unaccustomed activity and stress of new things bore down on him. He fell asleep, and so didn’t see the great bridges of the City or the green and gold hills of the counties north of the City. He woke when the bus driver kicked his feet.
“Las Tumbas, buddy. That’s all your ticket bought. Got it? Okay, get off.” Haakon stumbled sleepily off the bus, quietly feeling his pockets for the fifty dollars. It was still there.
The bus station in Las Tumbas was a little sister to the one in the City. Even the layers of pigeon dung were similar. Haakon searched the rack at the small ticket office for a map, and finally stood in line behind a woman with very poor English skills who was trying to buy a ticket for somewhere in Mexico, and couldn’t understand why the man couldn’t sell her a Mexican bus ticket. At last she gave up, and Haakon stepped up to the counter.
“Yes?” the man in the booth said.
“How do I get to the Coastal Commission office?”
“Go out the front door; turn right for two and a half blocks. Then look left. You’ll see a government building. Looks like a prison, some say. The Coastal Commission Office is in there.”
“Thanks,” Haakon said.
“Don’t mention it,” the man said and took up the book he was reading. It had a dragon hurling lurid fire at a unicorn on the cover. The title was some nonsense word. Haakon left the booth and went out the front door. He turned right, walked the two and a half blocks, and looked on the left. Yes, there was the building, looking a lot like Lechuga Prison. Haakon sighed and walked toward it.
Spy for Hire
The state office building was very like a prison. It had few windows, concrete bollards half-blocked the front entrance and metal detectors greeted one at the doors. The lobby was painted white, with the state seal picked out in mosaic on the floor. The elevators were polished stainless steel. Haakon found Ms. Dee’s office number on the third floor. He called the elevator. When it came, he entered the gleaming cage and pressed the button for the third floor. The elevator doors closed very quietly. There was no jerk when it started and no jerk when it stopped. The doors opened onto a corridor carpeted in a non-descript beige that was thick and lush underfoot. The walls were institutional cream.
The office doors were also cream. It was difficult to distinguish one office from another. Only the discreet lettering on the brass nameplates clued one in to who worked behind the cream doors identifiable only by the protruding brass doorknobs. Methodically Haakon read each nameplate until he found Commissioner Dee’s office. There he turned the brass knob, and went in.
A gray-haired woman glared at him from behind a desk. She and her desk dominated the room. In one corner, a forlorn plant languished in a marble urn.
“Ms. Dee?” Haakon inquired. The woman’s desk had no nameplate. Haakon waited while the woman examined him. He imagined her stare stripping away his clothes, peeling back his skin, and boring through to the very bones of his face.
“I am not Ms. Dee,” she said. “I am her secretary, Bertha Van Nation. Who are you?”
“I’m Haakon Spitz. Father Roman Hands sent me here to interview for a job with Ms. Dee.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“I thought she was. Father Hands gave me this letter of introduction.” Haakon took out the folded sheet Father Hands had included with the bus voucher and handed it to Bertha.
“I see,” she said. She took it. “I’ll consult Ms. Dee. She may be able to include you in her schedule today.” When she saw the light of hope flare in Haakon’s eyes, Bertha went on. “She may not, however, have time today. Please seat yourself and wait here.”
After several minutes, Bertha returned.
“Ms. Dee will see you,” she said. “Her time, however, is limited, so do not waste it. Follow me.”
Bertha led him into an office. Behind its desk stood a sharp-faced woman with piercing black eyes and black hair rolled in a severe bun at the back of her head. She did not hold out a hand to him.
“Mr. Spitz?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Sit down.” He took a seat across from her. She sat.
“I need a man for a few days to do some surveillance work. It’s on the coast. Do you have camping equipment?”
“No, I’m sorry to say.”
“I’ll provide you with a key to a Coastal Commission tool shed. It has a cot in it, and a small stove. There’s also a supply of dehydrated food, and water piped into the shed. You’ll be all right for a few days.”
“Is it heated?”
“The shed? No. There’s a sleeping bag on the cot. You can use that to keep warm at night. Do you have clothing more suited to out-of-doors than that suit you’re wearing?”
“No, I only got out this morning. I haven’t had time to go shopping yet.”
“I’ll provide you with twenty dollars. You can go to the thrift shop one block over and get yourself some things better suited for out doors. I’ll have Bertha, my secretary, drop you off at the Commission Park. She lives out that way.”
“What or who am I watching?”
“Watching?”
“You said this was a surveillance job. What or who am I watching?”
“There’s a neighbor who harbors a llama herd. I think they are destroying habitat for the marbled murrelets who live on San Danson Mountain. I want you to find evidence, whatever evidence you can, that the llamas are destructive. Report to me in one week. I’ll pay you a hundred and fifty for the week, and I won’t charge you for food or lodging. Acceptable?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Vanna pressed the button on her communicator.
“Bertha, please come in.” Bertha entered almost at once. “Get twenty dollars from petty cash and give it to Mr. Spitz. Take him to the thrift store on the next block and then drop him off at the Coastal Commission Park on your way home. You may leave now. We’ll take up our work together again in the morning.”
“Yes, Ms. Dee.” Bertha looked at Haakon with a measuring eye. “Come along, Mr. Spitz. I’ll just get my purse and your cash, and we’ll be on our way.” Bertha stopped at her desk, took a cashbox from a drawer, and extracted a key and some cash from it. She replaced the cashbox and locked the drawer. Then she led Haakon to the elevator. When they got to the street, Bertha handed Haakon forty dollars and a key.
“Here,” she said. “Ms. Dee often underestimates the cost of things, even at the thrift store. Get some warm jeans, a flannel shirt, and a jacket. The weather could turn cold before the week’s out.” Bertha walked with him to the store. He went in, selected a gray flannel shirt, a worn but serviceable pair of jeans, and a light jacket. Vanna’s forty dollars needed five of his own to cover the expense. At least she had promised him food.
After he made his purchases, Bertha escorted him to her car, and drove out toward San Danson Station and the Coastal Commission Preserve. She didn’t say much until Haakon asked her, “What should I look for?”
“Well, I’d say any sign that the llamas are polluting the nesting areas of the marbled murrelets. I know Ms. Dee has spoken of her concern in that area. Also, any sign that the residents of the manor house are breeding the llamas. You know, like crías, that sort of thing.”
“How would llamas pollute the nesting areas of these murrelets?”
“With their dung, Ms. Dee says. Between us two, I think it has more to do with an old family feud than it does with murrelets and llamas, but don’t quote me.” She pulled up to a great chain link gate in a chain link fence.
“You get out here,” she said. “Take the trail on the other side of the gate to the top of the low ridge, there. You’ll find the tool shed at the end of the trail. Unlock it, go in, and there’s a cot and a hot plate. Dried food is in the cupboard, and there are pans, spoons, and things to eat with. Clean up your mess. Oh, and the water’s outside; there’s a faucet next to the restrooms. Good luck.” She motioned him out. “Please close the car doo
r,” she said. “I’m already late getting home.” Haakon shut the door. Bertha waved at him, and sped away.
Haakon tried the key in the lock on the gate. It didn’t fit. Sighing, he climbed over the gate and dropped down on the other side. He twisted his ankle dropping, and had to limp slowly up the trail toward the tool shed as the cold gray fog crept over the first glimmering stars in the evening sky.
A Tool among Tools
The tool shed was small. It sat upwind from the rest rooms, which was a blessing. No matter how clean, rest rooms in the wild carry a wild odor. Haakon held his breath as he passed them. No one had cleaned them for some time.
The lock on the tool shed yielded to the key Bertha Van Nation had given him. He opened the door, fumbled for a light switch. After a moment he realized it was a chain suspended from the socket holding a naked bulb in the ceiling. He pulled the chain. The light clicked on with a harsh and blinding glare. The room that slowly swam into view as his watering eyes focused was lined with hoes, mops, spades, rakes, and other tool paraphernalia for maintaining the wilderness outside.
A second room sat in shadows behind this first one. Haakon went toward it slowly. He looked for another ceiling light, only to discover a switch on the wall. The bulb in this room was soft pink, and of a much lower wattage than the glaring light in the tool room. This room had a cot, with two folded khaki blankets at the foot. The small desk held a hot plate whereon
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