Meter Destiny
Take a peak inside the next Jack Meter Case File...
Chapter One
Thursday, 3 February, 11am
"For your living room, you could go with Sea Froth or Linen Sand."
I stared at the woman who sat behind the two-inch-thick slab of tempered glass that passed for her desk. Her ingenuous gaze didn't match her angular looks, sharpened by a military-style suit, and slashes of red at mouth and nails. "What the hell is Sea Froth?"
She frowned slightly, as if she didn't understand my question. Then her brow cleared. "It's a very nice, warm, pale chocolate. Linen Sand is a pale yellow, on the cool side." She paused, cleared her throat. "We could always go with Timid Dove, which is a very nice pale grey, if you dislike the other two colors."
"What's wrong with plain white? I like white."
Her eyes widened in horror then closed for a second. She took a breath. "Mr. Meter, please. I know you're getting impatient, but this is the last decision you need to make before we start on your apartment. White is not an option the builder offers. Besides. " She glanced out the window, and then looked back at me. " White is such a stark color. I can't imagine you wouldn't want something with more warmth."
I've got news for you, sister, I wanted to say, white ain't a color. She'd probably hit me with her spiked heel or break into tears. I kept mum and shrugged instead. "Just pick one, okay? I don't particularly care."
She gasped, shook her head. "No. No, I can't do that, Mr. Meter." She opened the folder she'd placed in front of me and pointed at the three paint chips. "You're the one who'll have to live with the choice. I can't be responsible."
With a sigh, I looked at the swatches. To me, they looked grey, yellow and beige. I tried to think what Annie would have liked. The yellow, I guessed, which would enhance the antique furniture she'd collected. She'd put it in storage when she came to live with me. I'd hated the fussiness of it -not to mention it was damn uncomfortable- but now it was the only part of her I had left and I'd decided to use it to furnish my new apartment. I thought it would make me feel closer to her, somehow.
"That one, then."
She beamed at me as if I were a child who had taken his first step, picked up the yellow chip and wrote something down. "Very well. Now, for the fixtures."
My cell rang. With a prayer of thanks to the God of Communications, I raised a hand, fished out the phone. "Yo."
"As usual, Mr. Meter, your bedside manners leave much to be desired."
I grinned at Charlie's prim voice. "That's cuz you're not in bed, darling. What's up?"
"First of all, I must impress upon you that I am not your secretary. I am Mr. Winston's assistant, who, in a spirit of generosity I will never understand, lets you rent the rooms above. My calling you to relay messages will not become a habit. Is that clear?"
"As melting snow. What's the problem?"
"There is a gentleman standing in front of my desk who insists on speaking with you."
I raised an eyebrow. The disdain she placed on the word gentleman led me to believe he was far from one. The guy's demand must have been quite forceful to get Charlie to track me down. Then it clicked. "He wouldn't have a gun pointed at you, by any chance?"
She sniffed. "Yes. He does."
My heart started playing bongos against my ribs. "Where's Winston?"
"In court."
"Tell the guy I'll be right there."
"He wishes to speak to you now."
I heard some rustling then a smooth voice. "Mr. Meter? No cops. Cops make me very nervous. You have ten minutes to get here."
"It's the middle of the day. I won't make it."
"Ten minutes." The phone went dead.
I closed the cell, shot up. "Gotta go," I said to the woman who was watching me with wide eyes. I couldn't remember her name -Liz or something- and I didn't care.
"I heard you mention a gun," she said. "Shouldn't I call the police?"
"I'll take care of it."
"What about the rest? Your apartment."
I stopped in the doorway and turned. "It goes like this, sweetheart. You have a choice. You have five days to take care of everything, or you lose a fat -very fat- bonus. Got it?"
She straightened, eyes glaring, the red of her lips a dash of hostility, and gave me a short nod.
I rushed out and clambered down the fire escape stairs from the second floor to the underground parking garage. I hit the ground running, at the same time zapping my car unlocked through the remote on my key ring. For the first time, my doubts about spending a small fortune on four wheels and an engine flew out the window. The SUV's engine purred immediately and the tires didn't even squeal when I burst out of the garage and veered west onto Wellington.
The office was in an old house on Bronson near Slater. At eleven at night, I could make it in under five minutes. At eleven in the morning, I wasn't sure I'd make it in ten, but I was damned if I wouldn't try.
Nine minutes and forty-five seconds later, I careened into one of the two parking spaces behind the house then took a breath. If I came in too fast and scared the guy, Charlie might buy it. I had a sweet spot for Charlie, even though she had the personality of a prickly pear and thought I was a bum. We both had a weakness for good coffee, and that was enough for me. After the first cup of java she'd served me, I'd adopted her as my pet secretary, to her deep despair.
Instead of going in the back way, I walked around the house and entered from the front door. Inside, I stopped, listened. The house creaked, the furnace started, but there were no moaning or raised voices. That was good. Maybe.
Winston's office door was closed. I knocked. "It's Jack Meter," I said loud enough to be heard through the thick door. It opened quietly, revealing a white-faced Charlie sitting at her desk, her hands flat on the surface. She looked like an angry rat, ready to jump and bite. No sign of her uninvited guest, so I assumed he was behind the door.
"Hey, Charlie," I said. "I would've brought you back a coffee, but I was caught in traffic." I stepped inside the office. The door closed behind me and I turned around.
The man still pointed his gun, this time at me. His appearance matched the voice: average height with bright, intelligent eyes. Sharp suit, cashmere coat, Italian leather shoes, designer hair. All in black. Not the kind of man anyone would imagine with a gun in hand, threatening a defenseless secretary.
"Please take this man away," Charlie said, in the same tone she'd use if she were asking me to take out a particularly smelly piece of garbage.
"We're leaving, Ms. St-Clair," the man said in his smooth voice, with a charming smile that involved a lot of teeth. "I suggest you not call the police. If you do so, an unfortunate accident could happen to Mr. Meter, which, I'm sure, you wouldn't like on your conscience."
Charlie threw me a questioning glance. I shrugged. "I'll be fine."
She pursed her lips then nodded.
I opened the door, stepped out. The gun and the man followed. "Where to?"
He gestured with the gun towards the back door. "We'll take your car."
I shrugged again, relieved to get outside, away from Charlie. When we were both seated in the truck, the thug -he might be well dressed, but he was still a thug in my eyes- instructed me to take the Queensway westward.
He whistled and caressed the dashboard. "Nice vehicle. Always wanted to ride inside one of those babies. I would've picked one of the cars, though, not the SUV. Too hard on gas."
"Does this conversation have a point?"
"Just trying to pass the time."
"You have a name?"
"Sure, but you don't need to know it. There's little chance we'll meet again." He waited a few heartbeats. "At least you want to hope so."
I snorted. Yep, just as I thought. A thug.
