“Where do I find him?”
“I see him coming in and out of the building over there.” Through the window I saw a brown building.
“Will he be there now?”
“Hey, I wouldn’t go there alone. He usually has a bodyguard with him.”
My mind started churning. I could stake out the building. Wait for this Marcus to come out…but then what?
I couldn’t just walk up to him and say, “Hey, man. Have you been part of anything illegal or unlawful? If so, can you tell me where I can find RACE?”
I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.
I thanked Voshon and left.
I stood across from the brown building, thinking hard. How was I going to get to him with the bodyguard hovering around? How then was I going to make him talk?
I had no clue.
It was afternoon and the area was pretty much deserted, except for a couple of moms pushing strollers and chatting away. They were coming in my direction so I decided to leave.
Walking west, towards Parliament, I had an idea. Not a very bright idea-but an idea. I searched through my pockets for the number for Mahmud Hanif. I called him and, luckily, he was just north of Danforth, dropping off a passenger.
Ten or so minutes later a taxicab drove up. I got in the back.
“Hey, Mahmud,” I said patting him on the shoulder. “Good to see you.”
“Always good to see you, too,” he said smiling. I swear this man smiled too much.
“How’s business?” I asked.
“Good. I’m very sorry what happened to your house. I heard it on the news.”
I just shrugged, not knowing what to say.
“If you need a place to stay…”
“I’m fine.”
“If you need any money…”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“If you need anything…”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do need something from you.”
“Yes.” His face became eager.
“I need your taxi.”
There was a pause and then a cry. “I understand.”
“Understand what?” I said confused.
“Don’t worry, Officer Rupret,” he said reassuringly. “I know people that can help you.”
“Mahmud,” I said. “What are you talking about?’
“You don’t need to drive taxi. You’re still a young man. Driving taxi is not good.”
“But…”
“I will call Lateef-he works downtown-a good man,” Mahmud said. “He will help you find a job.”
“I don’t need a job,” I nearly yelled.
“What?” he replied, eyeing me through the rear-view mirror. “You can’t make money without a job?”
I started to laugh. “You think I want your taxi because I need money?”
He slowly moved his head up and down. “That is why I drive taxi. Why else?”
“It’s for my investigation.”
After a brief pause a smile crossed his face. “You want to go undercover. Yes?”
“Exactly,” I said. “It’s only for a short while.”
“No problem. When do you need it?”
“Around six.”
Mahmud dropped me off at the corner of College Street and McCaul. His fare, a middle-age couple, was waiting for him. I had insisted he take the fare; I was going to be using his taxi later. I waved him goodbye and then realized I was standing in front of the Toronto Police Headquarters. I doubled back and hurried around the corner. I moved as far away from the main entrance as possible. I had no desire to go inside. I was supposed to be recovering from my tragedy.
I was walking as fast as my feet would allow when up ahead a police cruiser emerged from the headquarters underground parking lot. I lowered my head and continued walking. I was not going to slow down and wait for the cruiser to pass me-that would mean stopping.
As I passed the cruiser, there was a loud honk that nearly threw me off my feet. I looked back and saw to my surprise, Constable Clara Terries. “Officer Rupret,” she said.
I walked over to the driver’s side.
“Hey, how are you doing?” I said.
“Not bad,” she said.
A male officer sat beside her, and for some unexplainable reason I was glad he looked much, much older than her.
She introduced him but I didn’t remember his name. I think I chose not to remember his name.
“I heard what happened,” she said.
I shrugged, as if these things happened to me all the time.
“So what are you doing now?” I asked.
“I’m back on patrol,” she said. “Get to wear my uniform again”
“I can see that.”
The radio dispatcher cut through. There was a ten-something in progress.
“We should go,” she said. “I was thinking, Officer Rupret, maybe we could talk some time, if you like?”
“Yeah, I would like that very much. And it’s Jon.”
“Bye, Jon,” she said with a smile.
The sirens came on and the cruiser sped away.
Ed Burrows burst through the door. He was upset and he was angry. Ms. Zee looked up from her desk. He stormed toward her, his size threatening. Kong moved in his direction but Ms. Zee raised her hand. He retreated.
“This is unacceptable,” he bellowed.
“What is?” she said calmly.
“Everything. How can I produce something as sensitive as Nex with this primitive technology.”
She waited.
“The equipment is outdated. What we have are rejects from defunct pharmaceutical laboratories. The blender doesn’t dissolve the active ingredients properly. One of the freezing tunnels refuses to stay at the required temperature. Several of the freeze-dryers discontinue functioning in the middle of the process-rendering large batches of Nex useless. It has to be precise. I refuse to work under these conditions.”
Ms. Zee listened and then said, “Mr. Burrows, time and constraints did not allow us to acquire…state-of-the- art machines.”
“Without them I cannot ensure a stable and functional product.”
“You must try,” she pleaded.
