The Posting Method (McGill And Gropper Thrillers Book 3) - Andrew Davie

The Posting Method (McGill And Gropper Thrillers Book 3) by Andrew Davie

Book excerpt

Lawrence felt the inertia build as the machine accelerated like the car itself yearned to go faster. It had been a long time since he had been in a vehicle which hadn’t been stuck in bump-er-to-bumper traffic, and almost forever since he’d been behind the wheel. To be able to take this beast out on the road and really open her up was a welcome relief. Of course, the car was a rental from the airport with about ninety-thousand miles on it, so opening it up meant going about sixty, tops. The rental agent had done a quick inspection and noted some previous marks on the paint, so Lawrence wouldn’t get charged for them. The agent hadn’t provided details on the automobile’s history, but once Lawrence had gotten it out on the road, the car had sounded like it was coming to the end of its journey. He gunned the accelerator. The car picked up speed, and while Lawrence had initially been worried that he’d look in the rear-view mirror and see parts drop on the road in its wake, he had seen nothing but asphalt.

When he’d left New York earlier that morning, the weather had been significantly colder. He glanced down in the passenger seat at his rumpled coat. Lawrence continued down the long stretch of road. Eventually, he got off the highway and went down some side streets. Before long, he was in downtown Charleston. At a stoplight, on his right he saw a sign for a diner, and his stomach growled. He still had some time to kill, so he pulled the car into the parking lot be-tween two SUVs. The car sputtered for a moment and silenced after he turned off the ignition. He let out a deep breath and opened the door. The humidity came down on him like a wet blan-ket. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view before he exited. He had bags under his eyes and disheveled hair. He reached into the glove compartment, removed a comb, and addressed his unruly appearance. His mentor, Dan Carr, had taught him, among other things, to always carry a comb and a pack of mints. There had been many other lessons from Dan which had served Lawrence well, but most of them had been work-related. The comb and mints were good for any occasion.

Inside the diner, two men sat at the counter that stretched all the way back on the left side of the room. Lawrence couldn’t place them, but they seemed like blue collar folk. On the right were booths layered in red polyester, which were all empty except for the final one which seat-ed a family of four. Both parents were bordering on obese, which probably meant the kids wouldn’t be far behind. Although, the kids looked like they still had a long way to go. A soli-tary man sat by himself at a table in the back near some pay phones and gorged himself on what appeared to be pancakes and bacon. The man had a determined look on his face as if his break-fast was something which needed to be conquered.

A middle-aged waitress behind the counter busied herself with the crossword puzzle. She had short hair and bangs. The only thing missing in Lawrence’s estimation was a nameplate which read “Flo.” Lawrence sat down on one of the stools and absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair. The woman put down her paper, adjusted her uniform, and walked over. Her clothes were snug, and her face looked weathered and worn down. The rest of her hair had been pulled tightly into a bun and held in place with a pencil.

“Get you something, Hon?” she asked.

“Some coffee, and uh,” Lawrence said and glanced at the laminated menu, “bagel with creamed cheese.”

“You want that toasted?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She went to get the coffee. Lawrence rubbed the bridge of his nose. The waitress returned with a chipped mug, cream, and sugar. She topped him off and returned to her crossword. Law-rence took out his Blackberry and cycled through his emails, invitations to some auctions, some artifacts which needed to be appraised, and a save the date announcement. Nothing that couldn’t wait. He had used the automatic reply to let people know he’d be unavailable for the day, and if they had any questions which needed immediate attention, they could contact his associate, Pamela. Lawrence swiveled on his stool and eyed the other patrons as he added cream. None of them paid any attention to Lawrence or anything else outside of finishing their meals. Both children in the back were busy coloring menus with crayons, and the solitary man continued on his stack of pancakes. Lawrence faced forward again and took a big gulp of his coffee. It was strong.

The diner was silent except for the sounds of the grill coming from the kitchen whenever the doors opened. Lawrence had never been in a diner this quiet before. Granted it wasn’t even close to capacity, but still. Lawrence thought about the other patrons and how close he’d been to becoming one of them: he’d be another cog in the wheel. Although, was he truly any different? He’d tried to play up the myth that his job and experiences were similar to that of Indiana Jones, except the truth was he was usually in a library or his office surrounded by stacks of books. He shook the thought from his head before it could take him down the proverbial rabbit hole. The waitress returned with his bagel. He laid down a ten, nodded to the waitress, took the bagel with a few napkins, and left through the front door before she could ask him if everything was all right.

***

McGill wasn’t one to believe in superstitions. However, his routine was often influenced by being able to analyze the day’s forecast based on very little information and then make the ap-propriate choices. For example, if it looked like it was going to be an easy day with few com-plications on the horizon, he might stick with only breakfast food for the duration. He would keep things varied. Maybe an omelet along with the standard pancakes and bacon. If it was go-ing to be a slow day, and he could truly savor everything, he might indulge in a pizza burger or corned beef.

He checked the time.

He was due to touch base with Gropper later this afternoon, but their caseload had been pretty light. Sue came over and filled McGill’s cup. She had only been working there for a few weeks, but she was a seasoned pro. It didn’t take long for the two of them to hit it off. She had reminded him of Renee. He couldn’t put his finger on it, perhaps there hadn’t been anything specific, but it was comforting regardless.

“Anything else, Hon?” Sue said.

“Omelet with hash browns.”

The landing outside of Renee’s apartment had been caked in foul residue, squalor McGill had thought reserved only for developing countries. The vibrations from the music caused the front door of her apartment to pulsate like a living organism. McGill wondered how the other tenants could tolerate it. However, he realized most of them would be reduced to some state of catatonia and would be oblivious to their surroundings. Surprisingly, Renee had heard his knock the first time.

The music quieted, and she appeared at the door. She stared at him through the crack of an opening in the doorway. The chain had remained firmly affixed. It took a moment for her eyes to focus on him.

“Oh,” Renee said. The inflection of her voice was neither one of enjoyment nor displeasure. “Come in,” she added.

The door closed. McGill heard the rattling of her attempt to get the chain out of the groove. It took more than one try but the door opened. Before he could step through the threshold, she had already walked away and deposited herself on a beaten-up futon which had been pushed against the far wall. Candles were strategically placed around the room which gave the apartment an infernal appearance. McGill had trouble discerning the layout of the living room, and rather than bump into something, he stayed where he was. McGill shut the door behind him after he had stepped inside. He didn’t bother with the chain.