years,” she said.
The little man smiled. “I like you,” he said. “If Blackstone’s heart weren’t imprisoned, I bet he would too.”
----
Chapter 3
After Sancho left, Nora used her mini voice recorder to dictate the necessary instructions to Ruthie. Then she put the check in the tiny safe that one of her instructors recommended she get (and which she so far had had no occasion to use), so that she could put the check in the bank in the morning. Nora was leery about waiting; she had a horrible feeling the check would vanish in a puff of blue smoke overnight. But she had to trust Sancho, much as she hated to. He was the one who wanted her to guard his case. And if his check did a disappearing act on her, well, she’d tell him where the case was.
Sounded like such a meaningless threat. But she didn’t have anything else. And she couldn’t cash the check today. The bank was only open for a few more minutes, and she didn’t have time to go home and change first. She simply wasn’t dressed to open an escrow account this afternoon. She could imagine the looks she would get, coming in all dusty and tattered and trying to cash a check this large when she had never done so before in her entire banking life. It wouldn’t be pretty.
After she’d finished tending to the details, she went home. She lived in a loft not far from her office, in a building she one day hoped to buy. She had a hunch that downtown buildings would soon be premium housing, although right now, they were considered the next step above shoddy. The loft had a lot of space, and she had divided most of it herself: living room, spacious kitchen with a view of the Willamette River, study/guest bedroom, and a half bath on the first floor. Up a flight of spiral stairs was her bedroom and a large bathroom.
Her black cat, Darnell, who had been sleeping exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be, on the white linen duvet her mother had given her as a housewarming gift, opened one eye as she passed, then rubbed his nose with his front paw, as if in disgust.
“The same to you, pal,” she said as she took off her clothes and stuffed them in a garbage bag.
He sneezed, as if the smoke smell trailing after her was an affront, which, she supposed, it was.
Her other cat, Squidgy, who was also black, watched the entire procedure from the bedroom window. She didn’t get down to greet Nora either.
“Some companions you are,” she said. “I expect a little sympathy.”
Squidgy turned back toward the window, as if sympathy were the farthest thing from her mind. Nora grinned. Cats were cats, and their opinions were always quite clear. These two didn’t like what they were smelling, and they made sure she knew it.
“Guess that’s better than you liking this smell,” she said as she walked, naked, to her bathroom. She took a long hot shower and then spent fifteen minutes applying every lotion she had in the house to protect her skin. She wrapped a towel around herself, drank a gallon of water, and finally changed into jeans and a Powell’s Books T-shirt. Her eyes were still red, and her throat still ached, but she figured she would suffer like that for the next few days.
Using the downstairs phone, she called several garages before she found one with enough space for a VW microbus. Then she went back to her office and got the microbus. It drove like an old Bug that was about to explode. Something weighed the back down and made corners difficult. But she didn’t look. She didn’t want to.
When she got to the garage, she parked outside the makeshift office and went in to call a cab and to fill out paperwork. She signed a year’s lease with an option for renewal, and in return, got a padlock and a number. She drove down the narrow stalls until she found a metal garage door with that number painted on it in white.
It took some effort to pull the door open, and when she did, it squealed. She put her hands on her hips, squinted at the cobweb-covered
The little man smiled. “I like you,” he said. “If Blackstone’s heart weren’t imprisoned, I bet he would too.”
----
Chapter 3
After Sancho left, Nora used her mini voice recorder to dictate the necessary instructions to Ruthie. Then she put the check in the tiny safe that one of her instructors recommended she get (and which she so far had had no occasion to use), so that she could put the check in the bank in the morning. Nora was leery about waiting; she had a horrible feeling the check would vanish in a puff of blue smoke overnight. But she had to trust Sancho, much as she hated to. He was the one who wanted her to guard his case. And if his check did a disappearing act on her, well, she’d tell him where the case was.
Sounded like such a meaningless threat. But she didn’t have anything else. And she couldn’t cash the check today. The bank was only open for a few more minutes, and she didn’t have time to go home and change first. She simply wasn’t dressed to open an escrow account this afternoon. She could imagine the looks she would get, coming in all dusty and tattered and trying to cash a check this large when she had never done so before in her entire banking life. It wouldn’t be pretty.
After she’d finished tending to the details, she went home. She lived in a loft not far from her office, in a building she one day hoped to buy. She had a hunch that downtown buildings would soon be premium housing, although right now, they were considered the next step above shoddy. The loft had a lot of space, and she had divided most of it herself: living room, spacious kitchen with a view of the Willamette River, study/guest bedroom, and a half bath on the first floor. Up a flight of spiral stairs was her bedroom and a large bathroom.
Her black cat, Darnell, who had been sleeping exactly where he wasn’t supposed to be, on the white linen duvet her mother had given her as a housewarming gift, opened one eye as she passed, then rubbed his nose with his front paw, as if in disgust.
“The same to you, pal,” she said as she took off her clothes and stuffed them in a garbage bag.
He sneezed, as if the smoke smell trailing after her was an affront, which, she supposed, it was.
Her other cat, Squidgy, who was also black, watched the entire procedure from the bedroom window. She didn’t get down to greet Nora either.
“Some companions you are,” she said. “I expect a little sympathy.”
Squidgy turned back toward the window, as if sympathy were the farthest thing from her mind. Nora grinned. Cats were cats, and their opinions were always quite clear. These two didn’t like what they were smelling, and they made sure she knew it.
“Guess that’s better than you liking this smell,” she said as she walked, naked, to her bathroom. She took a long hot shower and then spent fifteen minutes applying every lotion she had in the house to protect her skin. She wrapped a towel around herself, drank a gallon of water, and finally changed into jeans and a Powell’s Books T-shirt. Her eyes were still red, and her throat still ached, but she figured she would suffer like that for the next few days.
Using the downstairs phone, she called several garages before she found one with enough space for a VW microbus. Then she went back to her office and got the microbus. It drove like an old Bug that was about to explode. Something weighed the back down and made corners difficult. But she didn’t look. She didn’t want to.
When she got to the garage, she parked outside the makeshift office and went in to call a cab and to fill out paperwork. She signed a year’s lease with an option for renewal, and in return, got a padlock and a number. She drove down the narrow stalls until she found a metal garage door with that number painted on it in white.
It took some effort to pull the door open, and when she did, it squealed. She put her hands on her hips, squinted at the cobweb-covered
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