago I was told you were at the Trench and there might be an opportunity to make a move. Despite uneven odds I jumped at the chance."

This shifted everything into focus.

"You were with Charlie when he died?"

"Yeah. And it happened fast – one moment we were standing around the bar together, then his body started twitching. Next he was sprawled out on the ground. Then some alarm on his leg started going off."

"You didn't see who did it?"

"Crowd was too thick."

"There was no one out of the ordinary?"

"When you switch what's the chance old memories are left behind?"

The change of subject and question made Richard understand he was in trouble. The old man was after something.

"There's no chance," Richard replied.

"Funny," said the old man. "I've been told shifted bodies contain memory echoes. And it's possible to retrieve information that might seem lost."

"No clue," Richard wheezed. His chest was growing tighter and his left arm numb. He wasn't lying either – he never held much interest in the science behind the procedure or any side effects. But he did know a little about retrieving memory echoes and the dangers that went along with it. The procedure was risky and seldom ended well.

"This guy isn't looking so good, Frankie," said Jimmy. "He's green."

The old man – Frankie – squinted his good eye. Then he frowned. "Fuck. Get Morris in here! Last thing we need's a heart attack killing this asshole."

Jimmy smashed his large hand against a red button on the wall and an alarm began to screech. Seconds later the door to the room burst open.

"What's wrong?" shouted the tiny man who entered. He had grey skin, greasy black hair and bloodshot eyes.

Frankie pointed at Richard. "Sobel's not doing well."

"Heart attack," Richard gasped.

Morris pulled a syringe from his coat and jabbed it into Richards arm. His body went slack. "You realize you're all over the News Frankie. Security figured it out."

"I'm not concerned," Frankie said with a shrug.

"I need him moved to the OR." Morris shone a light in Richard's eyes. "Otherwise he's done. Then all the trouble you went through was pointless."

"Just keep him alive long enough to get Nickle's memories out." Frankie headed to the door, followed by his thugs. "After that I could care less what happens."

It was then – from beneath a haze of drugs - that Richard realized who Frankie was. A crime boss - one of few left in the City. He made the News every so often – usually in connection with violence.

Morris pushed a button on the lapel of his coat. "I need two orderlies and a stretcher in room six."

The men arrived quickly. Richard was loaded and whisked out of the room. His only view along the way was bright track lights as they zipped past overhead. The only noises were screams of pain. He had no idea where he might be but it was straight out of a nightmare