Hazardous Goods (Arcane Transport) (34 page)

With an hour left in the day, I was going through a file from John Vranic’s office when a voice came through on the intercom.

“Donnie? Call for you on line one.”

I pushed the payroll statements to the side, happy to do something other than review another page of numbers.

“Donnie Elder speaking.”

“This is Dr. Bernie Galt.”

Interesting. I wondered whether he was going to try to weasel his way out of the final balance he owed us. Our statement had gone out three weeks ago - $3,245.32 all in. He had been dodging Kara’s calls ever since.

“Bernie. How can I help you?”

“I am,” he paused as though wanting to start again. “I am calling to advise you that we will not be terminating your services after all.”

“I see.”

“Yes. I have considered the matter further, and determined that it would be best for Bindings if we continue to utilize your courier services. No doubt you will be happy to hear that you can continue to cite us as one of your higher-profile customers.”

“Mm hm.” So, his eyes must have popped out of his head when he saw how much it would cost him to ship via a regular courier service. Either that, or someone had balked at delivering to the Blooded Sisters of the Divine. Probably scared off by the chicken guts smeared on their front door.

“And in that regard, I have asked Ms. O’Sullivan to prepare a check today for my signature in payment of – of one-half of the outstanding balance we presently owe you. We will be getting that out to you this evening.”

“Hm.”

“It will of course cause us some short-term financial difficulty, but we will manage.”

I kept my mouth shut, not convinced I would be able to say anything without inserting a lengthy and colorful string of expletives that were unlikely to facilitate this supposedly renewed relationship. The result was a prolonged silence on the line, one underscored by Galt’s breathing, which I now realized was quite audible, even a little raspy.

“Alternatively, we could – yes – perhaps that’s what we will do. Mary? Please prepare the check in full payment of the account. Yes, it is only reasonable that we should make full payment of your account in light of your many years of good service. Full payment. We will have that off to you by end of day.”

Maybe I should try the silent treatment more often.

“I trust we can then proceed with business as usual?”

“Sure.”

“Good, good. We’ll have that check off to you shortly. Okay, then. Good bye.”

I set the phone down, shaking my head. It’s amazing how some people believe they can do whatever the hell they want and get away with it. I paused, considering that for a moment, then decided to tell Maggie and Kara the good news face-to-face.

The kitchen was oddly quiet at this time of day, but I could hear a host of voices out front. Must be a late afternoon drop off, or a few of the staff catching up.

I entered the Reception Area to find Kara, Harold and Jamar all gabbing with Harper, and with Clay, who looked like a new man.

“Donnie!”

“Clay! I didn’t know you were dropping in.”

“Oh, Harper and I thought we should pop in to say hello to the gang, make sure everyone remembered who I was.”

“Yeah, right.”

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Well,” I laughed. “I just got off the line with good old Bernie Galt at Bindings.”

Clay chuckled, and surprisingly both Harold and Jamar rolled their eyes. Seemed the not-so-good doctor had not made any friends.

“Trying to get out of that last bill?” I had walked Clay through the ups and downs of the Bindings relationships during our weekly calls. To say he was in favor of terminating the account was an understatement.

“Hah! That’s what I thought, too. Nope. Turns out our friend Dr. Galt would like to
restore
our relationship. He’s even prepared to pay us in full.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Me too. But if it
does
come in...”

Faces fell. Boy, they sure didn’t like this guy.

“Relax. No deliveries until the check clears. But once we do have the check, I’m changing the rules. No cash, no delivery. Payment up-front.”

“Now we’re talking!” Harold clapped me on the shoulder, and Clay seemed delighted with my course of action.

“Well it sounds like you have everything in good order. Maybe this is a good time to tell them, then.” Clay was looking at Harper, but we were all looking at him. She smiled and nodded, and he turned back to face us.

“We’re going on a vacation. Four weeks. Hawaii. Leaving tomorrow.”

No kidding. Good for them. The group cheered.

I felt a bit of pride, hearing that. Clay trusted me enough to leave his baby with me for four weeks. Made me think the past three months had been worth every minute.

Three days later, we got our check from Galt. And two days after that, it cleared.

If you enjoyed Hazardous Goods, then watch for the next book in the Arcane Transport series:

“No. I am
not
driving your damned chicken to Hamilton.”

“But—.”

“No live transport. Read the back of the card.”

“Listen
ami
, I know what da card say. But Lady Clara, she need dis bird by noon. If dere’s no bird, dere’s no offering. No offering, and Papa Ghede, he no happy. Lady Clara don’ wan’ see Papa Ghede when he no happy.”

My name is Donnie Elder, and I’m the co-owner of Arcane Transport, a courier for a strange group of customers. Occult bookstores, palm readers, Goth nightclubs and churches where everyone dances naked praying to Al-Magaroth, lord of the Underbelly.

My client for this particular run was Lady Clara Ellerby, a professional psychic, medium and spiritual reader based in Hamilton, forty minutes from downtown Toronto on a quiet Sunday and two and a half hours away in the rage-inducing sludge of rush-hour traffic. The good Lady seemed pretty harmless by all standards, and was a decent account. Regular business, paid on time, courteous. Unfortunately this time she had sent me to make a pick-up from a far less reputable business. You Do Voodoo. A one-time Arcane client black-listed by my partner for various crimes, including the ultimate digression – non-payment of account.

The proprietor’s name was Darly Joseph, and he spoke with a Haitian accent so thick I didn’t understand half of what he said.

“Mr.—.”

“Houngan. My title is Houngan. Houngan Darly.”

“Houngan Darly. No offense intended. But we can’t ship live animals. It’s a driving hazard and an insurance nightmare. I can take the necklaces, the herbs, bones and pots. I’ll even take the rum and the cigarettes. But not the chicken.”

“Dey need de chicken.
Ou konprann?
No point for da rest if dere’s no chicken. It’s just a dumb animal, look ad it. Pop it in da van, and you’ll have no problems,
ami
.”

No way. No way in hell was I going to drive a chicken – a live, clucking, pecking chicken – all the bloody way to Hamilton. Chickens belong on a farm, or on a Styrofoam tray, wrapped in plastic with a label indicating weight and price. Not sitting on the seat beside me while I slog down the QEW. Especially not this chicken, which was standing on the counter of Houngan Darly’s shop, staring at me. Not clucking or pecking or scratching or wandering around. Just staring at me in its cockeyed way, maroon comb and wattles quivering. Thing was freaking me out.

“No way. Look, I’m sure she can just buy a chicken from a local farm.”

His expression suggested he would be making a small doll in my likeness that evening.

“Dis bird be raised for da sacrifice,
ami
.”

“Then get a butcher to carve it, wrap it, and give it to me in a box.”

“It needs be fresh,
ami
. De blood must be warm, for Papa Ghede to accept de tribute.”

“Not my problem. I can’t take the bird.”

He sighed, rubbing his chin. I glanced away to check my watch. Three fifteen. I needed to hit the road in the next twenty minutes, or I may as well just ride a bike the forty miles to Hamilton.

I turned back to see Darly grab the bird and drop it on the floor behind the table. Thank God. With some animals, I got the sense there was intelligence behind their eyes. A dog looking for approval, horse fearing an approaching stranger, a cat debating whether to disembowel you or crap in your bed. I had no idea what the hell a chicken was thinking.

Well, emotional connection or not, I wasn’t ready for what came next.

Darly turned, took a cleaver from its resting spot on the table behind him and leaned down out of my line of sight. I saw a flash of steel, then heard the sharp impact of metal on wood, followed by an odd clicking noise, like fingernails on a countertop.

“Dere.” he stood up, with the cleaver in one hand, and a small object in his other. I registered a beak and a streak of blood. “
Pa gen pwoblem
. Now you won’ be transportin’ no live animals.”

Holeee shit. That was the...

Around the corner of the table came a flapping, staggering bundle of copper-coloured feathers and scarlet blood. I was frozen in shock, fear, outrage or disgust. Or all four.

The body lurched out into the main floor of the shop, then suddenly shifted direction, heading right towards me. I was still unable to move, and watched as it hopped twice on one leg, then skipped and did a pirhouette, until it brushed up against my leg.

“Yeeeoooowwww!” I popped off the floor like a Jack-in-the-Box, scrambling to climb onto the store counter and knocking various bottles, pamphlets and a stapler flying in all directions. “Get it away from me!”

I’m loathe to admit it, but that last outcry sounded like a five year old girl confronted by a bee at a neighbourhood picnic.

“Oh ho,
ami
. Don’ be scared. It’s just a bird.”

Darly rounded the corner and grasped the bird by its legs, a plastic bag in his other hand. He slid the body into the bag, legs still twitching, tied it off, then turned and dropped the bag into a cardboard box that had apparently once contained a four-slice toaster with a bagel “function” and a slide-out crumb tray. He folded the lid closed, then dropped it on the counter in front of me.

“Not live transport any more,
ami
.”

Twenty minutes later I was driving along the Queen Elizabeth Way, or QEW, one of the main lifelines of Southern Ontario. Unfortunately, this particular lifeline was as clogged up as my brother Ted’s arteries after consuming an eight slice with anchovies and double cheese.

Spending two hours on the highway was the last thing I needed. We were halfway through a full moon cycle, and I was dead on my feet. Our daily deliveries had jumped fifty percent, and we were looking at a record month. Great news on the business side, but not so great on the sanity front.

Clay had warned me full moons were busy. And this was a harvest moon. Worst of the year, apparently.

Still, even he was surprised by our numbers. After all, hadn’t scientists disproven the whole full moon thing? My theory is that rather than trying to prove whether the moon influences human behavior, scientists should ask whether human
beliefs
influence human behavior. All skeptics should be directed to the library – look up Crusades, Jihad or Trekkie.

Like it or not, believe it or not, working on a full moon at Arcane Transport was like finding blood in the toilet. Not a situation you want to face.

I eyed the box sitting on the passenger seat, and realized I was already in a situation I didn’t want to face. Could chickens come back as ghosts? Would I be haunted by a headless bird for the rest of my life?

The console shook with a wicked guitar riff.
Salute Your Solution
, The Raconteurs. I’m a sucker for cool ringtones.

Call from the office.

“Big Toe Bakeries. We’ve got seriously cheesy buns.”

“Augh. That’s disgusting.”

Kara Sinclair, my dispatcher, receptionist and office manager. Also the subject of many a pleasant daydream, provided her boyfriend Chad doesn’t drop by the office.

“Hey.”

“No – really. That’s disgusting.”