Read Online The Fixer by T. E. Woods - Free Book Online

hoping to gain any advantage a glimpse of her prospect’s arrival might offer. But no one came. She heard no vehicle approach. No door creaked open. No flashlight broke the darkness. She’d remained hidden and watching deep in the maze of ladders, forklifts, containers, and carts that had once been the tools of an active import-export business. The company’s founder had a heart attack three years earlier trying to convince a longshoreman to work his crew past quitting time. Dropped dead into a shipment of canvas patio umbrellas at the age of fifty-three. A court battle between his two sons left the place locked and gathering cobwebs while their respective lawyers bled their legacy dry waging dueling lawsuits.
    A spotlight snapped on before she made three steps. The Fixer froze. She looked up and estimated the light to be twelve feet overhead. The warehouse was an impenetrable shadow outside a three foot circle of bright white. Her eyes tried to adjust to the glare as she willed her breathing to return to normal. She took a few slow steps. The spotlight followed her. She stopped and looked up.
    “Hey, no worries, huh, buddy?” she called out. “I don’t mean no harm. Just looking for a place out of the rain’s all. Thought this place was deserted. No problem. I’ll be on my way.” The Fixer headed for the door.
    “Stop where you are.” A digitized voice blasted from unseen speakers.
    “Whoa!” She turned circles, looking up. “You some kind of robo cop? That’s cool.” The Fixer held her arms out to the side for inspection. Black leather jacket over ankle-length black velvet skirt. Men’s work boots, scuffed and scratched. Leather gloves with silver studs. Short black hair spiked and gelled. Safety pins pierced her ear lobes, complemented by a delicate silver nose ring. Heavy black eye makeup accentuated pale gray eyes. “Scan me if you want, brother. I’m clean. I got none of your crap on me, I swear. Just looking to stay dry.” She ventured another step.
    “I said stop. Stand still while I figure out what to do.” The Fixer smiled at the hesitancy in the electronically masked warning.
    “Hey, buddy. You wouldn’t be a fella name of Jones, would ‘ya?” She shielded her eyes with her gloved hands as she looked toward the rafters.
    The silence relaxed The Fixer. She leaned against a dusty file cabinet and waited for a response.
    “Are you Carr?” the mechanical voice finally asked.
    “I am.” The Fixer saluted the light. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d turn down the spot.”
    “But you’re a woman. I wouldn’t have guessed that.” The spotlight dimmed sufficiently enough to end the harsh glare.
    “No one ever does.” The Fixer stepped to the center of the light. “Now let me see you.”
    “That’s not going to happen, Ms Carr. We’ll conduct things this way, if you don’t mind.”
    Her anger flared. “We’re done here, Jones. I don’t do business with invisible voices.” She walked to the door, her ire punctuated with every step.
    “Wait!” A man’s voice came over the speaker. “Please. Don’t go. I need you.”
    The Fixer stopped but didn’t look back. “All you have to do is step out and introduce yourself. We’ll take it from there.”
    “I’m afraid, Ms Carr. This is all very new to me.” A woman’s voice over the speakers. “Please hear me out.”
    “How many of you are up there?” The Fixer turned to again face the light. “I came here to meet with Jones. Just Jones.”
    “And that’s what you have. I came alone.” A child’s lilt from the speakers. “Tell me a voice your comfortable with, Ms Carr. I can give it to you.”
    Curiosity pulled The Fixer back a few slow steps. “What have you got up there, Jones?”
    “Whose voice do you like, Ms Carr?” A woman this time. With a thick Irish brogue. “Try me.”
    The Fixer stepped forward in challenge, captivated with the technology suggested. “Let’s hear Barbara Streisand.”
    Nearly a minute