Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport)

by John Mackie

  “It seems that this stone was found in a coat owned by your ex-husband. A coat that was left with us to deliver to his shop. Unfortunately, delivery was never completed, and we’ve had it in our storage room for some time now.”

  Her cheeks were flushing a blotchy red and white, and her eyes had widened to the point that I could see white above and below the light blue iris of each.

  “Last week we were moving some items off-site,” (a bit of embellishment on my part). “When one of our staff made to pack the coat away, we had a rather strange incident.”

  “Oh Lord, no one was hurt, were they?”

  It was almost comical, how she blurted it out. It was like a bad Jerry Springer episode, with LaWanda revealing she had slept with Cletus the night that Ricky Bob’s truck stalled at the town carnival.

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Thank God.” Her shoulders sagged, and I flinched as a massive calico cat hurled itself from a hiding place on one of the shelves, landing with a thump on the back of her chair. She picked up the cat, stroked its back and scrubbed the fur behind its ears while the big bugger stared at me with suspicious eyes. I tried not to make eye contact.

  “Why was it never delivered?”

  “We tried, apparently. But the receptionist at the time,” I pretended to refer to my notes, “Ms. Dianne Morgan, would not accept the package. Said it wasn’t theirs.”

  “That lying bitch!” The cat sprung from her lap, knocking over a pile of texts and hurtling down the hall. “She knew damned well it was his coat.”

  And she was off to the races.

  “I just wanted to scare that S.O.B. Fifteen years of marriage, me setting up his store, hunting the province for garage sales, estate auctions. Then one day his coat is delivered to the house by a bellhop from the Royal York. Says my husband must have left it the other night when he attended a client dinner. Remind me again what night that was, I said. Last Thursday. Well, that Thursday he and I had lunch at the King Eddy. It was our anniversary. It was also the night he called to say he would be staying late at the shop. An estate valuation. Didn’t come home until past midnight. How stupid did he think I was?”

  I sat silent, well aware of the risk that anything I might say would cause her ire to be directed at me.

  “So I spent the next three days scouring through old texts in my collection. Looking for a spell that seemed innocuous enough to make my point without killing the cheating bastard. Found it, cast it, placed the stone in his jacket and dropped it in your night slot. I had worked with Bernie in the earlier years, and remembered your outfit. But you say it was never delivered?”

  “No. We tried, but she wouldn’t accept the package. Claimed she didn’t recognize the coat.”

  “Well she should have, the skank.” Jesus. Remind me never to anger an English woman. “She was sleeping with my bloody husband.”

  Still is, I thought to myself.

  “Well, unfortunately he never received the gift. But a few of my employees got a bit of a scare when we found the coat.”

  “Oh I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone, other than that son of a bitch. I hope nothing horrible occurred?”

  “No, nothing major.”

  “And you’ve broken the spell since?”

  “Actually, no. We’ve tried to, but it appears to still be active. Just happens that it doesn’t work with me, for some reason.”

  “How odd.” She seemed to be puzzling something out, her thumb stroking the underside of her chin. “But, that was several years ago. I would have thought the spell would have dissipated over that time.”

  “Well, that’s the other reason I’m here. I wanted to confirm the source of the spell, just to make sure there wasn’t something we needed to worry about. And I was also hoping to get a copy of the spell, to see if one of our contacts could deactivate the thing.”

  “Yes, well that seems sensible, doesn’t it.” She stood and brushed fur off her lap. “I’m fairly sure I can find you the text. Just a moment.” Her voice trailed off as she left the room, heading to the back of the apartment.

  I decided not to follow, out of fear that there would be even less space in the back rooms. Instead I glanced at titles, trying to see what a lady such as this would be interested in. American Book Prices 1991. Architectural Record 1946. A collection of old Dr. Seuss books. Illuminated Manuscripts of Medieval Spain. Was there any sense to this collection?

  “Here we are. Weller on Voodoo and Witchcraft. I’ve placed a bookmark at the relevant page.”

  “Do you mind if I borrow it?”

  “Not at all. I’ve come to accept that many of my books will never find proper homes. Since the Bastard left, I’ve been trickling them out over eBay, but I find my heart isn’t in it. Books are meant to be touched, held, read. Selling them over the Internet just seems so gauche.”

  “We’ll return it shortly.”

  “Thank you. And my apologies to your staff people. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  “No problem. I guess your husband’s lucky he didn’t take receipt of the package.”

  “Oh, he’s lucky alright. The way he treats people, it’s unbelievable.”

  Awkward. I didn’t know the lady, but I could feel the anger at her ex-husband emanating off her like heat off an element.

  “It certainly sounds like he treated you poorly.”

  “Oh yes. I hope he at least treats you and your staff with some courtesy?”

  “Oh sure.” Other than being a bit of a jerk. “Be nice if we could get him to pay his bills on time, but I guess business is tough all around.”

  At that she snorted, then clutched my arm and looked me right in the eye.

  “Business is not tough for Bernie. Never has been. He has one of the most profitable shops around. The fact is, he stretches payment every time he can get away with it. It’s the way he does business – scratches and claws for every advantage he can get.”

  Sol seemed so excited by the Weller book that I left it with him, on the understanding that Veronica Galt would hunt both of us down if anything happened to it. He promised to take good care of it, and was handling it so gently I figured he was telling the truth.

  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.”

  CHAPTER 26

  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 thum
bs 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.

  “So,” I teased open the box, “I hope I haven’t gotten your expectations up for nothing.”

  I pulled the item from the box, unwrapped it from the multiple layers of bubble wrap Kara had insisted on using, and handed it to her. So far so good. She didn’t proclaim me an idiot and swing it at my head, anyways.

  “Far from it.”

  “Does it look OK? Any damage?”

  She rotated the cube in her hands, holding it to the light.

  “Well, we won’t know for sure until we use it, but it seems to be in good condition.” Turning, she laid the item on one of the side tables and punched a button on the conference room phone.

  “Clair? Would you please ask Emory to come to the Conestoga Room?” Conestoga. Everywhere you go in Ontario you will find references to the native tribes that once dotted the shores of the Great Lakes. Not clear to me whether we were showing respect for those who came before us, or touting our claim over their lands.

  The response from Reception was unintelligible, much like the order taker at a fast-food drive through.

  She turned from the phone and offered me a drink. “Coffee? Tea?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “OK.” She grasped the item again, as though unable to leave it sitting for more than a moment. “Please, take a seat.”

  I pulled a chair out and sat when she did.

  “So, Don. Do you mind if I call you Don, or do you prefer—.”

  “Don’s fine.”

  “Don, then. Anything we should know about how you recovered our package?”

  I glanced at her hands, both palms resting on the table on either side of the cube. Long slim fingers tipped with ruby red nails. Not a grain of dirt under those nails, that I could see.

  “Nothing illegal, if that’s what you’re worried about. As it happens, I was able to convince the thief to return it.”

  “Really? Anything that’s going to come back to bite us?”

  “You? No, I can’t see it. I can’t promise they won’t try to steal it again, but I don’t see this as personal for you or your fi
rm.”

  “Good.”

  I turned to find Mr. Meditation standing behind me.

  “Don Elder, meet Emory Quinn, our Senior Partner.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you.”

  “Good to meet you. Goodness, is that—?” He reached out and Helen Findlay passed it to him.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “Let’s take a look.” He moved to the head of the table and set the cube down, taking a seat before it. Disconnecting the pendulum from the plastic insert, he let it dangle, then took a few deep breaths. As I watched, he seemed to enter the same fugue state I had observed in the adjoining atrium.

  Then the pendulum began to move.

  Not in the swaying, metronomic way I have seen pendulums move in the past. Instead in a jerky manner, moving to the left, then jerking forward, then back, then forward again. This continued for a few minutes, with the pendulum moving as though directed by a finger. Then it stopped, and Quinn opened his eyes.

  “Good! It seems to be just fine. This is a very pleasant surprise, Mr. Elder.” He spoke next to Helen. “It’s definitely been used. We’ll need to put it back in storage. Have they been able to make use of the other object we provided?”

  “Yes. Sounds like it has worked well for them.”

  “Excellent.”

  “So, Don. I have a feeling you went well out of your way for us.”

  “For Clay too. Can’t say either of us took too kindly to being mugged.”

  “No, I imagine not. How is Clay doing, by the way?”

  “Good. He’s back in the hospital for some tests, but the doctors seem confident he’s through all of the rough stuff.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  I looked at the two of them, obviously happy at my success in regaining the cube. Should I tell them about Ruscan? Part of me thought it was better to just move on. But part of me felt they should know.

  “Listen, can I tell you something in confidence?”

  Quinn glanced at Helen, then back at me.

  “Absolutely.”

  I pulled the photos from the envelope I had stuffed in my back pocket, laying them out in front of them.