John Mackie - Hazardous Goods

“So.” One more time, I thought. “How can I help you folks?”

“Well,” Spitzer’s colleague flipped through her note pad. “We had a report that on Monday evening a package containing a Class 2 Restricted device was taken from your possession at 150 King Street West in Toronto. Is that correct?”

“Not sure what you mean by a Class 2 device, but yes, Clay Jarvis and I were mugged on Monday night. How did you know that?”

She ignored me, continuing to look down at her notes.

“We understand no report was filed with the Mundane authorities.”

“Presuming that means the cops, that is correct.”

“Your colleague Mr. Jarvis was injured in the attack?”

“He had a heart attack.” I paused, but there was no reaction. “He’s resting and it looks like he’ll be OK.”

That got her to lift her head for a moment. Then she went right back to the notebook.

“This device was collected from the offices of Sun Consulting just a few moments earlier?”

I mulled that over for a moment.

“I can’t comment on that. The identity of our customers and any information relating to them is confidential.”

That seemed to catch Spitzer’s attention, and he turned from the window to face me.

“This was a violent crime, Mr. Elder. The sort of thing that might result in someone being killed next time around. Are you saying that you’re unwilling to help us investigate this matter?”

I took a deep breath, leaning back in my chair. This had turned confrontational awfully quickly.

“No. But I would hazard a guess that we have never given that type of information to you in the past, and I don’t intend to start now. If you want me to describe the mugger, I am happy to do so. He even gave me his name. But any details regarding our customers or their businesses are off limits.”

Spitzer shifted forward, resting his hands on the table and leaning towards me, apparently intent on building the drama.

“It doesn’t concern you that a Class 2 Restricted device was stolen from your possession, and someone could right now be using it to devastating consequences in our city?”

“If I knew what a Class 2 Restricted device was, it might.”

I held his stare, willing to bet there was no such thing as a Class 2 Restricted device. And Switzer’s “devastating consequences” comment was at serious odds to Helen Findlay’s description. These BOA guys had probably been stonewalled by Clay in the past and were hoping to slide one by the new guy.

“Class 2 is a magical device or talisman. Class 1 mixing agent, Class 3 spell — we can get you a copy of the classifications if you like. Each Class is categorized Inert, Non-restricted, Restricted and Prohibited. Restricted means that you are required to advise us in the event the device is lost or stolen.”

OK, so I was wrong. The guy was still a dick.

“This is some sort of government legislation?”

“No. These are classifications developed by BOA working together with leading practitioners.”

I snorted. Leading practitioners? Who were they? The Amazing Kreskin and Criss Angel?

“OK. Thanks.”

He stared. She stared. I fiddled with the pen in my hands. They stared. I unscrewed the pen top and began to lay the innards out on the table. Spring, ink sleeve, some plastic doohickey. Part of me was debating telling them about the possible relationship to Legenko, but it still seemed too thin. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted these two “crack investigators” on the case.

“I take it you are unwilling to cooperate with our enquiry?”

“Well, let’s say I will think about it. Do you have business cards in case I need to reach you?”

Both of them slid over their cards, fancy embossed plastic cards with their names, phone numbers and e-mail addresses. No office address.

“Let me ask Kara to see you out.”

Switzer stared at me for a moment, then gestured to his colleague. I waited until they were halfway out the door before calling to them.

“Did you want the name of the mugger?”

The two of them turned.

“Niki Kuzmenko. Calls himself the Bull.”

Both of them turned away and stepped out into the cool May air. I watched them climb into their car — a Range Rover, of all things — and considered the fact that neither of them had written down Kuzmenko’s name.

My mind was spinning. How had they even heard of the mugging, and what was with the attitude? Weirdness prevailed.

“How was it?” I turned to see Kara holding the door open for me.

“Oh, it was great. Just like my last visit to the dentist.”

That brought forth a smile.

“By the way, what the heck is a divination device? I thought the folks at Sun said it was some kind of dowsing thing. Isn’t that like a fire hose, or something?”

“Fire hose?”

A little off base, apparently.

“Device? Is that what they called it? Well, it could be anything. Cards, runes, Ouija board, crystal ball-.”

I suspect my cynicism was quite apparent.

“Hey, I didn’t make this stuff up.”

“So the Sun Consulting guys were using us to ship something that could be used to tell the future ?”

“Or whether your girlfriend is cheating on you. Where you left your watch that morning. People use them to answer questions, sometimes locate things.”

That jibed with Helen Findlay’s comments earlier in the week.

“Hmph. Can you use them for anything ?”

“No, not that I know of. A restricted Class 2 device would be pretty powerful, though. Think of it like accuracy. Prohibited devices are the most accurate. I think Clay said he had seen a set of rune stones once that were supposed to be accurate 99.9 % of the time.”

“Cool. Great for lotto tickets.”

“No kidding.”

The day had just started and I was already behind.

As if things weren’t bad enough, Jamar was three hours late getting in. By lunch time I felt like I had seen most of Southern Ontario, just trying to keep up.

I was munching on a sub when Jamar staggered in. Kara followed right behind.

“Don’t tell me. You lost your shirt at the Casino. No, your girlfriend is pregnant, but she’s not sure whether it’s yours.”

Sometimes the comments come out before I can stop them.

“Hey, Donnie.”

Jamar couldn’t have looked more down if he tried. Dark shadows under his eyes hinted at a sleepless night. Either that, or he had been doing some sparring. With a heavyweight.

“Hang in there, big guy,” I pulled a chair out for him. “Take a seat and tell Nurse Kara about your problems.”

She gave me a look that suggested the only person requiring a nurse was going to be me. Jamar slumped in the chair, staring at his lunch bag.

“What’s up?”

“It’s like I’m that guy who walks around with a rain cloud over his head. I swear, not one good thing has happened in the past two days. Tuesday I get home and my girlfriend announces she’s moving out. Yesterday I crack up my bike on the way to school, damn near kill myself. Last night I spent the night throwing up the sushi I had for lunch. And this morning I bum a ride from my Dad, and he announces he and my mom are divorcing! After 25 years of marriage!”

For a moment, Kara and I sat silent. Sheesh. That was a serious streak of ugly.

“You’re just going through a bad stretch. It’ll turn, and everything will be better again.”

She almost had me convinced, but then I was somewhat susceptible to Kara’s charms.

Jamar didn’t look as open to supportive commentary.

“I swear to God, guys — I think it’s this damned ring .”

“What?” OK. Every day, and in every way, this place was just plain weird. “The ring? The one that lady gave you?”