"Smithers and Talen."

"Present."

"Here."

"Rollins and Jefferson."

"Here."

"Here."

"Dartke and Michaels."

"Dartke and Michaels."

"Um, yeah..uh, h-here."

"Michaels? What are you doing here?"

"What...what do you-"

"Alone, Michaels. What are you doing here alone?"

"I uh..I missed the carpool?"

"..."

"Sir?"

"Michaels, where is Dartke?"

That was how my day started; I was alone, facing a workload specifically designed to be handled by a pair. That was how we worked- drivers worked in silence, couriers worked in pairs, moles worked in secret. Fenton Michaels, my father, had been a driver. Tim, my brother? He was a driver, too. Tenured at Newark. And here I was, waiting on my partner to ship some..argon..laser blueprint to a Boris Gulsky at the Cafe Wha. What a wonderful sod I am.

"Francis Henry Michaels..."

Oh boy.

"..second-grade courier.."

Here we go.

"..assistant handler to Preston Dartke.."

"Yes, Director?"

"..here are your forms."

In the old days, they had to carry paper forms- y'know, the 'sign here, initial here' bit and all that. Nowadays, it's all digital: Director Lee loads the client prints to our formpad, client high-fives the pad, gets a green light for a match, we give him or her the goods. Three years, I've never had a bad print- they say it's like the kiss of death. They train you for that kinda thing, but I've heard stories..it's not pretty.

"Sir? What about the scheduled transport?"

"Oh, right. The..uh..argon thing. It's gone.

"Sent?"

"No, gone. Taken off our list."

'Taken off the list' basically translates to 'the feds threatened to shut us down if we delivered the package.' I guess Boris Gulsky will have to wait for his decade-old medical equipment. After the morning call, I usually went for a coffee with Preston or Smithers, depending on the route. Today, though, I had a gimme- no packages, just brokering a deal out in the sticks. Had some spare time to ask around. Maybe someone'd seen Fenton in the car park or something.

"Anyone seen Dartke? Anyone?"

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"Can't help you."

No, I guess not.

"Terrence Landers. My name is Terrence Landers. I registered last week, sent a check in."

"I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid we never received a check."

"I sent one the day after. My schedule was set."

"There's no record of payment being received, sir. If you'd like I can refer you to Education Counseling to reschedule your courses."

"Ugh! I- fine. Fine. Can I at least get my ID replaced?"

"Oh, um..once you register, yes, you can go to the bursar just down the hall and fill the replacement forms."

"..."

What a wonderful way to start my day. As if it wasn't enough that Rory broke his ankle and Mom basically made me his slave for the foreseeable future, now I had to re-register for school two days before the start of the semester. It took me nearly two hours to find the bursar, which for some ungodly reason had been thrown in the basement of all places; now I had to walk something like five blocks just to have some washed up Sociology professor lecture me about responsibility and making my payments on time.

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked, her eyes never leaving her computer monitor as I stepped through the crack in the office door.

"No, I was just at the bursar, and they told-"

"Sign in on the sheet over there." she said, cutting me off with a finger pointing down the hall. There was a table, up against the wall, piled high with schedule forms, time sheets..and about two dozen kids lined up beside it. Fantastic.

"Thank you." I said, and made my way to the end of the line.

I told them everything.

"Dartke, Preston. First-class at Besson, Inc. Specialty in accountrements and executive accounting. I was sent out here to deliver a package to Boris Gulsky, by care of Jennifer Marenstein. High-priority, low-profile. No details given, just the prints. I'm a painter. I paint murals. It used to be my cover but now it's more of a hobby. My partner's name is Michaels.
He should be here soon."

It didn't really matter much whether they believed me or not; I was fairly sure they were going to kill me. I decided I'd clear my plate early today and head to the Wha before I punched in- left Michaels a message last night. Bastard never answers his phone.

"I have a cat. I named him Terry, after my ex-wife's kid brother. My car's double-parked two blocks back; I got a ticket last week for speeding, and I haven't paid it back yet. Could you maybe park my car for me?"

I hadn't even sat down yet before the suits snatched me up- one tiny little gnat of a man approached me while a bear in a pinstripe suit took me by the shoulders. The G-men took me in the storage room out back, locked the door. I regretably made a remark about the Gnat's mother, and they tied me to a meat hook and hung me up. Things were progressive faster than I'd hoped. The Gnat was lecturing me.

"We have an arrangement with your employer, Mr. Dartke." he began, pacing beside me as the Bear stood watch by the back door.

"There are certain rules you must be made to obey. By coming here, you've violated the original terms of our agreement; you went off the list and attempted to deliver the film in question to a Mr. Gulsky. That was a very bad idea. Now, this isn't completely irreversible.."

The Bear went off into the break room. I smelled coffee beans as the Gnat got up in my face. His hooked little hawk nose twitched as he held me in place with both hands. My feet were inches from the floor..I could've kicked him where it hurts. I should have.

"..but you understand there will be consequences?"

I was just about ready to tell him off when the Bear came back. He had a steamy plastic cup in one hand, and a phone book in the other. Right then I knew this was going to get bad. The Gnat stepped back, letting me swing free; he didn't need my answer, but I was gonna give him one anyway. I would've, anyway, but the second I opened my mouth to speak I got a face full of hot water. It felt like someone'd taken a hot knife and scraped it across my cheeks. Gasping for air, I closed my eyes and tried not to scream. I could hear the Bear laughing as he wound up. I could feel the Gnat's ugly stare as the phone book smashed into my side.

"I'm sure this will be an enlightening experience for all of us."

After a few minutes scoping the halls for any sign of Preston, I decided to handle the deal solo. It was a run of the mill job- a low-key transaction between some minor players, probably some loser scoring big on a numbers racket. One of 'em probably had an in at Besson- maybe a cousin or friend in the mail room got em a free call. Best way to make sure no greedy debt collectors mooch off of your winnings is to get a suit to oversee the payoff, after all. They get nervous.

They met up at the Bronx Zoo, of all places. It was Wednesday, so at least I didn't have to pay to get in- they try and guilt you with "suggested donations" but when something's free, it's free. You suggest whatever you want, I'm keeping my money. Shuffling over to the 'World of Darkness' exhibit (bats and the like, I suppose), I found them squatting by the exit.

"First party, Jennifer Marenstein?" I asked, greeting the blonde in the pant suit on her cell phone closest to the door. She nodded, and went back to talking her head off in that annoying, nasal drone I'd grown accustomed to. Usually it either means my transmission's busted, or I'm driving through Queens.

"Second party..Aaron Gould."

The other loser was a wreck- bald, sweating rolling off the crow's feet around his eyes, he straighted his horn-rimmed glasses and waved. The guy was wearing a wool sweater and corduroys in ninety-degree weather. Wet as a seal, swear to God.

"So...so we doin' this now, or what?" he asked, his hands going in and out of his pockets every few seconds. Antsy didn't even begin to describe it.

"Yeah. Just let me get these forms sorted out and you can both be on your way.."

"So what happened? Have you resolved your money issue?"

"I..it wasn't..this isn't a money issue. I mailed a check and the office says they never got it. I mean, I came all the way out here, I had my schedule set over a month ago, and it's just.."

"Oh, I know. I know. Don't worry about it. Just let me..did you bring your first payment with you?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I.."

"Is that going to be cash or credit?"

"..brought a check."

"Okey-doke. I'll have this printed up in a minute."

I went into my bag while she typed away, figuring I'd just sign the damn thing and pay now so I wouldn't have to come back in a week. Wasn't in my folder, so I checked my pockets. Nothing. Did I leave it at home? Maybe I-

"Is something the matter?" she asked, looking across her desk to me diving headfirst into my backpack. I looked up, beet-red, and smiled, shaking my head.

"It's..heh, it's probably in my wallet. Yeah, I think I.."

It wasn't there. I knew it wasn't there. Still, I looked, opening it and expecting to find the same wrinkled five-dollar bill I'd stuffed in there last night..

"There! All done. Just bring this up to room two twenty-five and- I'm sorry, but are you sure you're okay?"

"No- yeah. Yes. I'm fine. I was just, heh- yeah." I assured her, flashing the check. It was in there all right, folded up around a bunch of old film negatives. Probably some pictures Rory took at the zoo last week.

"What room was that again?"