wasn’t used to the change. It was disorienting to look in the mirror and not see his closely cropped black hair and smoothly shaven face. Worse yet, the mustache itched mercilessly.
“Let’s take a look,” the Realtor suggested, using the key in her hand on the heavy metal door to the warehouse. Hobart reached over to help her. She found the lights and he followed her in.
They entered a small outer office. The walls had been painted yellow sometime in the distant past but had faded to an uneven tan. Hobart walked across the stained carpet and through a door at the back. It led to a nearly identical room. Two large windows had been cut into the wall to the left of him. Judging by their crooked appearance, the work had been done long after the sturdy brick building had been erected.
“If you walk back around here, you can see the bathroom and the entrance to the warehouse section.” He followed her, examining her thin neck as she maneuvered the wheelchair through the narrow hall. It would take less than a second to snap it. She’d never know what happened. He frowned. Too dangerous. She was a loose end that he would have to tolerate.
The bathroom was small and basic. A sink, toilet, and mirror. It had the same faded yellow walls but they were stained by mildew, causing wide black streaks that at first glance looked like wallpaper. Karen stopped at another formidable-looking door and tugged at it with all hermight. It didn’t budge. She looked at Hobart who, finished with his examination of the bathroom, pulled it open. She wheeled through with a grateful smile.
It was just about the right size, close to fifty by fifty feet, with a twenty-five-foot ceiling height. The walls consisted of old brick, occasionally obscured by dirty wooden shelves. At the far end was a tall garage door. It looked large enough to back in a semi. Hobart wandered around aimlessly, stirring up the brightly colored sales flyers littering the floor and ignoring the Realtor’s sales pitch.
“Until two weeks ago the warehouse was occupied by a T-shirt company.” She reached down and picked up one of the flyers. “That’s where all these flyers came from. Obviously, it will be broom clean if you decide to take it.”
“And there are apartments above?”
“Two. I confirmed that they’re both available, but I hear that they’re not that nice.”
“You said eight hundred dollars for the warehouse?”
She nodded.
“How much for the entire building?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Probably double that, sixteen hundred. Keep in mind that there’s no access to the upstairs from here.”
He took another quick turn through the space. “I’ll take it for a year with a one-year option. It’ll need some work, though. I assume that the owners wouldn’t mind if I made a few improvements—at my own expense, of course.”
“What kind of improvements were you considering?”
“Nothing special. A little paint, a new carpet, maybe an alarm system.”
She shrugged. “I can’t imagine that would be a problem. What kind of business are you in, John?”
“Wholesale antiques.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” she said in a slightly bored tone. “Let me pop out to my car and call the owners. I want to make sure that I quoted you right on the apartments, and ask them about the improvements. If everything’s all right, we can go back to my office, fill out a little paperwork, and it’s yours.”
“Fine.”
It was almost five o’clock when Hobart left the realty office in Fells Point, an area known for good seafood and dive bars. The smell of steaming crabs hung in the air, inviting him into the restaurant directly across the street. He glanced at his watch. Dinner would have to wait.
Hobart pulled his car into a narrow space about a block from his final destination. He fished a small scrap of paper out of his pocket and dialed the number written there on his cellular phone. It rang four times before being picked up by a
“Let’s take a look,” the Realtor suggested, using the key in her hand on the heavy metal door to the warehouse. Hobart reached over to help her. She found the lights and he followed her in.
They entered a small outer office. The walls had been painted yellow sometime in the distant past but had faded to an uneven tan. Hobart walked across the stained carpet and through a door at the back. It led to a nearly identical room. Two large windows had been cut into the wall to the left of him. Judging by their crooked appearance, the work had been done long after the sturdy brick building had been erected.
“If you walk back around here, you can see the bathroom and the entrance to the warehouse section.” He followed her, examining her thin neck as she maneuvered the wheelchair through the narrow hall. It would take less than a second to snap it. She’d never know what happened. He frowned. Too dangerous. She was a loose end that he would have to tolerate.
The bathroom was small and basic. A sink, toilet, and mirror. It had the same faded yellow walls but they were stained by mildew, causing wide black streaks that at first glance looked like wallpaper. Karen stopped at another formidable-looking door and tugged at it with all hermight. It didn’t budge. She looked at Hobart who, finished with his examination of the bathroom, pulled it open. She wheeled through with a grateful smile.
It was just about the right size, close to fifty by fifty feet, with a twenty-five-foot ceiling height. The walls consisted of old brick, occasionally obscured by dirty wooden shelves. At the far end was a tall garage door. It looked large enough to back in a semi. Hobart wandered around aimlessly, stirring up the brightly colored sales flyers littering the floor and ignoring the Realtor’s sales pitch.
“Until two weeks ago the warehouse was occupied by a T-shirt company.” She reached down and picked up one of the flyers. “That’s where all these flyers came from. Obviously, it will be broom clean if you decide to take it.”
“And there are apartments above?”
“Two. I confirmed that they’re both available, but I hear that they’re not that nice.”
“You said eight hundred dollars for the warehouse?”
She nodded.
“How much for the entire building?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “Probably double that, sixteen hundred. Keep in mind that there’s no access to the upstairs from here.”
He took another quick turn through the space. “I’ll take it for a year with a one-year option. It’ll need some work, though. I assume that the owners wouldn’t mind if I made a few improvements—at my own expense, of course.”
“What kind of improvements were you considering?”
“Nothing special. A little paint, a new carpet, maybe an alarm system.”
She shrugged. “I can’t imagine that would be a problem. What kind of business are you in, John?”
“Wholesale antiques.”
“Really? That’s interesting,” she said in a slightly bored tone. “Let me pop out to my car and call the owners. I want to make sure that I quoted you right on the apartments, and ask them about the improvements. If everything’s all right, we can go back to my office, fill out a little paperwork, and it’s yours.”
“Fine.”
It was almost five o’clock when Hobart left the realty office in Fells Point, an area known for good seafood and dive bars. The smell of steaming crabs hung in the air, inviting him into the restaurant directly across the street. He glanced at his watch. Dinner would have to wait.
Hobart pulled his car into a narrow space about a block from his final destination. He fished a small scrap of paper out of his pocket and dialed the number written there on his cellular phone. It rang four times before being picked up by a
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