it to will also
want to screw me over.”
What was it with men? She punted his ass
again for about the same yardage. Whatever. No matter who got the
package she'd also fix their wagon—they all had the same pathetic
weakness.
A pair of black airline slippers came out of
her leather bag and the noisy red pumps went in. The attention that
might have followed her here was no longer desirable. Still fuming,
Reis tucked her hair under a paisley scarf, belted Svoljsak's
gabardine over her bomber jacket and slipped the deadly jade
hairclip into a pocket.
Wind gusted into the unit when she opened the
door. It had come across Lake Ontario from New York State, an
easterly. The latch clicked behind her. She stepped from the
landing and walked silently through the parking lot and across the
road, another spirit in the night blown away by the breeze. There
might even be rain once the clouds slowed down.
CHAPTER
18
Wednesday, October
21st
“Want a ride, Mitch?” Fenn pulled up to the
curb and pushed open the passenger door, but his fare went to the
rear door first and shoved in the great bulk of a mailbag.
“Thanks, Chas.” The carrier shook the melting
sleet from his hat and tossed it on top of the bag. “I'm just
heading up to your building if you're going that way.”
Fenn had guessed as much. Mitchell Robinson,
third-generation postie, had two delivery runs and always started
the morning route at Fenn's apartment block. Even so, their paths
rarely crossed during the day.
“I see you're still wearing your shorts,”
Fenn said. “Refusing to give up summer?”
Underneath the waterproof cape, Mitch wore
regulation blue knee-length pants. “Maria said I looked like a
flasher in uniform; but I'm mostly doing indoor boxes these days
and lugging that bag around keeps me warm.”
“I imagine it does. Anything in it for
me—besides bills?”
“Actually,” said Mitch, “I think there is.”
He twisted between the seats to search among the small packages
that had been segregated from the flat mail.
“There you go.” He tucked a bubblepack
envelope into the space between Fenn’s seat and the center console.
Mitch was pretty sure it contained a compact disc but privacy was a
major legal issue in his trade so he reserved comment.
“Wonder what that is,” said Fenn, giving the
package a quick scan. “I don't remember ordering anything.”
The address was handwritten and there was no
return destination. Fenn tossed it onto the back seat.
“Mind it isn’t one of those ‘free’ Internet
trials that’ll charge your ass off with hidden fees.”
Fenn shot his friend a sideways glance.
“Speaking from experience?”
“Somewhat. They make it sound like such a
good deal but I canceled mine when I saw the first invoice.”
Mitch used his coat sleeve to wipe
condensation from the side window and peered out. Houses, trees,
people, and cars were splotches of colour that ran together and
blurred past. He turned back to Fenn and said, “Are you still
taking computer lessons?”
Fenn nodded. “I completed my second night
school course, last week, and I'll probably sign up for more in
January.”
“Preparing for a career change?”
“Possibly. A hard drive crash won’t put you
in the hospital.” Fenn flicked on the indicator and stopped the car
in front of his building.
Mitch slipped off the seatbelt. “Death by
novice, is that it?”
Fenn smiled at the phrase. “The students
aren't the problem. Nearly all accidents are caused by licenced
drivers. When you are on the road eight to ten hours a day, year
after year, it's only a matter of time before the odds catch up
with you. Speaking of poor odds, where's our darts match this
week?”
“We’re playing at The King's Head.” Mitch
went to the rear door. “Their team has a perfect record so
far.”
Fenn grinned. “Well. So does ours.”
“Yeah. But theirs is for wins. Our isn't.” He
slung the wide strap over his shoulder and pulled
want to screw me over.”
What was it with men? She punted his ass
again for about the same yardage. Whatever. No matter who got the
package she'd also fix their wagon—they all had the same pathetic
weakness.
A pair of black airline slippers came out of
her leather bag and the noisy red pumps went in. The attention that
might have followed her here was no longer desirable. Still fuming,
Reis tucked her hair under a paisley scarf, belted Svoljsak's
gabardine over her bomber jacket and slipped the deadly jade
hairclip into a pocket.
Wind gusted into the unit when she opened the
door. It had come across Lake Ontario from New York State, an
easterly. The latch clicked behind her. She stepped from the
landing and walked silently through the parking lot and across the
road, another spirit in the night blown away by the breeze. There
might even be rain once the clouds slowed down.
CHAPTER
18
Wednesday, October
21st
“Want a ride, Mitch?” Fenn pulled up to the
curb and pushed open the passenger door, but his fare went to the
rear door first and shoved in the great bulk of a mailbag.
“Thanks, Chas.” The carrier shook the melting
sleet from his hat and tossed it on top of the bag. “I'm just
heading up to your building if you're going that way.”
Fenn had guessed as much. Mitchell Robinson,
third-generation postie, had two delivery runs and always started
the morning route at Fenn's apartment block. Even so, their paths
rarely crossed during the day.
“I see you're still wearing your shorts,”
Fenn said. “Refusing to give up summer?”
Underneath the waterproof cape, Mitch wore
regulation blue knee-length pants. “Maria said I looked like a
flasher in uniform; but I'm mostly doing indoor boxes these days
and lugging that bag around keeps me warm.”
“I imagine it does. Anything in it for
me—besides bills?”
“Actually,” said Mitch, “I think there is.”
He twisted between the seats to search among the small packages
that had been segregated from the flat mail.
“There you go.” He tucked a bubblepack
envelope into the space between Fenn’s seat and the center console.
Mitch was pretty sure it contained a compact disc but privacy was a
major legal issue in his trade so he reserved comment.
“Wonder what that is,” said Fenn, giving the
package a quick scan. “I don't remember ordering anything.”
The address was handwritten and there was no
return destination. Fenn tossed it onto the back seat.
“Mind it isn’t one of those ‘free’ Internet
trials that’ll charge your ass off with hidden fees.”
Fenn shot his friend a sideways glance.
“Speaking from experience?”
“Somewhat. They make it sound like such a
good deal but I canceled mine when I saw the first invoice.”
Mitch used his coat sleeve to wipe
condensation from the side window and peered out. Houses, trees,
people, and cars were splotches of colour that ran together and
blurred past. He turned back to Fenn and said, “Are you still
taking computer lessons?”
Fenn nodded. “I completed my second night
school course, last week, and I'll probably sign up for more in
January.”
“Preparing for a career change?”
“Possibly. A hard drive crash won’t put you
in the hospital.” Fenn flicked on the indicator and stopped the car
in front of his building.
Mitch slipped off the seatbelt. “Death by
novice, is that it?”
Fenn smiled at the phrase. “The students
aren't the problem. Nearly all accidents are caused by licenced
drivers. When you are on the road eight to ten hours a day, year
after year, it's only a matter of time before the odds catch up
with you. Speaking of poor odds, where's our darts match this
week?”
“We’re playing at The King's Head.” Mitch
went to the rear door. “Their team has a perfect record so
far.”
Fenn grinned. “Well. So does ours.”
“Yeah. But theirs is for wins. Our isn't.” He
slung the wide strap over his shoulder and pulled
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