"Just drive," Parr said tonelessly, rolling down the window until he felt air hitting his face. He lay back against the seat cushions.
Balloon-like, memories floated, rose, fell. He struggled with them. Drifting away, his hotel's name. Before he lost it, he bent forward, muttered it at the driver.
The Oholo—a female, he knew now—suddenly whispered in his mind from a distance: "You killed the wrong one, didn't you?" He struggled with his mind shield in terror, finally got it set against her. He shivered.
At the hotel, he stumbled from the cab, started in.
"Hey, Mister, what about me?"
"Eh?"
"Money, Mister. Come on, pay up!"
He fumbled at his wallet, found a bill, handed it over.
In his room at last, he peeled off his suit, his underclothes.