The Courier

This little black book, sealed from my eyes, has become the bane of my existence. It taunts me. Haunts me. Having it in my possession has changed everything. Twenty-grand had been offered for its safe return. It should have been a simple courier job.

It wasn’t.

As I stand there with the small book in one hand and the yellow envelope filled with unmarked bills in the other, I find myself torn. The man I was to meet still lay slain on the floor from the syringe he had intended for me. Whatever the contents of that book, they were lethal. I now have a choice—finish the task at hand by giving the money to my employer or cut my losses and let this dastardly thing vanish. Either way, I’ll likely end up dead.

I’m certain my employer is working for the corporation that sought out this book. Why else would he be requesting such a small amount for something whose contents weren’t meant to be seen by anyone? I slip the cash in my back pocket and fumble with the small clasp that keeps the pages locked away. I know it won’t open. I’ve already tried. I tell my clients that I never peek at the goods, but of course I do. Insurance. It would have been nice to know what was within this package before I had arrived. I would have expected the attack. Things would have been cleaner.

“Shiv,” a voice behind me says.

It belongs to a local beat cop, Eddie, who I had formed a partnership with. I had called him after the incident with the dead man. In my line of work, it’s always best to have a man on the inside. Although, sometimes I question how helpful he really is when Shivers has become to much effort for him to say. For now, I need him to help me clean up this mess.

“I need this to go away,” I say. “This man is muscle for Zemtec. Apparently, Mr. Zemmer and his associates don’t want anyone reading this.”

I show Eddie the little black book. His reaction is the same as mine—attempt to open it.

“What do you think it is?” he asks. “Evidence of an affair, money laundering?”

I shrug. Whatever it is must be something detrimental to the company. I have to find a way into that book. It’s the only leverage I have against Zemtec. Once they realize their hitman failed, they’ll be coming for me again.

Leaving Eddie to tend to the scene, I make my way out of the parking garage. I didn’t tell him about the money, nor did I offer to pay him yet. But he knows I always come through for him. The envelope in my back pocket is just as mysterious as the book. Why did the hitman bring it at all if his only intent was murder? I had counted it. It was all there as it should have been.

Alone on the streets of New York, I find a dark corner to begin my investigation far from any prying eyes of Zemtec. I hadn’t been followed. I made sure of that. Now, with no one to give the book to, I’m free to use a little more forceful method to try to open. I take out my pocketknife and pry at the lock. The blade slips from the metal edge and catches my thumb. The book is determined to be dangerous.

I wipe the trickle of blood on to my pants so that I don’t stain the pages as I make another attempt. The lock is firm, but with careful prodding I bend the metal enough to feel a satisfying click. Finally the book’s secrets are laid bare.

On the first page I find a phone number, and then…empty.

Page after page is blank. I hold it up to a streetlamp, certain I’m missing something. There’s not even the glisten of something hidden on them. Just sheets of white. My only clue is the number. One I can’t call at present. The first thing I did after being attacked by the man was to destroy my phone. I don’t like being tracked.

Down the street from me is an old fleabag hotel. It seems suited for ill-conceived attempts. The concierge welcomes me with a disgruntled sigh as he turns off the nightly news. It was fitting for it to have been playing a report on Zemtec’s newest product—a wonder drug that restored cardiac functions in ninety-eight percent of test patients—recently FDA approved.

Taking the phone from the concierge, I call the number from the book. Someone answers, but they don’t speak. All I can hear is breathing.

“Donovan Shivers,” says the voice.

I tense. The voice knows my name, but I also know his. My employer. I recognize it all too well. The same voice had contacted me about the job. The number had been written in as an enticing trap should their hitman fail. I should have realized it sooner. I hang up the phone and leave the hotel as quickly as I can. For all I know, the call had been traced.

I don’t know what my employer knows. I’m certain I can’t trust him. Until the matter is resolved, I can’t go home. I can’t go to the abandoned warehouse where I stash my things. I’m on my own.

Hailing a cab, I try to get across town as quickly as I can. Toward upscale Manhattan, far from the grimy pit they would have last known. The move brings me closer to Zemtec’s headquarters. It’s somewhere I have to make sure to avoid. They would likely try to reacquire me there after things had gone sideways.

The cab stops outside of a grand hotel whose name is difficult to pronounce. Its one typically frequented by movie stars and politicians. Not someone trying to lie low for a night. I don’t have any cash to pay the driver, so I slip him a bill from the yellow envelope. He promptly stiffs me the change as he speeds away. Twenty-grand less a hundred.

I step inside the hotel, sorely underdressed in my simple business suit. Night and day from where I had left. The lady at the desk looks at me with distaste until I hand her a black label credit card. Illicit courier did have its perks.

“I’m sorry, but this card has been declined,” she says as she hands me back the card. Her distaste for me has returned.

“Impossible,” I say. I’m certain the card is valid. “Try it again.”

“Sir, rooms here are six thousand per night. If you would like you can try the Hotel Express down the street. Perhaps they will be more suited for your financial status.”

I smile and pull more cash from the envelope. Fourteen-grand less a hundred. Whoever my employer is, he’s powerful. I’m certain it was he who has frozen my accounts. A bad move for him if he wants his money.

The room that costed me six-thousand dollars of my life was lavish, but I don’t take time to enjoy it. I continue to study the book, but it reveals no more secrets. Nothing hidden in the cover nor the binding. Because of the nature of the room, they equipped it with a black light. I’m not certain if it’s for inspections or interesting parties, but I use it to study the pages. The blood from my thumb illuminates on the paper, but nothing further. From what I can tell, the book is truly empty. It doesn’t make sense.

A knock at the door startles me. Cautiously, I ease toward it and peek through the peephole. The face I see is unexpected. He shouldn’t be here. Not in this hotel. Not outside my room. The sight of him makes me uneasy. I know him, but I don’t open the door. Instead, I retreat back from it as quiet as I can. I hear him attempt to turn the handle. No not attempt. He opens it with the key card I see in his hand.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?” I ask, finding myself continuing to backpedal until I fall against a piece of furniture.

“You forgot to pay me,” he says coolly. “You took twenty-thousand dollars and left me with nothing.”

He knew about the money.

“I can explain,” I say. “The money was for the job. It’s not mine.”

“I know.” He pulls a phone from his pocket and hands it to me. I hear the same distinct breathing. My employer.

“Mr. Edwards is the job,” I hear the voice say before the line goes silent.

Eddie pulls his weapon and aims it toward me. There was never anything incriminating in that little black book. This wasn’t about Zemtec at all. I had been played.

“I’m sorry, Shiv. I’m the courier now.”