Harry and Friday hurried down the clinic hall.
“You saw Cotton’s gun,” Harry said.
“We go back,” Friday said, “get it, and—”
“We call the police,” Harry said, “let them handle it.”
Friday shot Harry a disappointed look.
“Before you took the pill,” Friday said, “you wouldn’t have said that.”
“Look, Linda—” Harry said.
“Linda?” Friday said. “You call me Linda?”
A night watchman came around the corner ahead of them.
“So, Mr. Dickinson…,” Friday said, going into a role.
“It’s not going to work,” Harry muttered.
Friday tried harder.
“You were explaining the difference between alligators and crocodiles,” she said.
The night watchman stopped and studied them.
“Now,” Friday said, “which one has the narrow snout?”
As they passed the night watchman, Friday smiled at him.
“Ma’am,” the night watchman said, “where’re you taking that patient?”
Friday hurried Harry along.
“Insomniac,” Friday explained. “Late-night panic attack. We’re walking it off.”
The night watchman started after them.
“Can I see your staff ID?” the night watchman asked.
Friday ran, half-dragging the reluctant Harry after her.
Outside, Harry and Friday headed across the lawn toward the parking lot. Behind them, in the clinic, lights went on. An alarm bell started ringing.
As she ran, Friday said, “You called me Linda!”
Harry said, “It’s your name.”
They reached the Tercel. Friday started the motor even before Harry had his door closed.
“What have they done to you?” she asked.
“Not half what they’ll do if they catch us,” Harry said. “Let’s go!”
Friday put the car in gear and, scattering gravel, peeled out of the clinic grounds.