John Mackie - Hazardous Goods

I hadn’t even returned to the office before he called me back.

“I’ve gone over the spell, and it seems fairly straight-forward. But I must confess, she’s right. A spell such as this should have dissipated a long time ago. For it to have a life of a few days, maybe a week, would be the norm. But for it to remain as potent as the day it was cast years later — well, that’s extraordinary.”

“Maybe she really hated him.”

“Oh, I’m sure she did. Yes indeed. But even so, this is not the type of spell that would entrench itself so firmly as to carry on for years. And as you describe her, she’s not someone with a lot of experience in the craft.”

“Not from what I could tell.”

“It’s all very odd. Let me sort out the spell on that stone of yours. But you might want to keep your eyes and ears open.”

This time it was Jamar who let me know that Niki was waiting out front. I had come to enjoy his little visits.

There was no one waiting at Reception, so I turned to Kara with a question on my lips. No need. She nodded at the window. Outside, white smoke curled into the cold morning air from the cigarette in the big Russian’s mouth. I turned my back to the window, pulled my phone from my pocket, and punched through buttons until I got to the record and speaker phone functions. We had tested it earlier, and it seemed to pick up conversations okay, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t work if I slipped it back in my pocket. So I held it in my left hand, and hoped he would be too pissed off to notice.

As I moved to the door, I checked out the parking lot. This could be a set up. But there was no obvious danger and Kara had confirmed the cameras were operating. So out I went.

Niki turned to the sound of the door opening, and I figured that was welcome enough. With both thumbs hooked in my pants, the cell cupped in my left hand, I waited for him to speak.

“You think you are King Shit, do you not?” He dropped the cigarette to the pavement and crushed it under his boot.

I opted for silence.

“Well, I have your precious package.” He glanced at a rust-bucket Ford parked three spaces down, presumably the replacement for his now damaged BMW. A paper bag sat on the hood, about the same size and shape as the package Clay and I had been delivering so long ago. No sign of anyone in the car, but it wouldn’t be too hard to duck under the window. “So now you’re going to take this damned thing, right?”

I am a terrible poker player. At Ted’s suggestion, I have been to a half dozen poker nights sponsoring some hockey team or another. Sixty dollar tickets, forty dollars in initial stakes. I would guess I have never lost less than a hundred dollars in one night. One reason I had no intentions of ever going to Las Vegas. But if there was a time when I needed to get a read on the other guy, this was it. Was Sun’s device in the bag, or was this just a scam to get the ring off his finger?

Even if it was the package, would he let me walk away with it, or was he going to pull a gun on me again?

I stared at his eyes, then gazed at the bag.

“Show it to me.”

That pissed him off. I suppose even dirtbags feel they should be trusted. With a scowl on his face, he marched over to the Ford, snatched the bag, and tossed it to me. I opened the bag and pulled out a metal cube, open on all faces, with a pendulum hanging from the top surface. The pendulum was held in place by a plastic insert to prevent it from being damaged in transit. I examined it as best I could, even peeked underneath. Seemed intact. And it looked like the dowsing device Sol had described. But the frank reality was — I had no way of knowing for sure.

I put it back in the bag and slipped the handle onto my left hand, keeping the phone clear. Took a deep breath, and launched into it.

“Before we do this, I want to be clear about something. Take a look over there.” I pointed to the corner of the building, just outside the door to the Urban Jungle.

Niki turned and spotted the camera I was pointing at.

“There’s another over there,” I pointed at the front of the parking lot, “there”, our Reception area, “and at the back loading docks.”

“No local tapes. Everything is transmitted to a security company off-site and a remote server.” One more gambit. I looked back to Kara, and she stepped out, handing me the file we had assembled after Niki left a few days prior.

“Plus, you might want to ask yourself how the cops would react, if they saw these.” I opened the file and dropped several photos on the hood of a Nissan. Harold’s, I think.

The photos were terrific — high quality digital images fit for printing on any wanted poster. Niki exiting his car. Niki at our front reception. Niki’s gun aimed at my chest. After his first visit, we had the cameras in the office activated, giving us that last photo. It was a beauty.

“Try anything stupid, the cops’ll have all of this in minutes.”

He wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. But he had gotten the message.

So I held my right hand out, palm up. Quicker than a horny teen removing his girlfriend’s bra, he tugged the ring off his finger and dropped it in my palm. For a long moment we both stared at it, him apparently concerned that it would somehow spring from my palm back onto his finger, and me wondering whether this was such a good idea after all. When the moment passed, I checked his face and saw elation, relief, and then anger.

“Give it up, pal. Your friend Legenko is going to jail, and so are you.”

Niki snorted and pointed one nicotine-stained digit at me, the tough guy act now back in place.

“We took out the first, and we are going to take out the second. Maxim is not going to jail. You can count on it. We will find him, with or without this damnatory thing. And when we do, it is going to be the same book all over again — suicide or heart attack, car accident or falling down the stairs.”

“Same story .”

“What?”

“Never mind. Maybe this time the cops’ll be ready for them.”

“ Ready ? You cannot be ready for this. These people, they can get you anywhere. Wave of the hands, hocus pocus, you are six feet under. And you are the next, asshole.”

“Well when I go, I’m taking a whole lot of people with me. And you’re at the top of the list.”

“Keep thinking that, asshole. If you think I am going to forget this, you are dead wrong.”

I stood silently, and watched him march back to the Ford, climb in, and pull away in a storm of spinning tires and gravel.

I wasn’t able to get out to Sun Consulting until late afternoon. Fortunately Helen Findlay seemed happy to see me. A nice response, considering the events of the past few weeks.

“Hi Don. C’mon in.” I wasn’t going to correct her. Paying customers can call me whatever they want, profanities excluded.

Today she was wearing a Versace pantsuit, ivory with silver buttons. Matching sleek Bruno Magli dress pumps, with a few inches of heel to enhance her already significant height.

I followed her to a small boardroom directly behind the Reception area. The opposite wall was glass, providing a view of an atrium with live plants and a six foot waterfall. A bench sat in the middle of the space, an apparent oasis in the downtown core. A man sat cross-legged on the bench — eyes closed, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth.

We could use a spot like that. Maybe I could reserve the bouncy castle at the Urban Jungle for an hour a week. Meditation purposes.

The boardroom itself was high-end Toronto corporate. Six padded leather chairs around a solid mahogany table. Matching side-tables with brass lamps sat in the corners. On the walls hung what appeared to be a pair of originals — a Bertram Booker abstract and one of Alex Colville’s works.