luck, I dashed across the street and hurried to catch up to the woman and her friend—or lover, or colleague, or brother, or whatever he was. In the distance I caught sight of them as they turned onto Dundas Street in the direction of University Avenue. Once they were out ofsight I ran to catch up, slowing as I turned the corner. They were ambling along, as if stretching out their time together. At the subway entrance, they stopped. And kissed.
Mystery solved. Not a brother or colleague. I had time to get three pictures. It was a long kiss.
I tailed her back to the office, snapped one last shot as she pushed through the office building door, then called Curtis. He said to come straight back. I logged my time and expenses into a small notebook I had bought at the QuickMart that morning. On my way to Curtis’s office I detoured to the park where the girl said I might find her. She wasn’t there.
Curtis was happy with my work when I recounted the woman’s lunch date and showed him the pictures. He hooked the cell up to a little printer and ran off a couple of copies of each photo. After examining them, especially the kiss, he beamed. His grin confirmed that the assignment hadn’t been personal; it was for a client.
“Great work,” he said. “I have all I need. You won’t need to follow her again.”
“Okay.”
“So, if I need you for another job, are you up for it?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Now, I have a lot of work to do, so if there’s nothing else …”
I fished out my notebook. “Yeah, there is. You owe me for two and a half hours and two subway tokens.”
NINE
T HAT EVENING , I climbed the narrow stairs to the attic apartment. On the way up I whispered, “Julian,” to myself a few times. That morning Gulun had called me to the cash register and for a minute or so I kept stacking the shelves by the coffee machine and didn’t answer. I had thought my new name was second nature by then. I’d have to be careful.
I knocked softly on the door. From within I could hear a television, a baby crying, a woman’s soothing voice. It was my first go-round on rent collection, part of my job as caretaker of the house—not a hard task, I thought, since there were only three tenants and one of them was me.
Fiona yanked open the door and stood red-faced and flustered, her toddler balanced on one hip, a steaming mug on the table behind her. A large plaque on the wall read, I’M NOT THE GREATEST MOM IN THE WORLD BUT I’M TRYING.
“Oh!” Fiona said. “Julian. Um, come in.”
Despite the open window over the sink the cramped two-room apartment smelled of fried sausages and dirty diapers. There were recently used dishes on the kitchen table and the high-chair tray was smeared with blobs of dark green something-or-other. Fiona lowered the baby into a mesh-sided playpen in front of the TV, used the remote to switch from news to a cartoon channel, then shoved a clothes rack draped with baby clothes against the wall, out of the baby’s reach.
“Come and sit down,” she invited, gathering the dishes and piling them in the sink. “We were just finishing supper and I haven’t had my well-earned break yet. Your timing is perfect. Cuppa tea?”
I took a chair. “I guess so. Thanks.”
Fiona was a small woman—in height—plump, with jet-black hair worn short and straight. A florid complexion and a button nose over a small mouth gave her a no-nonsense expression. She filled a mug with tea the colour of chocolate, topped up her own and shoved the milk jug and sugar bowl across the table to me.
“Settled in alright, are you?” she asked. When she spoke she rolled her Rs and cut off her Ts.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Grand. It’s a bonny place to live, this house. Quiet neighbourhood, decent landlord, and enough heat in the bloody winter, not like my old place. And between you and me, the rent is fair.”
The baby was standing in the playpen, gripping the frame in both hands and shaking it as if
Mystery solved. Not a brother or colleague. I had time to get three pictures. It was a long kiss.
I tailed her back to the office, snapped one last shot as she pushed through the office building door, then called Curtis. He said to come straight back. I logged my time and expenses into a small notebook I had bought at the QuickMart that morning. On my way to Curtis’s office I detoured to the park where the girl said I might find her. She wasn’t there.
Curtis was happy with my work when I recounted the woman’s lunch date and showed him the pictures. He hooked the cell up to a little printer and ran off a couple of copies of each photo. After examining them, especially the kiss, he beamed. His grin confirmed that the assignment hadn’t been personal; it was for a client.
“Great work,” he said. “I have all I need. You won’t need to follow her again.”
“Okay.”
“So, if I need you for another job, are you up for it?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Now, I have a lot of work to do, so if there’s nothing else …”
I fished out my notebook. “Yeah, there is. You owe me for two and a half hours and two subway tokens.”
NINE
T HAT EVENING , I climbed the narrow stairs to the attic apartment. On the way up I whispered, “Julian,” to myself a few times. That morning Gulun had called me to the cash register and for a minute or so I kept stacking the shelves by the coffee machine and didn’t answer. I had thought my new name was second nature by then. I’d have to be careful.
I knocked softly on the door. From within I could hear a television, a baby crying, a woman’s soothing voice. It was my first go-round on rent collection, part of my job as caretaker of the house—not a hard task, I thought, since there were only three tenants and one of them was me.
Fiona yanked open the door and stood red-faced and flustered, her toddler balanced on one hip, a steaming mug on the table behind her. A large plaque on the wall read, I’M NOT THE GREATEST MOM IN THE WORLD BUT I’M TRYING.
“Oh!” Fiona said. “Julian. Um, come in.”
Despite the open window over the sink the cramped two-room apartment smelled of fried sausages and dirty diapers. There were recently used dishes on the kitchen table and the high-chair tray was smeared with blobs of dark green something-or-other. Fiona lowered the baby into a mesh-sided playpen in front of the TV, used the remote to switch from news to a cartoon channel, then shoved a clothes rack draped with baby clothes against the wall, out of the baby’s reach.
“Come and sit down,” she invited, gathering the dishes and piling them in the sink. “We were just finishing supper and I haven’t had my well-earned break yet. Your timing is perfect. Cuppa tea?”
I took a chair. “I guess so. Thanks.”
Fiona was a small woman—in height—plump, with jet-black hair worn short and straight. A florid complexion and a button nose over a small mouth gave her a no-nonsense expression. She filled a mug with tea the colour of chocolate, topped up her own and shoved the milk jug and sugar bowl across the table to me.
“Settled in alright, are you?” she asked. When she spoke she rolled her Rs and cut off her Ts.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Grand. It’s a bonny place to live, this house. Quiet neighbourhood, decent landlord, and enough heat in the bloody winter, not like my old place. And between you and me, the rent is fair.”
The baby was standing in the playpen, gripping the frame in both hands and shaking it as if
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