Page 64 of Mann Hunt
“I’ll look for them on Monday then.”
“While I have you on the phone, may I ask one more question about the night of the party?”
“Of course. Go ahead.”
“When Ian was talking about the property he was being pressured to sell, did he mention the Consolidated Canada Fertiliser Building?”
“Yes, I believe that was the property,” Sheldon replied. “He said it was once the jewel in his real estate crown. From the sounds of it, the crown is looking a little shabby these days.”
“Thanks so much for the information. I look forward to seeing the CCTV footage.”
Before Charlie hung up, he got Sheldon to give him Robert William’s telephone number. He called Robert and confirmed what Sheldon had said regarding the building. He had little extra to add, other than to say that if Charlie had other questions, Robert would welcome him with open arms.
Charlie thanked him and disconnected. The phone rang immediately after he hung up. He knew the number.
“Hey, Declan. Sheldon Prescott’s security firm should be transferring the video files to us on Monday, and he and Robert have confirmed that the fertiliser building was the property of interest. I’m just going to start looking into who the potential buyer might be.”
“Can you do that online?”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Great,” Declan said. “Call me if you need anything. I just wanted to let you know that when I’m finished up with Mr Attwal, I have a meeting with Luke.”
“Oh.” Charlie couldn’t help but sound dejected.I wonder if the meeting is clothing-optional… Snap out of it!
“Thanks for letting me know,” Charlie said. He hung up the phone and busied himself searching for more information on the building. Another half hour on the computer proved futile. Then an idea hit him. He would simply ask.
He did a Google Street View search of the area around the factory. Prescott was right. It was a dump. The images showed it as a rundown, four-storey brick structure that took up three-quarters of the block. The rest of the block was occupied by smaller buildings of an even older vintage which wrapped around two sides of the factory. These seemed to be mainlyindependent clothing stores, a record shop, a cheque-cashing operation and, what Charlie was mostly interested in, a good number of vacant buildings.
Charlie checked himself out in the washroom mirror. He looked presentable enough to pose as a… What would his cover be? This was exciting. He’d never pretended to be anything other than himself. He could be a designer, or a painter—they would need a studio space. That might work, but what if someone asked questions like “Oh, you must know…” Then it came to him…
Charlie locked up. On his way down to the parking area behind the building, he took a minute to admire the red Challenger, rubbing his hand on the hood. He’d have to move her later. He made his way to the parking lot and hopped into Francine. Reliable Francine. Just like him.
Charlie turned the key. She made a weak sputtering sound, but didn’t start. “Don’t worry, girl. I’m not giving up on you,” he said, stroking the dashboard. He wished Declan felt like that about him. But why pick the reliable car when he could go with Luke, the shiny new red one?
Francine continued to moan and sputter. It was clear that the car was not going to start.
“Fuck it!” He slammed his hand on the dashboard. “Sorry, girl,” he said.
Charlie ran back to the office and picked up the keys. In a flash he was standing beside the Red Beast—that would be its name. Beast for short. Red for when he needed to get personal. He slipped into the driver’s seat and slid the key into the ignition. He hesitated before turning the key, but when he did, the four-hundred-and-forty-cubic-inch V-8 roared to life. He’d never wielded this kind of power before, and it scared andthrilled him at the same time. It was then that he realised that the Red Beast had a standard transmission. Charlie hadn’t touched a standard since he’d learned to drive eight years ago, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He had the power, and with no hills between him and where he was headed, five kilometres of road to remember how to shift.
Chapter Twenty
Attwal Accounting Services occupied a storefront in a strip mall in the northwest part of the city. On one side was an electronics repair shop, on the other, a take-out gyros restaurant.
Declan walked through the front door and was greeted by an older woman in a brightly coloured sari.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes. My name is Declan Hunt. I have an appointment with Mr Attwal.”
She gave him a stern look and a slight sneer crept across her upper lip. She stood and walked around the corner.
“Palvinder,” she called out, then in a lowered voice, but just enough that Declan could still hear, “there is a man out there. He probably doesn’t have much money, and I don’t like the look of him. He says he has an appointment.”
Palvinder Attwal came around the corner, followed by his receptionist. He beamed. “Mr Hunt,” he cried out, as he grasped Declan’s hands in his. “Mother, thisis Declan Hunt, the man who was good enough to save my life.”
“But not good enough to save your ear and finger.” She didn’t even try to hide her contempt.
