Page 15 of Factory Thief

“Whatever. Keep talking.”

“Right. I came across a drug trial for a new medicine which was supposed to be a miracle cure for cancer. Shrunk tumors to nothing without any serious side effects.”

She stiffens up. “No side effects? Most cancer drugs are brutal on the side-effects angle. Sounds too good to be true.”

I scoff. “That’s because it is.”

She snaps a glare my way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the drug didn’t work. They gamed the system really well, and tried to hide their actual results, but I untangled their Gordian knot of deceit and discovered the truth. The drug might as well have been a placebo. That’s when they use a fake—”

“I know what a fucking placebo is, all right?” Victoria smashes a fist into her black-clad thigh, seeming to grow more agitated by the moment. “So, what happened after that? How does a shitty cancer drug get you thrown in Sandpiper State?”

“I brought my findings to my superiors. I was told to forget I’d ever seen the data.”

“That’s not suspicious,” she says, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, I know, right?” I sigh. “I was so suspicious, in fact, that I downloaded the data onto my memory stick. Good thing, too, because, when I showed up for work the next day, I wasn’t allowed in the building. They fired me.”

Her chest heaves with heavy pants. Green eyes wild with emotion, she shakes her head.

“That…why? Why would they do that?”

“Greed, why else?” I shrug. “A day later, before I could go to the police with my findings, the cops showed up at my house and placed me under arrest. You know the rest of the story.”

“They…they’re just going to keep giving people that fake drug, and let them think they’re getting better? So they can make money?” Victoria shakes her head furiously. “Pull over.”

“What? Here, on the shoulder?”

“Pull the fuck over!”

I don’t have to be told twice. I pull onto the shoulder, gravel popping under our tires. Victoria leaps out and paces back and forth, face flushed and seeming on the verge of a conniption fit.

“Those fucking bastards…” she mutters over and over. Finally she kicks the fender so hard she leaves a dent. “God damnit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s just say cancer’s taken a lot from me, all right? Get back in the truck.”

We enter the truck, and I drive us another ten miles before I see her nodding off. She’s fighting to stay awake.

Victoria shakes her head furiously and tells me to pull into the lot of a small, seedy motel.

There’s a drive-up window, so we rent the room under an assumed name using dry cash she carries in the same plastic pouch bag she uses for her credit card. Victoria herds me into the motel room and shuts the door behind us.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she goes to the slatted headboard and grabs it. Victoria shakes the headboard violently, cracking it against the wall. With a satisfied nod, she steps away from the bed and points the gun at me.

“Again?” I sigh. “I thought we were done with the gun.”

“Then you thought wrong, didn’t you?” She gestures with the gun. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fucking strip off your damned clothes, or, I swear, I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

“Fine.” I angrily strip off my jumpsuit and throw the dingy, salt-encrusted mass onto the thin carpet.

“Keep going.”

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