the foot of one of these, in the middle of a small plaza, a tourist is leaning backwards, trying to comprehend – it would seem – the scale of the massive object before him. This is the Tyler Building, home to Paradime Capital. The next building along has a similar plaza in front of it with a fountain at its centre. I keep walking, and, as I get closer to the fountain, the sound of its gushing water gradually emerges from the blanket roar of the traffic.
I sit on the edge of the fountain and remain there for about an hour, watching people enter and exit the Tyler Building, way too many to track. But it’s not as if I really expect to see Teddy Trager in person. Chances are, in any case, that even if he comes here, spends any time here at all, he enters through the underground parking lot. But I want to get a feel for the place, to see the kinds of people who frequent it. And most of them, of course, are what you’d expect, just ordinary people who work in a big, impersonal office building.
Eventually, I stand up, check the time, and head off to work myself.
I do this again the next day, and again the day after that. On the fourth day, I’m sitting at the fountain, crouched over, doing something with my phone, not really paying attention, and when I look up, there he is, standing at the kerb doing something with his phone. He’s next to a parked limo, which it looks like he just got out of. After a moment, he puts his phone away and walks towards the entrance to the building.
I stand up now and watch him as he moves across the plaza. I check the time on my phone.
Through all of this, I remain calm, but as I’m walking to work afterwards I realise something. I’m excited. I’m energised. And as the day progresses, I can think of little else.
The next morning, Trager arrives at the same time, in the same way, and I feel as if I have cracked some sort of code. But it’s all very quick and fleeting, so the day after that I decide to try and get a closer look at him. I position myself, wait for the limo to appear and then move slowly along the sidewalk, passing by just as the driver is opening the door to let Trager out. I catch a glimpse of the car’s interior, a flash of mahogany and leather, a glint of crystal maybe. A few quick steps on, I stop and take my phone out. I pretend to be answering a call, and casually turn around. Trager is doing the same thing, talking on his phone, just standing there . . . the two of us just standing there, eight, ten feet apart, people passing in either direction.
‘Look, that’s not my concern,’ Trager is saying, a sudden boom to his voice. ‘Just arrange it.’
There almost seems to be an aura around him. I know it’s probably my imagination, or the position of the sun or something, but everything has a shimmer to it, an intensity – his suit, his shirt collar, his leather shoes. And I can practically smell his cologne. In a sort of trance, I watch as he puts his phone away and moves off the sidewalk and onto the plaza.
After a few seconds, I turn and look the other way. The limo driver is still there. He’s at his door, on the street side, ready to get back in the car. He glances over the roof in my direction. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I register something, the merest flicker of . . . recognition, puzzlement, I’m not sure.
And then he’s gone.
*
Later, at work, I tell Stanley I need a few days off. It’s out of the blue and I don’t frame it as a request, which clearly rankles, but just as he’s about to read me the riot act, something stops him. I don’t know what it is, a sudden realisation that he can use this to get rid of me? Maybe. In any case, he shrugs, and says, ‘Okay.’
I tell him thanks, that I appreciate it.
‘Whatever,’ he says, and adds, fuck-you style, ‘there’s plenty of cover available out there, you know.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Stanley,’ I say dismissively, in my best Teddy Trager voice.
This confuses
I sit on the edge of the fountain and remain there for about an hour, watching people enter and exit the Tyler Building, way too many to track. But it’s not as if I really expect to see Teddy Trager in person. Chances are, in any case, that even if he comes here, spends any time here at all, he enters through the underground parking lot. But I want to get a feel for the place, to see the kinds of people who frequent it. And most of them, of course, are what you’d expect, just ordinary people who work in a big, impersonal office building.
Eventually, I stand up, check the time, and head off to work myself.
I do this again the next day, and again the day after that. On the fourth day, I’m sitting at the fountain, crouched over, doing something with my phone, not really paying attention, and when I look up, there he is, standing at the kerb doing something with his phone. He’s next to a parked limo, which it looks like he just got out of. After a moment, he puts his phone away and walks towards the entrance to the building.
I stand up now and watch him as he moves across the plaza. I check the time on my phone.
Through all of this, I remain calm, but as I’m walking to work afterwards I realise something. I’m excited. I’m energised. And as the day progresses, I can think of little else.
The next morning, Trager arrives at the same time, in the same way, and I feel as if I have cracked some sort of code. But it’s all very quick and fleeting, so the day after that I decide to try and get a closer look at him. I position myself, wait for the limo to appear and then move slowly along the sidewalk, passing by just as the driver is opening the door to let Trager out. I catch a glimpse of the car’s interior, a flash of mahogany and leather, a glint of crystal maybe. A few quick steps on, I stop and take my phone out. I pretend to be answering a call, and casually turn around. Trager is doing the same thing, talking on his phone, just standing there . . . the two of us just standing there, eight, ten feet apart, people passing in either direction.
‘Look, that’s not my concern,’ Trager is saying, a sudden boom to his voice. ‘Just arrange it.’
There almost seems to be an aura around him. I know it’s probably my imagination, or the position of the sun or something, but everything has a shimmer to it, an intensity – his suit, his shirt collar, his leather shoes. And I can practically smell his cologne. In a sort of trance, I watch as he puts his phone away and moves off the sidewalk and onto the plaza.
After a few seconds, I turn and look the other way. The limo driver is still there. He’s at his door, on the street side, ready to get back in the car. He glances over the roof in my direction. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I register something, the merest flicker of . . . recognition, puzzlement, I’m not sure.
And then he’s gone.
*
Later, at work, I tell Stanley I need a few days off. It’s out of the blue and I don’t frame it as a request, which clearly rankles, but just as he’s about to read me the riot act, something stops him. I don’t know what it is, a sudden realisation that he can use this to get rid of me? Maybe. In any case, he shrugs, and says, ‘Okay.’
I tell him thanks, that I appreciate it.
‘Whatever,’ he says, and adds, fuck-you style, ‘there’s plenty of cover available out there, you know.’
‘I’m well aware of that, Stanley,’ I say dismissively, in my best Teddy Trager voice.
This confuses
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