Part 1: Midgard
Der Welt Erbe
gewänn' ich zu eigen durch dich?
Erzwäng' ich nicht Liebe,
doch listig erzwäng ich mir Lust?
-Alberich
Ten minutes went by, and Jackie still hadn't come back with the beers. Flossie sighed and scrunched a hand into the curls on the right side of her head, fluffing them out. The bar was a little too noisy for comfortable conversation, and she had run out of things to say to Cass about five minutes ago. Jackie was the glue that held their little trio together, and without her - and the social lubrication that the beers would provide - the two had lapsed into an awkward silence that simmered under the bustle around them.
"So," said Cass after five more minutes had passed, "do you see Jackie?"
Flossie craned her neck for about the twentieth time and looked toward the bar. "Huh-uh," she said. Jackie's disappearance was a real feat, as she was usually the most visible person in any situation, particularly social. She was six feet tall and statuesque, with a stunning sheaf of red hair that fell to her waist - when it wasn't bound up under her hat for work. Jackie's uniform fit her beautifully, and caused Flossie no end of envy. Flossie was short and broad, with a stubborn tummy that refused to deflate, no matter how many crunches she did, or how many sessions she put in on the elliptical machine in her apartment building basement. Flossie's uniform belt cut into her gut just where she didn't need cutting, and her holster added bulk just where she didn't need bulk, so she avoided looking in full length mirrors after dressing for work in the mornings.
And anyway, she always thought as she suited up in the locker room, when I'm working I'm not some pretty lady, I'm a cop. To which she always added the depressing addendum: Rent-A-Cop.
Still, a job was a job, and this was a good one. It was easy, it paid well enough to allow her to afford a studio in Astoria. And it had led her to meet Jackie and Cass, the former of whom made friends quickly and easily, and who now referred to Flossie and Cass as her "work besties." The three of them went out for beers several nights a week, with Jackie dominating the conversation as well as any stray male attention that might pass their way. "C'mon, my Single Ladies!" she'd say as they left work for the bars, and Flossie always went home just as single, with only a hangover to accompany her morning if she hadn't had enough waters.
"What?" asked Cass, cupping her hand around her ear.
"I said I don't see her - wait - there she is." Flossie waved her hand in the air at Jackie. "Hey!" Jackie was carrying no beers, but was sporting a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"Oh Jesus God," Flossie said to Cass. "She's got another one."
Jackie slid into the bench next to Flossie, and Jackie's catch set the tray full of beers, waters, and shots that he'd been carrying onto their table. He was older - mid-life crisis, thought Flossie - balding, and careful to hide it - in denial - and extremely beefy. Gym rat - good lord. Flossie knew the type, had dated a guy she'd met in Police Academy who'd been a serious gym rat. She'd dumped him after going on a date during which the featured conversation had been the means by which he intended to increase the circumference of his neck. In Flossie's humble opinion, there was no one on God's green earth who was more stultifyingly dull than a gym rat, and she knew Jackie shared this opinion. So this was one of Jackie's "tricks."
Cass had started calling them that - "tricks" - as kind of a mean joke, but it had stuck. Jackie could size up a bar within five seconds of entering it, and if there was no one who merited her serious attention, she found the guy most likely to get flirted into buying her trio as many rounds of drinks as possible before he had to be shaken off. Flossie hadn't ever liked this method of getting drinks - she could buy them herself, thank you, and often did, even with a "trick" on the line - but Jackie always seemed to enjoy her little manipulations, so Flossie had never said anything against it. Doing so might put Jackie in a huff, and risk this part of her social life - hell, these nights with Jackie and Cass were her social life these days. She wasn't going to give them up just because she thought Jackie was being a bit cruel to over-eager strangers.
"So this is Al," said Jackie, lengthening the name in a flirtatious way - A-a-al. "Al, this is Cass and Flossie."
"Ladies," said Al, as he slid into the seat next to Cass. He'd brought four of everything, Flossie noticed - four beers, four shots, four waters. He was in this for the long haul. Al started passing the shots around. "It's not every day I'm surrounded by three gorgeous women!" He held up his shot glass. "To fate."
"Fate," muttered Flossie. She glanced to Jackie, who was giving Al her extra special smile, and then at Cass who shrugged and drank her shot. The rest followed suit, Flossie gagging a bit as the liquor went down. It was Jäeger - of course this guy would buy them Jäegers - and the aftertaste lingered in her mouth like an unsavory memory. She reached for her beer and downed a quarter of it to wash the bitterness down. The beer was cheap, but it was cold and tasted clean.
"So Al was just telling me," said Jackie after swigging some of her own beer, "that he's a magician." Probably only Flossie and Cass could hear the tone of subtle mockery in Jackie's statement. Al grinned self-importantly.
"Only an amateur," he said, "but I do carry around a few tricks." He reached into his jacket pocket, taking something out that he cupped in his hand. "This is an angel catcher," he said, turning his hand to Cass. "See? I caught one." He turned his hand to Jackie and Flossie then, showing a small hand mirror. "Two... he said aiming the mirror at Jackie, then flicked his hand toward Flossie, so that she could see her own reflection in the mirror. "Three," he finished. Cass rolled her eyes at Flossie.
"That's so sweet," cooed Jackie. "So what else can you do?"
"We-ell," said Al, whipping out a deck of cards with a practiced air, "pick one." He fanned out the deck to her, grinning. Jackie picked a card, and Al snapped the deck. "Memorize it. You got it?"
"Uh, yeah, I think I got it," said Jackie. Cass widened her eyes in a this-is-so-not-worth-a-beer sort of way, but said nothing as Jackie tucked the card into the middle of the outstretched deck.
"Okay," said Al, "watch close." He shuffled the deck a few times, at one point even riffing the cards from hand to hand. Jackie slugged at her beer, half-watching, until Al displayed a single upturned card with a flourish. "Is this you milady?" The card was, of course, the queen of hearts.
Flossie choked on her beer a little, only barely managing not to spit it across the table and onto Cass. Cas was faring no better, covering her mouth but not hiding the fact that she was snickering. When Flossie had recovered herself, she saw Al, staring over at her with a look that shocked her - one of barely-disguised malevolence. It lasted only for a moment before he turned his gaze back to Jackie, all smiles again.
"That was amazing," said Jackie. "Do you want another beer?"
"It would be my pleasure, said Al. "I shall return, ladies."
When Al was at a safe distance, Cass gave Jackie a meaningful look. "Oh my God," she said.
"Whatever, he's harmless," said Jackie. "And he's good for a couple more rounds."
Flossie said nothing, thinking about that look he'd given her, after she'd laughed at his awful trick. And suddenly she didn't want to be here, didn't want to drink any more beers that Al bought them, wanted nothing more to be back in her own little apartment with her feet on the sofa watching whatever trashy show she could find on her TV. "Look," she started.
"Oh come on," said Jackie, already knowing what Flossie had been about to say. "Just one more drink and then we'll go, okay?"
"Well," said Flossie, "just one more. But then I really need to go."
Jackie flashed Flossie the huge, kind of dazzling grin she always gave when she got her way. Flossie ignored the squirmy feeling in her stomach and finished the dregs of her beer.
When Al got back with fresh beers, he started in on Jackie almost immediately. "So," he said, "what brings you ladies here tonight?"
"Oh, we always go out after work," said Jackie, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
"You work together?" asked Al. "What do you do?"
Jackie flashed a coy smile. "Security."
"Re-eally?" asked Al, in a what's-a-nice-girl-like-you-working-in-a-man's-job sort of way. "Bodyguards?"
"Not exactly," said Jackie, and Al nodded.
"Nah, that'd be a pretty tough job," he said, and Flossie had to look away, huffing her breath out. Did he just seriously neg them?
"Well actually," said Jackie, "we don't even really know what we're providing security for." She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and Flossie knew they were in for it. She'd heard the phrase "dining out" on a story before, but she'd never fully grasped what it meant until she'd seen Jackie talk about their job - which, technically, they weren't supposed to do.
"Hey, Jackie," said Flossie, "let's not talk about work, huh?"
"Oh come on!" said Jackie. "We can trust Al, right? We can trust you," she said, turning to him. "Right?"
"Of course," he says, with a little dipping bow over the table. "It sounds like quite a mystery."
"It's a total mystery," said Jackie. "I mean, all they told me when I got the job, right, was that I was going to work an eight hour shift guarding not a building, right, but a room. Just one room, in the basement of a building, in the middle of Manhattan. For eight hours. And all three of us, right? On the same shift?" She looked to Flossie and Cass for confirmation; Cass nodded, Flossie sat still.
"We don't even know who it's even for - a company? Or just someone who wants something guarded? We have no idea," she continued. "I mean, my paystubs say 'The Reiner Company, LLC,' but I tried looking them up by their tax number, and there's no other information about them besides the name and address. No CEO, no founder, no nothing - it's like they don't even exist."
"Maybe it's a front," suggests Al, leaning across the table himself, looking enraptured by Jackie's story and her enthusiasm in telling it.
"Maybe," Jackie agreed, lowering her voice to force Al to lean in even further. "I mean, some of the other guards say it's just some guy, Mr. Reiner I guess, but you'd think he'd just put his stuff in safe deposit box, or a bank vault or something. But I'm not complaining - I mean, they're paying us to basically sit around for eight hours a day, right? Pretty nice if you can get it." Jackie threw her hands up, leaning back into the booth seat, with another dazzling smile. "So that's it."
"You've never had anyone try and break in?" asked Al.
"Nah," said Jackie. "Nobody could get through the keycard locks to even get to where we are, and if they did..." she made a gun shape with her thumb and forefinger, aiming it at Al's head. "Pow!" she said, cocking the finger up.
"Nice," said Al, with a smile that was almost a smirk.
Flossie was finishing her second beer by then and itching to get out onto the street, and never see Al ever again. She had a strange feeling about this whole night - Al's stupid magic tricks, his nasty look, the way he was drinking in Jackie's story. She plunked her bottle down on the table, where it made a dull thud.
"Okay, well," she said, "I really need to get going. It was nice to meet you, Al."
"Yeah," said Cass, "I have to go too."
"But ladies," protested Al. "The night's young."
"But we have to get to work tomorrow," said Flossie, "so we really need to go." She stood, forcing Jackie to stand, too.
"May I at least have one last drink with you, milady?" said Al to Jackie, eyeing her with some purpose.
"No thanks," said Jackie. "Like they said, work." Jackie hadn't even finished her second beer, but it was clear she wasn't about to stay with Al alone at the bar. Flossie had a bad moment when she thought Al wouldn't get up to let Cass out of the booth, but after a brief hesitation, he stood.
"I could see you out," he said, and this was the final straw for Flossie. She put both hands on Jackie's right arm and effectively hustled her to the bar's exit.
"Nope!" said Cass behind her. "See ya." And then all three of them were in the street and away.
"That was," said Cass after the door closed behind them, "officially the worst."
"You didn't have to be such bitches about it," retorted Jackie. "He was at least trying."
"Trying way too hard," said Flossie.
"I didn't even get to finish my beer," Jackie groused.
"They're on me next week, okay?" said Flossie. "As long as you don't talk to any skeevy guys," she added, and realized her mistake when Jackie whirled around, furious.
"I can talk to whoever I want," she shouted, face going as red as her hair.
And in that moment, Flossie - tired from work, a little buzzed from the beers, and eager for home - decided that she had had enough of Jackie's bullshit for one night. "That doesn't mean," she shouted back, "that I have to talk to them, or watch their shitty little magic shows or drink their shitty fucking beers!"
Jackie opened her mouth and drew in a breath to shout something, but they were interrupted by a clustered group of frattish looking guys who started hooting "wooo! Catfiiight!" and cackling as they shuffled off.
This had the effect of deflating Flossie's anger - now she just felt foolish. "Fuck this," she said. "I'm going home. Sorry I yelled at you. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah," said Cass, "it's cool. See you tomorrow." Flossie had no doubt that there'd be some damage control on Cass's part, but that it would more likely than not work, and Jackie would be her friendly self by lunchtime tomorrow at the latest.
And the best part, Flossie thought, once she was safely on the Q train, is that I won't see shitty-fucking-magician Al, tomorrow or ever.
Of course, she was wrong.
When Flossie thought about that Thursday - the day after the beers-and-magic-show weirdness of meeting Al - she always pictured an analogy she'd read in some newspaper somewhere. It was about stacking slices of swiss cheese, one on top of the other, as an illustration about making mistakes. Each hole in the slice of cheese is a mistake, the article said, but if you stack the slices one on top of the other, the holes get covered by the rest of the slices in the stack, so the mistakes don't matter. Most of the time. But when the holes align in just the right way, there's a mistake that goes straight through the stack that leads to - well, it leads to a disaster.
It started with the hangover. Flossie had woken the next day headachy, queasy, dry-mouthed, and - inexplicably - angry.
It was just two beers, she thought, over and over as she tried to scrub the sick feeling away in her shower. Just two beers, and yeah a shot, and I didn't have enough water but still. Time was, she could share two pitchers of beer among herself and two friends without waking up with so much as a headache the next day. Maybe I'm getting old, she thought to herself, as she dabbed extra concealer under her eyes.
The sluggish morning meant it took a bit longer for Flossie to get out the door, and that meant she missed her usual train. By the time she made it to midtown, she was irritated, sweating, and still feeling a little sick. She trudged up the subway steps, trying not to heave, and started down the four blocks that would take her to the nondescript building in which she spent five days every week. By the time she got there, she was running a half hour late.
At this point, she knew the earlier shift of guards would have given up waiting and gone home by now. Technically shifts weren't supposed to leave until all three members of the next shift had arrived, but there was no real supervision in the job, and it was always so quiet, that the guards tended to bend the rules. Flossie, Jackie and Cass sometimes skipped out when the next shift was late, especially when they wanted to go drinking together. Still, Flossie didn't like being late when it meant leaving the room unguarded. She just hoped Jackie and Cass were already there.
She had just arrived at the building when her cell buzzed in her pocket. "Yeah?" she said, balancing the phone on her shoulder as she dug in her bag for her keycard.
"Hey, it's Cass," said the voice on the other end. "Listen, do you see my keycard?"
"Huh?" asked Flossie, still fishing. "Why would I have your keycard?"
"I think I left it yesterday, did you see it in the locker room? Or is it in our room?"
"Cass, I just barely got to work, I'm not even in the building."
"Oh, good!" said Cass. "You can buzz me in. Hold on, I'm like five minutes away."
And of course, that's just when Flossie found her keycard. "Yeah, sure, just hurry up, okay?"
So she waited, leaning against the side of the building. Despite her bad mood, it was a perfect New York morning - sunny, clear and cool. The city was a mass of scaffolding, the remnants of last year's extraterrestrial attack. It was as though all of the buildings had sprouted their own complicated exoskeletons, and were healing themselves. Stark Tower was in her direct line of sight, the single "A" remaining on its facade, gleaming in the morning sun. Not a bad day to be outside, even if she was going to be late.
Cass took more like ten minutes to show up, but Flossie's mood was greatly improved by the few minutes of sunshine. When Cass jogged up the steps, Flossie swiped her card, and they both walked in.
As Flossie turned to their locker room, Cass said "wait, I want to check our room, I'm pretty sure I left it there."
"Can we at least get changed first?" asked Flossie.
"Come on, it'll take, like, two seconds, and then we can change. I'm just, like, freaking out until I get it back, you know?"
"Yeah, I guess. Come on," said Flossie, and carded them into the elevator, punching the button to take them down three floors. Once there, she punched in the number code on the door leading to the antechamber where they generally spent their days. It clicked open, she pushed in the door, and she froze.
Jackie was there - not in uniform, in her street clothes. And behind her was creepy magician Al, holding a semi-automatic pistol to her head.
"Late for work," said Al.
Cass whirled around to the elevator, but since she didn't have a keycard, the call button remained dark, and the elevator didn't come. She jammed it with her finger anyway.
"Tell her to get back in here," said Al, "or I will shoot this bitch."
Flossie's mind was racing in circles - most of those circles involving some extremely foul language at herself for skipping the locker room where her holster - and gun - were both safely locked away. She didn't have so much as a can of mace on her. There wasn't anything to do but say "Cass, come on," and try to think of what to do next.
Get him out of here somehow was the only thing she could think of - she just had no idea how to do it without a fucking weapon.
"You bitches," said Al, "owe me."
"What?" snapped Flossie.
"After all that bullshit," said Al, "all those drinks I bought you, and then you just skip out on me? Nuh-uh." He tightened his grip on Jackie's arm at this, and she winced. Jackie could, under normal circumstances, get a man's wrist behind his back in about two seconds flat, but between the SIG in Al's hand and the carefully cultivated muscles in his arm, she had nowhere to go.
So Flossie tried to stall. "That's what this is about? You wanting to get laid?"
"Fuck you," Al spat, and Flossie couldn't resist.
"You wish," she snapped, ignoring Cass' horrified look. It was a mistake, of course, but damn, did it feel good to say.
"You wish, you fat bitch," Al said, gripping Jackie's arm even tighter. "You're probably all just dykes anyway."
"Just put the gun down, huh?" said Flossie. "There's no reason for that shit." She took a step forward. "I know you're not gonna be unreasonable about this. Just put the gun down."
"You," replied Al, "had better stop moving right now."
Flossie stopped moving. She raised both palms to chest level. "Okay, I've stopped. Okay? Relax. Nobody has to get hurt here. So why don't you tell me what you want?" Her voice sounded steady, and about forty times as confident as she actually felt.
"I want to see it," said Al.
Flossie had no idea what to say, except "seriously?"
"Yeah," said Al. He let go of Jackie's arm, reached into his trouser pocket and brought out two keycards, fanning them with one deft twist of finger and thumb. "I want to see it. The thing. I want to know what it is. So I need your keycard."
And he was, of course, right. To open the large metal door that led to the interior room took all three guards' keycards, and he had two - plus the gun, of course.
"Let me guess," said Flossie, "you took Cass' off her at the bar."
Al gave her a nasty grin, and Flossie heard Cass give a stifled little groan behind her.
"So you looked up the address of the company, got in here with that-" she nodded at the pistol "thing, waited for the other guards to leave, found Jackie here alone before she could get her gun, took her card, got her to bring you here..."
"And waited for you," said Al.
"Well," said Flossie, "okay."
"What?" asked Cass, but Flossie ignored her.
Flossie took her keycard out of her pocket and held it up. "Put the gun down and let Jackie go," she said, "and we'll show you." At training, she'd been told that the guards were only to use the cards in an emergency. They'd never even been into the interior room where whatever-it-is was kept. But this was an emergency if there ever was one.
Slowly, Al raised the muzzle of his gun so that it was no longer pointing at Jackie's head. "I'm not putting it down," he said, but he shoved Jackie then, away from him and toward Flossie. Jackie gave a little yelp, and then dashed to the back of the room by the door. "Come here," said Al.
Flossie took one step forward, then another. "I think this would be better for everyone if you put down the gun."
Al lowered the muzzle at Flossie's face. "I didn't say talk, bitch, I said come here."
Flossie sucked in her breath and went, holding the keycard out in front of her, as though it were a shield. Once she got within arms length, she stopped. But Al didn't take the card - he held his two out instead.
"Take them," he said, "and key me in."
Should have had my weapon, should have had my motherfucking piece, Flossie seethed to herself, but she said nothing, taking the keys, and holding them each in turn to the scanner by the interior room door.
Once the third keycard registered in the panel, there was a click as the metal door's lock sprung. Flossie pushed the door in, only to find a tiny hallway that led to another metal door. This door had a faded sign attached to it that read "DANGER: CLOSE EXTERIOR DOOR BEFORE OPENING."
"Uh-" Flossie started, but she felt a tap against the back of her head.
"Just open it," Al said, so Flossie did.
There'll be cameras in there though, or sensors, or alarms or some fucking thing, she reasoned, so it'll be okay. It'll be fine.
But it wasn't. When Flossie pushed the interior door open, the room was completely dark, and she had to feel around for the light switch. The lights came on, and showed no cameras, no equipment for sensors, nothing. Just an empty room, with a little table in the middle, and on the table, an even smaller box.
"Go in in front of me," said Al, so Flossie went, silently cursing the room's emptiness of anything that she could use as a weapon.
"Around the table," Al added. She went around to the back while he stayed at the front, still holding the weapon to her head. The tiny box was between them, the front facing Al, and the back, with its tiny hinges, facing Flossie.
"Open it for me," said Al.
Slowly, Flossie reached down to the box, and eased it open. There was no lock, it swung open, sort of like a ring box from a jeweler's. Al stared at the whatever-it-was inside.
"Whoa," he said.
And that's when Flossie grabbed his gun arm by the wrist. Unfortunately the table was between them, and when she tried getting Al's arm behind his back, she knocked the table with her hip, sending it into Al's gut. Both of them fell to the floor.
Flossie fell badly, twisting her leg underneath her, and before she could recover from the sudden shock of pain, Al got up first, snatching one of the keycards that had scattered when they fell.
"BITCH!" he screamed. "Stay right fucking there. Do not get up!" She watched as he backed out of the room, gun pointing at her, until he whirled and ran for the elevator.
"Get him!" she screamed, and by the sound of it, they tried, but by the time Flossie got up, he'd gotten himself into the elevator, and was gone.
Flossie limped into the anteroom to find Cass in a corner, holding one side of her head, and Jackie running one hand through her hair. "Well shit," Jackie said.
"No kidding," said Flossie.
"I'm gonna have a black eye," muttered Cass from the corner.
"Excuse me while I give, like, zero fucks about your eye," snapped Flossie. "We have bigger things to worry about."
"Fuck you," said Cass, just as Jackie said "Huh?"
"He took it," said Flossie.
"What?!" said Jackie. It came out in a sort of high-pitched shriek.
"It's not there anymore. He must have got it when I grabbed his wrist."
"No way," said Jackie, and she strode into the room. Flossie didn't bother to follow, and the "motherfuck" that sounded after a minute told her that Jackie had realized she was right.
"Well what do we do?" Cass said, her voice wavering in what sounded like panic.
"Call it in, I guess," said Flossie. "The police will-"
"No," said Jackie. "We're not calling it in."
"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" snapped Flossie.
"No, are you?" Jackie shot back. "We call the police, we lose our jobs. I can't lose another job."
"Our job?" asked Flossie. "We guard shit, that's our job. And now there's nothing left to guard."
"Yeah?" said Jackie. "Well, who's gonna know?"
And that stopped Flossie cold. Who was going to know, she wondered.
"You saw what was in there," continued Jackie. "Just the table and the thing, right? There's no camera. There's no alarm. There's no nothing. There's just us, our word against theirs. Nobody needs to know we fucked up."
And that's what stopped Flossie. Not the fact that she needed the job, or the money, not even that it was her friend saying it. But she, once upon a time a cop, couldn't bear to call the police and tell them what she'd done - how she'd failed. She couldn't stand having them look at her, saying incompetent, saying fuck-up. Saying just a girl.
She walked slowly into the inner room, picked up the table, and placed it back where it had once stood - minus that tiny box.
"Hey," said Jackie from the anteroom. "Did you at least see what it was?"
"No," said Flossie, "I didn't."
"You guys," moaned Cass from her corner, "we are officially the worst security guards of all time."
Flossie white-knuckled her way through that day and the next. But, as it turned out, Jackie was right. No one called them on the missing whatever-it-was. The other guard shifts all showed up marginally on time and took up their positions. No one went into the interior room. No one gave the slightest indication that they knew that whatever they were guarding was now gone. Flossie showed up, donned her uniform and her holster, stood in the anteroom, and guarded a room full of nothing against no one. She didn't say much to Jackie or Cass. She started carrying her weapon home at night, even if it was against work policy - and technically for her, illegal. When she walked along the streets heading for home, she looked for Shitty Magician Motherfucking Thief Al. She never saw him.
By Friday she was so keyed up, she thought she might scream. In the afternoon, Jackie half-heartedly suggested going out for beers. She didn't say "come on my Single Ladies," and she looked relieved when neither Cass nor Flossie accepted the invitation.
Flossie trudged to the subway by herself. She craved the stillness of her apartment, her little cube of peace carved out of New York sky. A glass of red wine, a bowl of popcorn, and the trashiest, most mind-numbing show she could find on her TV were all she wanted out of the night. She felt so jittery that she kept looking over her shoulder, convinced there was someone following her, but she saw no one.
By the time Flossie got home it was full dark, and she was exhausted. She shut and locked her apartment door, flipped on the light, and then froze.
There was a man sitting in the armchair facing the door, a pale man in a dark suit, reading a book.
Flossie whipped her gun out of the holster under her jacket, cocked it in one smooth movement, pointed it straight at the man's head and screamed "freeze motherfucker!"
The man did not freeze. He looked up, blinked, closed the book on his lap, and set it onto Flossie's coffee table. It was Flossie's Anthology of American Poetry - the detritus of a long-ago abandoned MFA.
Okay, thought Flossie, as she tried to sum the man up. He was slight, with a thin, pinched sort of face, and black hair swept back from his forehead. He wasn't just pale, he was ghastly pale, and his dark suit only made him look more cadaverous. The suit was trim and, she noticed, closed in the front, meaning he didn't have a holster underneath the jacket.
The door had been locked when she'd come in, the windows that she could see were all closed and unbroken. And burglars, Flossie knew, did not break into apartments with no weapons just to sit in armchairs and read poetry anthologies. And they most certainly did not just sit calmly when faced with a semi-automatic pointed at their heads. This, thought Flossie, could be very, very bad.
"What do you want?" she said, not lowering her gun.
The man leaned back into the chair, and propped his elbows on the armrests, tenting his fingers in front of him. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, with a vaguely British accent - and, Flossie noticed, with a rasp, as though he'd just recovered from a bad bout of laryngitis.
"I understand," he said, "that something of yours has gone missing."
