When the phone rang, Van started, irrationally angry. Who exactly wanted to call him? He fumbled over for the phone, missed, slid off the bed, and then grabbed hold of his mobile from the floor. Van lifted it to his ear. The voice on the end was familiar, even through the medications and other…substances clouding his head. Van coughed once. It was the Inspector.
"Van?...Van? Are you there?" Van coughed again.
"I'm here. I'm always here. Where did you think I'd-" The Inspector interrupted.
"Not now. Listen…I know you're angry…I need to meet you. That café, just down from where you live? How is that? Ten minutes?" There was a click as the Inspector hung up. Van growled. The combinations of the stuff he was taking had temporarily wrecked his motor functions, but he felt it was a point of pride to show up, even if they had fired him, had sent him away for trying to do his job. It took five minutes for Van to haul himself up, get himself dressed, and spray on enough deodorant to vaguely mask the distinctive smells he gave off. Then he set off. He still made it on time.