Hazardous Goods aatd-1

by John Mackie

  “Hah!”

  “Wild, huh?” John seemed to know more about Arcane’s customers than most accountants.

  “I must say it never occurred to me that a — uh-.”

  “Strip joint.” Kara was laughing at me. Oh, the shame of it.

  “A strip joint would have need for our services. Yeah.”

  “Potions and incense. They tried it three years ago, for “feature nights”. Saw a thirty percent increase in revenues that month.”

  I smirked. “You seem to know a lot about the business, big guy.”

  Now it was the accountant’s turn to blush. “Well, as it happens, they’re one of our clients too.”

  After lunch, Kara and I sat down to go over the backlog for the rest of the day. Pickups north of the city, and a couple drops downtown. She had set it up so I could dodge the rush hour traffic and still have some time to meet with the folks at Sun Consulting. Harold was off to the airport again for the afternoon drops. He seemed to prefer that route, and he was getting no complaints from me.

  As we wrapped up, another of Arcane’s employees strolled into the lunch room.

  “Hey, it’s the new guy.”

  Jamar Bailey helped out on deliveries two or three afternoons a week, depending on Arcane’s workload and his class schedule. He was a third year Commerce major at U of T, and a classmate of Clay’s nephew Willis. One smart cookie. He was also one of those black guys who seems to develop six pack abs just lying on the sofa. My six pack was looking more like a keg these days.

  “Hey.”

  “So.” He pulled up a fourth chair and dropped into it. “Where has the lovely Miss Kara got me going today?”

  She fluttered her eyelashes, and spoke like a Southern belle. “Well, how does a drive out to cottage country sound?”

  Kara’s trip for Jamar involved a ninety minute drive up to Orillia, a retirement community of forty thousand residents that served as the gateway to cottage country. My experience with Orillia was limited to losing two hundred bucks at the local casino, so Jamar was welcome to the trip. Besides, he wasn’t even going to Orillia, at least not the city proper. The delivery was to some four-corners town a little to the East of there.

  I spent the afternoon working deliveries. Nothing unusual, though I did take a wrong turn and end up lost in Bloor West Village. It took three U-turns before I figured out where I was, a moment of panic that almost spelled the end of my new “lucky” coin. But I held off on lobbing it down an open sewer. The coin was on probation.

  It was just past three when I arrived at Sun Consulting, having ridden up the same elevator Clay had collapsed in.

  The friendly receptionist was at the front desk again, and a look of sympathy crossed her face as soon as I stepped off the elevator. We spoke for a few moments, commiserating about the situation and briefly discussing Clay’s health.

  Helen Findlay turned out to be a tall slim lady with a sincere smile. She could have taught many an executive some lessons about courtesy and demeanor.

  She also knew how to dress. My Aunt Nicolette had been a real clothes-hound, and Ted and I had learned more from her about clothing (men’s and women’s) than we ever wanted to know. So while another guy would have seen a simple suit, black jacket and matching pencil skirt, I could recognize a Versace outfit when I saw it. Cut right below the knee, to show her slim calves. Black Manolo Blahnik pumps and a diamond pendant necklace topped off the look.

  It turned out she was one of the four principals at Sun, which explained the clothes. It also meant that she likely made more money in a year than Ted and I had made since graduation. Then again, the twelve year old who delivers my paper in the morning makes more money than Ted.

  After asking about Clay, Helen led the way to her corner office. The view was terrific, the Canada Life building with its unique weather beacon tower standing out. I wondered if an office that big had its own weather patterns.

  She offered me a seat, then settled into a high-backed leather chair.

  I took a breath, then came out with it. “I am terribly sorry about this incident.”

  “No, no. Not your fault. In fact, we think we’ve figured out how the thief knew about the delivery.”

  That was another question that had been nagging at me.

  “Turns out someone managed to hack into our mailroom records over the weekend. We wouldn’t have even noticed, if Emory hadn’t suggested that our I.T. group do a system security audit after the robbery.” Emory was the Senior Partner.

  “Really? That guy didn’t seem like the hacking type.”

  “So I hear. Which makes us think he wasn’t acting on his own.”

  Huh. I thought about that. The robbery had definitely been planned in advance.

  “Well, listen — Clay wanted me to ask you if the package was replaceable, and whether there was anything we could do to help in recovering it.”

  “To be honest, we had to do a bit of running around to even figure out what it was. Fortunately, Emory reminded me that we loan out one of our assets several times a year, to help out people in need. Private arrangements.”

  I waited for her to continue, but it quickly became evident that Sun Consulting valued its privacy.

  “Was it anything dangerous?” What the hell. I should at least find out if some lunatic had stolen the magic equivalent of a tactical nuke.

  “Dangerous?” She turned slightly in her chair and gazed for a moment out the window, deep in thought. “No. I mean, we don’t think of our assets in that way. We use that one to help locate ore deposits. You can use it to find things, essentially. It’s a dowsing device.”

  I tried to look in the know, but I suspect I failed.

  “Relatively narrow range and sensitivity, even in the hands of an experienced diviner. And it’s not suitable for extended use. When it was returned, we would normally have placed the asset in storage for three to six months before accessing it again.”

  “Any chance that the party you were delivering it to decided they preferred ownership over a loan?”

  “No. Not likely. If anything, they are the ones most hurt by this. Not having the asset just leaves them in limbo.”

  I felt like I was talking to some Oracle who would guide my way, but only in cryptic phrases and indirect hints.

  “So, how can we help?”

  They were the customer, after all.

  “At this point, I’m not sure you can do anything. We’re looking into the security breach, but it’s not likely to go anywhere. Let us know if you hear anything, and we’ll keep our ears to the ground. Unfortunately, I suspect it’s gone.”

  The rest of day two was uneventful, at least as compared to my first day on the job. The exception was Jamar lucking out at the antique shop that was his northern destination. I returned to the office to find him showing Kara a ring he had been given by one of the customers. The store owner hadn’t seemed interested in it, so the lady had just offered it to Jamar. For free.

  I get robbed at gunpoint, and people were handing out gifts to Jamar. Typical.

  “What’s the stone? Onyx?”

  Kara gave me a funny look.

  “It’s my brother’s birthstone. Don’t ask.”

  “Huh.” Kara held Jamar’s hand in her own, then drew it closer, squinting to see something stamped or engraved on the face of the ring. “What does it say?”

  “Dunno. It’s not in English.”

  I leaned in. “It says ‘Toronto Maple Leafs. Stanley Cup Champions’.”

  Kara gave me a shot to the arm and I laughed. But when her attention turned back to the ring, I casually rubbed my shoulder, wincing.

  One of the things I had resolved to deal with before leaving for the day was touching base with a few key people about Clay, and reassuring them it would be business as usual. Kara had set up a list of names and contact numbers, so I started working through them after Jamar was finished showing off his new find.

  Arcane had a few big accounts that I dealt with first. N
o issues there, though every one of them expressed concern about Clay’s health. Next up was Arcane’s bank. That was the one I was dreading the most. Nothing logical. Hell, Arcane had no debt, cash in the bank and an unused line of credit for slow periods. They were big customers for the local RBC branch. But I had my own history with banks — student loans and credit cards. I still got nauseous every time I got a piece of mail with a bank logo on it.

  As it turned out, it was the second friendliest conversation I had ever had with a banker in my life. The first was the reference call I had put into the branch after I first spoke to Clay, when the branch manager spoke of Arcane as though Warren Buffett was a backer of the company. This time, the account manager ran me through Arcane’s various accounts, the bank’s cheque clearing practices, online account access, etc. Kara was going to tutor me on the online banking later in the week, but it was still a helpful overview.

  Last but far from least I needed to sit down with each of the employees, to make sure no one was panicking. I spoke with Jim and Harold after each returned from their routes, and they were exactly as expected. Concerned for Clay, happy that business would continue as usual, no problems with “reporting” to me. The reality was that I would be hands off unless there were any problems. Why rock a steady boat.

  I caught up with Jamar next, as he was packing for an evening class.

  “Listen, with Clay being in the hospital — if you have any questions or concerns, just let me know.”

  “Nah. It’s OK. I mean, it sounds like Clay will be OK.”

  “Yeah, I think so. So, you’ve been working three days a week?”

  “Full days on Thursday and Friday, and a half-day on Tuesday.”

  “Is that working out for you?”

  “Yeah. It’s been great. Helps pay for my rent and expenses. But listen, if you need to cut back my hours with Clay out and all-.”

  “No, no. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t too much with your course load.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Wow. You’re a workhorse, man. I had problems just getting out of bed when I was in college.”

  “I know what you mean. First two years were like that, but it’s started to settle down.”

  “Good. Well, if you want to change anything, let me know.”

  “Great.” He seemed relieved, something I could identify with as a former student. I needed to work part-time just to cover my beer and wings expenses.

  “You think Clay’ll be back anytime soon?”

  The million-dollar question.

  “I don’t know. Harper said they expect it will take a month or two for him to recover. But my sense is that she wanted Clay to cut back a bit anyways.”

  “Yeah, Clay used to say that too. Frankly, we were getting a little worried about what would happen if he did cut back. Or up and retired. With you coming in as his partner, I think you’ll find people are a bit relieved.”

  “Well, things are moving faster than either of us expected. But I’d like to stick with things as is, at least for now. When things calm down, we can talk a bit about the future. Clay said you’re doing your Masters at U of T next year?”

  “Yeah. I may even do my doctorate here, if I can get the funding for a project I’m working on.”

  “Well, by next week you may want to shoot me. But if I don’t drive you nuts… ”

  “Thanks Donnie. I really appreciate it.”

  Kara was next. Jamar agreed to hang on for a few minutes at Dispatch while she and I talked.

  “Everything OK up front?”

  “Yeah. I mean, everyone’s concerned about Clay. We already had a few bouquets come in. It’s a small community, and everyone is real supportive.”

  “OK. Well, if you need to ask me anything, fire away. I mean, chances are it’ll be me asking you, but-.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So Clay was telling me that you’ve been here for four years?”

  “Four years last January. I graduated from Sheridan, worked in their admin group for two years, then Clay found me.”

  We chatted for awhile, and I told her a bit about my own background. Marketing in a public software company. About as different from Arcane as you could get.

  “What was that like?”

  “Egos and testosterone.”

  “Sounds like Chad’s place. He works in investment banking.”

  The boyfriend was a banker. Figured.

  “Yup. Guys hovering over you while you try to finish that rush job at midnight.”

  “Oh, God. I can’t imagine. I mean, we can get really busy here, but at least we try to keep it civil.”

  “I’ve noticed. It’s a nice change.”

  “Yeah. It’s weird. I mean, we’re a courier company, but I feel like we make a difference.”

  That thought stayed with me as I drove home. It was a great company. Lord help me if I screwed it up.

  CHAPTER 5

  I went straight home after work. I had debated staying late to catch up further, but I was exhausted, and my head was throbbing from all the driving.

  Just inside the apartment, I encountered a smell that made me think of forensic labs and bottle flies. For just a moment, I was worried — genuinely worried — about Ted. Had he lain in the apartment, unconscious in his own vomit after a liquid lunch in Chinatown? Was he sprawled in the bathroom, having slipped on the tiles and cracked his skull?

  Then I spotted the source of the stench.

  “Move your goddamned equipment!”

  Hockey bag, goalie pads, chest protector, jock. Ted may as well have butchered three skunks with a blunt axe on the faux marble linoleum.

  “Love you, too.”

  “Asshole.” I kicked the blocker aside and entered the kitchen, grabbing a slice from an open box of pizza, Ted’s contribution to the week’s grocery bill. Cold soda, and a handful of Tylenol from the bottle on top of the fridge.

  “You couldn’t leave your equipment in the car?”

  “What? No way. You ever smell it after the bag’s been in there overnight?”

  I stared at him, a dull pounding in my temple building to a roar.

  “What?”

  “You can smell that shit in the hallway. Have you seen Mr. Kenesky?” Oleg Kenesky was the building superintendent. His body was solid granite, formed in the cold winters of Krakow, Poland.

  “Move it outside.”

  “OK, OK. What’re you doing home, anyways? They fire your ass?”

  “Right.”

  As Ted gathered his odorous collection, I emptied my pockets on the side table by the front door. Keys, wallet, cell, and… Oh yeah. Lucky coin. I held the coin up to the light and took another look at it.

  “What’s that?”

  I flipped the coin to him like a bottle cap.

  “Some coin they had in the Lost and Found at work. Thought it might be lucky.”

  “Huh. Cool.” He flipped the coin back, and I dropped it on the table.

  Then I took my traditional evening position in front of the TV set, remote in hand. Flip. Cartoon. Flip. Paid advertisement for a new vacuum cleaner. Might have to switch over to the computer. Flip. Flip. Flip. Stop. The news.

  “In Business news, Ruscan Industries CEO Maxim Legenko appeared in court today at his preliminary enquiry, escorted by defense lawyer James Whitebridge. By Mr. Legenko’s side was his wife Elena Legenko, Chairman of Ruscan Industries and the Company’s controlling shareholder-.”

  “Please turn it. Anything but the news.”

  I tapped my thumb on the channel button, but continued to listen. It was a secret pleasure for me, watching the high-and-mighty fall into the muck. I’d followed Legenko’s case for the past six months.

  “- as an ashen-faced Legenko sat quietly, Crown Prosecutor Barbara Moodie reviewed-.”

  “Please!”

  “Give it a rest. I just want to see this one story.” I nudged the volume up, trying to ignore Ted’s groaning.

  “Prosecutors allege that L
egenko embezzled $18 million through payments to offshore holding companies without the knowledge or approval of Ruscan Industries’ Board of Directors. Sordid details about Legenko’s spending during his tenure as Ruscan CEO, including private use of a company plane for vacations in Thailand and Bali and allegations of the use of company funds to pay for the services of high priced escorts for visiting dignitaries-.”

  I noticed Ted had stopped with the sighs and was paying attention now. Put “$18 million” and “high priced escorts” in a story, and you would definitely get my brother’s attention.

  “Did they say his wife owns the company?”

  “Biggest shareholder.”

  “Guy’s got a massive set, huh? Using company money to pay for hookers when his wife owns the place?”

  I nodded in agreement. The on-screen image shifted from the news anchor to an image of the courtroom steps, with Legenko and his counsel surrounded by a wall of microphones and screaming reporters. Legenko looked like he was going to be sick, his stock brazen glare replaced by a deer-in-the-headlights look. His counsel was a decidedly unattractive man, comb-over blowing in the wind, bulging eyes and a sneer of a mouth. At his other side stood Legenko’s wife, a statuesque brunette who had modeled for several years before using her fame and fortune to establish a global real estate development conglomerate. The rest of the small entourage was made up of a tall crew cut fellow with “security” written all over him, a female lawyer dragging a massive briefcase on a trolley, and one guy who looked a little out of place.

  “That’s his wife? Maybe she’ll need some company when hubby’s in jail.”

  “Hmph.” She was hot. But something else had caught my eye.

  “What the…?” I squinted at the screen and pointed. “That’s the idiot that robbed us!”

  “What?” Ted had a goofy grin on his face, but it disappeared pretty fast when he saw I wasn’t laughing. “Which guy?”

  “That guy!” I stumbled over the side table and stabbed at the image on the screen. Up close I could see it was him, same massive frame, same jacket, same greasy hair, same broken nose. He stood to Legenko’s left, just behind the security guy. A lit cigarette dangled from his lip.