John Mackie - Hazardous Goods

Ruscan’s headquarters were housed in a pre-World War I five story structure. Nestled between a twenty story condo tower and a ten story office building, the Ruscan head office seemed the weak sister at first glance. But as I sat and looked, I noticed some of the fine detailing. Cornice molding framed the tops of the doors and windows. A number of ornamental sculptures, though I didn’t see any gargoyles. Decorative arches over the windows, which were made of that annoying reflective glass. But no cardboard silhouettes of falcons to scare away birds. They probably found a dead or dying bird lying outside the building once a week. Bastards.

Not sure what I expected to see. However it was the lunch hour. Maybe I would get lucky and spot someone. Far as I could tell, they did not have an underground garage.

I finished the sausage and missed on my attempted three pointer aimed at a nearby garbage bin when the first signs of activity started outside Ruscan headquarters. A group of secretaries strode out, intent on wasting no time getting to the local Starbucks. As I watched them move together, I mulled whether “group” was the right word. Should it be a flock of secretaries? Maybe a gaggle? Better yet, a gossip . Yes, a gossip of secretaries. It’s critical to spend time contemplating such important issues.

A few stragglers followed in the next five minutes. Then I began to see suits. At that point I slouched down, figuring that I shouldn’t make myself too visible if my mugger friend did indeed happen to exit the building.

I was kicking at a pigeon that had spotted a small piece of popcorn resting in front of the bench when out strolled Niki. No question about it, the greaseball himself.

Still displaying that ridiculous pseudo-beard. How on earth did he manage to keep it trimmed to a millimeter in length every day?

Today he wore a huge brown suede shirt with a seventies-length collar spread wide to display his chest. Standard thug black leather coat (though this one could have housed a family of three), and a cigarette that dangled from his lip. Right behind him followed Mr. Maxim Legenko. Lean bordering on thin, hair cut tight to the head in a military style.

Niki stepped to the sidewalk and signaled a limo which had been idling just down the street. As I watched, the limo pulled up and Niki opened the door for his boss, if that’s what Legenko was.

I watched as both men ducked into the car and the limo pulled into traffic.

So it wasn’t my imagination. Our thuggish friend had some sort of connection with the Legenkos.

I glanced back at the Ruscan building, the mirrored windows staring back like the eyes of a massive insect. I wasn’t done with this yet.

I was heading back to the office when my personal cell went off. A number I didn’t recognize.

“Pizza Weasel.”

“Hello?”

“Today’s special is deep fried weasel, with your selection of dipping sauce.”

“Uh, may I speak to Donnie, please.”

I can’t help it. I’m an idiot.

“You’re talking to him.”

“Oh! Donnie, it’s Amy Park.”

“Hey. Sorry to be a goof.”

“No problem. Jin told me of your situation.”

“Yeah, listen, I don’t want to impose.”

“No, no. I was going to say — do you have time for a coffee after work? I’m on the clock today, but I can take a few minutes, say around six? We can talk about it, see if I can help out in any way.”

Seemed more than reasonable, so we made plans to get together at a coffee shop she knew in Cabbagetown.

I had only met Amy Park once, five years ago. I couldn’t remember what she looked like, other than that she was attractive. Hopefully she would be the only Asian woman in the coffee shop. As it was, I got lucky.

Then again, how I forgot what Amy Park looked like is a complete mystery to me, and frankly a bit worrying.

Tall, at most an inch shorter than me, she wore an auburn suede jacket over a black blouse and slacks. No heels. Thick, midnight black hair, pulled back into a pony tail. Slim, with skin the color and texture of caramel.

I love caramel.

“Donnie?”

“Hey Amy.”

We sat in comfy chairs nestled in a corner of the shop. The place smelled great — roast beans with a hint of sweet pastries. She reminded me of the first time we had met, at a party at her cousin’s house, and I was secretly delighted I had made a lasting and not negative impression.

“So Jin was saying you were mugged?”

“Yeah, well-,” I shrugged, a bit embarrassed and a little concerned about speaking to a police officer, on the record or off.

“Listen, it’s OK. He mentioned you were leery of filing a report. Why don’t you tell me about it, and maybe I can come up with some suggestions for you.”

So I told her. About Clay and Niki, the gun, the package, and my discovery that Niki was somehow tied into Maxim Legenko. But not about the magic. I was still getting my own head around that.

“Really? Legenko?” That got her attention.

“I wouldn’t have believed it either, but I’m positive it’s him. I even have a picture.” I passed her a copy of the article and photo from the Daily Times. I had circled Niki’s face in pen.

“This him?”

“Absolutely.”

“You sure? You must have been pretty startled on the elevator. Memory is a funny thing.”

Yeah, I thought of that. Even wondered whether I made up the connection in my mind. But when I saw him on TV, during coverage of the trial, he was walking with Legenko, and I recognized the whole package. Not just his looks, but his clothes and the way he walked.

“I don’t think so. This guy’s pretty distinctive.”

“Hm.” She studied the photo. “You know, I think I’ve seen this guy before. Big guy, right? Six five or so?”

“Yeah.”

“I know I’ve seen him somewhere around town. One of the clubs, maybe. Listen, I’m going to check if he’s got a record. Do you mind if I keep this?”

“Go ahead. I know what he looks like.”

“I may also call the Ruscan Taskforce, see if he has come up in their investigation.”

“That would be great.”

“No problem. But listen — you’ve got to be careful. Guys like this don’t fool around.”

It was nice of her to care. Between her and Kara, I had two attractive women being nice to me on a daily basis, which left me very suspicious. Anyone who knows us realizes the Elder brothers never have good luck with women. It’s a basic law of nature.

My luck couldn’t last.

Monday of Week Two began with an incident I will treasure for the remainder of my days. Unfortunately, it also put a damper on my erotic fantasy life, at least as it involved Amy, Kara, me and a tub full of strawberry jam. Sticky but sweet.

I had arrived early again, having resolved to clean the parcel racks before heading out in the morning. Not the biggest challenge, but I was beginning to feel proprietarial about the office. I also felt like I had to get to know every nook and cranny of the place. Eventually I could let others just do their jobs, but this was a great chance for me to delve through the innards without pissing anyone off.

One at a time I removed the parcels from each rack, wiped the metal bars clean with a rag, then replacing the parcels. I was replacing the items for Airport and Area when I happened to knock a small box off the edge of the rack.

I cringed and dove to grab the box. No luck.

“Shit.”

The box had fallen on its side between two columns of racks. I had to lie down and extend to my fullest to reach the damned thing, physical exertion which I did not appreciate this early in the day. But moments later I had recovered the item. Unfortunately, it seemed to be leaking, and a quick glance confirmed that there was also a small stain on the floor.