Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport) (23 page)

“What’s your name?”

“T—toby. Toby Barnes.”

“Well, nice to meet you, T—toby.” It was not particularly nice of me to imitate his stutter, but I was in no mood to be nice.

“Tell me about yourself. Better yet, you got some ID on you?”

“Y—yeah.”

“Hand it over.”

That got his attention. I let him fumble in his front pocket, then watched as he pulled out a grimy brown leather wallet with a zipper. Moments later I had his Health Card in my hand.

“OK, T-—toby Barnes of Kenilworth Ave. What is that, off the Beaches?”

He nodded.

“Your parent’s place?”

“Mom’s.”

“And where would you be resting your weary head these days?”

“Covenant House, mostly.”

“Gerrard Street, off Yonge?”

He nodded.

Covenant House was the largest youth shelter in Toronto. With nighttime temperatures between 20 and 50 degrees Fahrenheit from the end of September to the beginning of May, sleeping outdoors in Toronto was a death sentence for the thousands of kids living in the streets. Runaways, abused kids, those without work – the numbers kept growing. Places like Covenant House were a lifeline for kids like Toby Barnes.

“You got a phone?”

“Yeah.” He showed me a cellphone tucked into his waistband.

“Let me see the number.”

He told me the number, but I insisted on checking the screen.

“OK, T—Toby,” I flipped his Health Card into his lap. “Thank you for being such a help. Now – here’s the deal.”

I pulled my own wallet out, and after a moment of thought, handed him a twenty.

“If I hear you spent this on booze or drugs, I’m going to pound your ass.” I lifted his chin to make sure he saw I was serious. “Now, I may need to call you from time to time – ask you to keep your ear to the ground.”

I thought about it, then handed him another ten bucks.

“For a calling card. If I call, you answer. If I ask you to meet, we meet. You understand?”

T—Toby looked at the cash in his hands. Probably as much money as he might see on his best day working squeegee.

“Yes.”

“Alright kid. Get outta here. Find a roof before it gets too dark.”

The incident with the punk rock trio settled it for me. It was time to have a chat with Niki and the Legenkos.

This time I didn’t stop at the park bench. I parked just off St. Clair and marched over to the Ruscan Industries offices. Straight up the front stairs and through the doors into the reception area.

What looked impressive outside looked even more so inside. The entrance opened out into a large two story atrium, bracketed by a mezzanine accessed by a central staircase. Front and centre was a semicircular reception desk the size of a small coffee shop, manned by a single receptionist. On either side, under the overhang of the mezzanine, was an actual coffee shop with a display of pastries and fruit, and on the other side, a series of seating areas – boxy leather sofas and reclining chairs, the leather an olive color, with rosewood frames and arms.

Seemed appearances were important at Ruscan.

I also spotted out of the corner of my eye a private security guard, leaning nonchalantly against one of the floor to ceiling columns. He was chatting on a cell phone, but he nodded his head when we made eye contact. Great.

Start from the beginning, I thought. I turned to the receptionist, who struck me as one of those professionals who have a way of listening that makes you think of plastic. Face and body set in posture and expression, the look one of rapt, pleased attention.

“I’m here to see Maxim Legenko.”

She paused, looking at me, but I felt like being difficult.

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Legenko is on leave. Is this a leasing matter, or... ?”

Made sense. Guess it’s a bit hard to continue as CEO of a public company when you’re the subject of an ongoing criminal trial.

“How about Elena Legenko? Is she in?”

It was amazing. No change in facial expression at all. She could have been a computer-generated hologram, for all I knew. A computer-generated hologram with a very large mole at the corner of her mouth. Not a Cindy Crawford mole, either. Think creepy cleaning lady mole.

“Is Ms. Legenko expecting you?”

“No. Tell her it’s about Niki Kuzmenko and her husband.”

That seemed to get her attention. A flush of red caused her cheeks to glow, which made me think that Niki must have made his presence known around the office. She hit some buttons on the phone in front of her and spoke into her headset, studiously avoiding looking into my eyes.

“There’s a gentleman here to see her. Err – just a second, please. Your name, sir?”

“Donnie Elder.”

“Company?”

“Arcane Transport.”

“I’m sorry?”

I started to repeat myself, then gave in and spelled it out for her. She then repeated the information into the headset, though she referred to me as Don, rather than Donnie. For some reason people think that is more professional. I find that absurd and a bit pompous. Johnny Cash, Andy Warhol, Gordie Howe. They were all okay in my book. Though Warhol was a bit of a freak.

“They’re checking to see if Ms. Legenko is available to see you.”

I said nothing, trying to keep eye contact without allowing Mr. Mole to distract me.

“Hello? Oh! Yes, yes ma’am. Right away.”

“That was Ms. Legenko. She says you’re to go on up to the fourth floor. I’ll need you to sign our guest book, and wear this visitor tag.”

I printed my name and the company name deliberately in the sign-in book. Kind of old-fashioned, but what the hell. The name tag she gave me was far from old-fashioned, though. I looped the cord around my neck, letting the tag hang in front of my chest. Blue with a large red stripe which I took as the “I am a Stranger” warning. Of more interest was the label I had seen on the back-side of the tag. An active RFID device. I wasn’t going anywhere in this building without someone knowing about it.

I could see from ground level that a staircase ran from the mezzanine up to the second floor, and presumably beyond. However, I could also see that in the same general vicinity there was a pair of elevators, one with its door wide open in invitation to me. Despite the obvious allure of staggering up eighty or more steps to arrive sweaty and disgruntled at the fourth floor, I chose to instead travel in comfort. Fact is, I would arrive disgruntled either way.

The elevators, and the staircase for that matter, opened onto a small reception area on the fourth floor. A Louis XVI reception desk with a simple chair and phone sat before me, unoccupied. Beyond the desk, I could see most of the floor.

This was clearly the executive level. The outer wall was all offices, the open cube approach not being acceptable for Maxim Legenko, et al. Most of the offices had glass walls, though, and were still very visible, except for one large expanse on the South Wall where the glass was a milky white opaque. Based on the apparent size of the space and the carriage of the assistant seated at a desk before it, I assumed that was either Maxim’s office, or Elena’s. I was interested to find out who had greater sway.

All of the other offices were guarded by desks, each occupied by a young man or woman intently typing, reading or speaking into a headset.

A Joe College-type in Hugo Boss stood from one of the desks and headed my way as I emerged from the elevator.

“Mr. Elder?”

I nodded.

“Elena will see you now. Can I get you a coffee or water?”

“No thanks.”

“OK. Right this way.”

He led me to one of the corner doorways, which appeared to be a small boardroom. One or two of the assistants glanced up at my passage, but most seemed uninterested.

Joe College arrived at the door ahead of me, and did a good job of shielding my view.

I heard a brief exchange.

“Ms. Legenko? Mr. Elder is here.”

“Yes, show him in. And give us some privacy, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then Joe College leaned into the room, as though to adjust the lighting. It was far more interesting than that, however. Instead, the glass windows became tinted, then opaque.

Cool. I had seen this on some TV show. Liquid crystal privacy glass. Flip a switch and it runs a current through special layers in the glass, changing it from transparent to opaque. Looked like it might even have a dimmer switch that allowed you to pick a level of opacity. My inner geek was thrilled.

Joe College gestured for me to enter the room and I slid past him, the door closing at my back.

The centerpiece of the room was a massive oval table with an inlaid image of what appeared to be the Zodiac, though I didn’t recognize any of the signs. A vague warning signal began sounding in the back of my mind, though I couldn’t figure out why.

In one of the chairs slouched Maxim Legenko, a look of complete disinterest on his face. So much for being on leave.

This was my first time seeing him up close and personal, and the one thing that stood out for me was angles. Angles and edges. Even his Adam’s apple seemed about to burst through the skin at his throat.

Standing at the windows and staring at the view of downtown Toronto was Elena Legenko. Impressive on TV, she was stunning in person. Alabaster skin so white as to seem bleached, in stark contrast to raven black hair and blood red lips. Her eyes were dark, the irises seeming black as though her pupils were fully dilated. She wore a simple black dress that ended just above the knee, and stilettos a good inch higher than seemed appropriate for an office.

“Mr. Elder, is it?”

She had no accent, which surprised me since she exuded “mysterious Eastern European lady”. Maybe she had learned to hide it during her modeling career.

I nodded.

“Please, take a seat.”

I pulled the chair out that she had gestured to, and sat.

As we stared at one another, Maxim tooled around on a cellphone that seemed to have captured all of his attention.

“I understand you have come here to speak to me about my husband and Niki Kuzmenko.”

I’m pretty sure I heard a snide undertone when she said “my husband”. Interesting.

“Yup. I’m trying to understand why Niki robbed me at gunpoint a few weeks ago. It seems to have encouraged a rash of these things.”

That caught her attention. In contrast, Maxim seemed to hunch down even further over his cellphone, typing out some text message with his thumbs.

“Maxim?”

“Hm?” He looked up as though noticing where he was for the first time. His eyes darted from her, to me, and back.

“What has Niki been up to?”

“I don’t know. I am not his keeper.” Maxim’s voice was heavily accented, the difference from Elena’s cultured tones almost comical. “Niki does as he wishes. But this sounds like bullshit.” He stared me down on that last sentence, as though daring me to disagree.

I happily complied.

“Oh, it’s no bullshit. He robbed me at gunpoint, and I think you know it. A guy like that doesn’t come up with the idea to rob a specialty courier on his own.”

“Specialty courier?”

I turned to Elena, focusing my attention on her.

“Our customers deal in non-traditional goods.” Christ, how to explain what we do without sounding like a lunatic. “Antiques, artifacts, objects with purported magic or occult properties.”

“Occult?” I expected her to give me a look of disbelief, or maybe call Joe College to have Security escort me from the premises. What I didn’t expect was for her to scowl at her hubby. That I didn’t expect at all.

They both recovered quickly. So quickly, it made me wonder whether I had imagined that look.

“I don’t know you, Donnie Elder.” Maxim said this with a bit of a sneer, apparently having found his tongue. “I don’t know your business, and I don’t care to. Maybe Niki robbed you, maybe not. It is none of my business. If it bothers you, take it up with him.”

“Oh, I intend to.” I shoved back from the table, seeing from the expression on both of their faces that I was being stonewalled. “I’ll be talking to Mr. Kuzmenko. You can let him know, if you want. This is far from over.”

Elena’s attention had wandered from me, and she was staring at the back of her husband’s head, a distinct look of displeasure writ large. Maxim was oblivious though, having switched into cocky bastard mode.

“Maybe it
should
be over, Donnie Elder. Perhaps you should just ‘carve your losses’, that they say.”

I snorted and turned. Joe College was already opening the door to guide me to the elevator. No problem. I had a feeling I would be back.

I was determined to visit Clay after work, make sure he was taking it easy. Pain in the ass drive, but I still felt responsible. Despite the craziness with the punk rock trio and the Legenkos, I opted to drop by before making the run back to the office.

I entered the room to find he and Harper chatting, with Clay sitting upright, his back propped against two pillows.

“Hey, you gave us another scare.”

Harper stood and kissed me on the cheek, and I shook hands with Clay. Despite the return engagement at the hospital, his grip had a bit of oomph to it.

“Well, I think they just want to keep an eye on me. I’m sure everything’ll be alright.”

“Good.”

“How did today go?”

I walked Clay through the day, pausing from time to time to let him insert anecdotes about certain customers. As usual, I found myself taking notes on a scrap of paper. Sick or not, Clay knew the business inside and out.

“How about you, how have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been good. Feeling a lot stronger. I think I just overdid it a bit.”

On hearing that, I considered skipping over my visit with the punks. But it was Clay’s business, so I walked them through the robbery attempt that afternoon, and my visit with the Legenkos.

If anything, Clay seemed impressed.

“Well, maybe our mugger friend will find himself in a heap of trouble with his employer.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“You going to pass on your suspicions to Sun?”

“I was thinking of giving it a few more days. See if anything comes of our session today.”