~~~~~
The day that was supposed to be Kastner’s last was cold but bright. As he walked through the massive glass doors of the art gallery, Kastner turned over in his head the words he should have said to Marina but didn’t: Don’t think for a second that your little routine worked on me. You’re just doing your job, and I’m just doing mine. That’s all. But hadn't said it because he didn’t exactly mean it ... not entirely.
Kastner walked casually, the briefcase gripped firmly in his hand. He studied his surroundings while pretending to take in the art. He knew the building well. From the outside, the gallery was a big block of glass and concrete that looked like an overgrown box of tissues. Inside, long white walls lined with framed paintings extended above polished floors. But it was the people he was interested in — mostly suit-and-tie types, with the occasional bearded hipster moving quietly from piece to piece at a pace that was half that of a normal person. He could see nothing out of the ordinary for this time of day.
He ascended the spiral staircase in the middle of the building. His meetings with the woman always took place on the third floor. He checked his watch as he climbed: five minutes before 1 o’clock. He made his way to the same wooden bench he sat on so many times before, in one of the corners near the window. Sunlight shown through the glass, reflecting off the white walls. The bench was facing a sculpture that looked like something a child in pre-school would make; this was the "Abstract Art" section of the galley. Abstract art was an oxymoron as far as Kastner was concerned, kind of like brilliant fool but worse, since so many fools took this type of art seriously.
He took a seat on the bench, placing the briefcase on the ground in an upright position so that it leaned against his foot. The bench was warm on account of the sunbaked window, but Kastner kept his coat on and his hat perched low on his head. He looked at his watch: one minute before 1 o’clock. He took another glance at the garbage pile of awkwardly stacked tin cans that was supposed to be a sculpture, trying not to laugh at the sight of it. If he really were to die in 10 minutes time, it would be better than having to sit there any longer.
Kastner heard the sharp click-clack of footsteps and turned his head slightly at the sound. It was the woman; he recognized the long dark hair falling over her shoulders, the bright red lipstick, and the dark sunglasses. She wore a long black coat with matching leather gloves and high-heeled boots. As always, she carried with her a briefcase identical to his own; he had the merchandise, she had the payment, and the only thing left to do was make the switch.
The woman sat down beside him and placed her briefcase next to his own so that they were touching. "Good to see you, Kastner," she said quietly, glancing at him for only a moment before looking straight ahead.
"Good to see you, too," Kastner replied, his eyes looking past her as if they were strangers. "I opened the present for you. It works fine."
"Excellent, thank you." There was a hint of satisfaction on her face. She was a woman in her forties, the lines on her face not yet deep, but visible. "I’m sorry for asking you to do that," she whispered. "The man in the white hat told me it was special, but he wouldn’t say anything more than that. That’s never happened before."
Two men in suits passed casually beside them, and Kastner lowered his voice: "You won’t regret the purchase, ma'am. I guarantee it."
"Good," she said and almost smiled. "I’m sorry to see you go, Kastner. You were the best."
"It’s been a pleasure."
"It has. I wish you the best."
At that moment, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and they both turned instantly. It was a young girl in a tight pink sweater and jeans, her red hair tied back in a ponytail. "Oh! What a great piece," she almost shrieked with excitement as she approached the tin-can sculpture. "It’s so cute ... looks like two pigs kissing, doesn’t it?" She looked at the woman and Kastner as if expecting an answer. Kastner ignored her but the woman nodded and smiled, the same way you smile at someone’s annoying child.
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," the girl said in her high-pitched voice, "but would you happen to know where the coffee shop is? I’m meeting a friend there, and I’ve been looking for the place for, like, half an hour." It was great, the childish act she put on. It was believable. "You see," she continued, "I’m from out of town and my friend told me to meet her here, only not here exactly. At the coffee shop, it’s just that I can’t seem to find it." She smiled an innocent lost-in-the-big-city smile.
The woman leaned forward. "Sure dear, the coffee shop is on the ground floor." She pointed to the staircase. Kastner stood and picked up the briefcase, leaving the other behind.
"On the ground floor? Oh, but I’ve been there already, and I didn’t see anything ..." the girl sighed, puppy-dog eyes glimmering.
"It’s at the far end, dear, right by the restrooms."
The girl stood still for a moment, thinking it over. Then she jumped, as if a light bulb went off inside her head. She thanked the woman before hurrying off. Kastner glanced at the woman one last time, bowed his head slightly, then took off the other way. The woman would wait for him to disappear before leaving herself. He headed for the back of the building, descended to the ground floor, then stepped out into the daylight. The time was 1:07.
Fiction Vortex - August 2013 Page 7
