Dead On

by Michael Paulson

  Chapter 12

  Elgin Warehouse was a five story poured concrete cube the size of a square city block. A white brick facade wrapped around its glass-paneled main entrance to try and give it that sophisticated upscale look. I used one of the double doors to get in out of the late-afternoon sun. To my delight, I was greeted by a leggy brunette with jade eyes, a strong set of white teeth and twenty pounds of silicone buried in the flesh beneath her blue sweater.

  "What can I do you for?" she asked with a provocative jiggle.

  I leered at what God had not given her until they stopped moving. "I couldn't ask, now. Not after the way you've improved the blood-flow to places I haven't paid attention to, in years."

  She giggled and gave her artificial mammaries another shake. "I love to please."

  "Well, in that case is the manager in?"

  She leaned across the counter letting her overflowing charms polish its top. "What's he got I don't?"

  "Nothing comes to mind at the moment," I replied. "You're perfectly equipped for either short or long term dedication."

  Her pink tongue darted naughtily back and forth across her upper lip as she smiled. "I prefer long. Lately short is all that's been offered."

  "I'll pencil you in for some overtime come Thursday."

  She let go a long ripple of silver laughter. "Why wait? I can work wonders any day of the week."

  "Hell! I bet you could make a blind man see."

  "Not yet," she cooed, petting my face with her eyes. "But, I'm working on it. I suppose you want to rent space?"

  "Preferably somewhere close to you with an option on all-night exploration."

  She gave me a wink, and then reached under the counter. I heard a buzzer sound in the distance. And almost instantly, a short rat-faced guy wearing a badly fitting toupee opened the unmarked door behind her, and scurried over.

  "I'm Mr. Davis, the manager," he said in a high squeaky voice. His green plaid suit was the kind that advertised drip-dry, with no wrinkles. It had wrinkles, was dry and had definitely attached itself to a drip. "What can I do you?"

  I told him who I was and that I owned an international retail distributorship that would be expanding to McAllen and I needed secure warehouse space. His little black eyes sparkled as he foresaw a sales-bonus arriving in time for Christmas.

  "We have restrictions on foodstuffs, explosives and flammables," he said, adjusting his dirty brown tie. "Otherwise, nearly anything is acceptable. And our annual rate is the most cost-effective in the entire area."

  "What about inflatable sex dolls?" I quipped, giving the brunette a wink.

  He pinked as his eyes nervously darted to her. She laughed and shook her head, as if refuting a minor indiscretion.

  "I—I don't see how they would pose a problem," Davis stammered, returning his gaze to mine. "Provided they are stored deflated and in unmarked boxes. This is the Bible-belt, Mr. Bishop, and some of our clientele are extremely sensitive."

  "Others just hate getting the short end," the brunette giggled.

  Davis gave her a red-faced glance before explaining that each renter had a particular area for storage: some secured, others shared. Secured storage was more expensive.

  "Most of my goods would be glassware," I told him. "Very long thick stems. Each one is a handmade import. I'll need assurances there is no chance of theft."

  The brunette giggled and swayed back to her desk. "Nothing better than long and thick."

  Davis's neck reddened as he stared after her. "Expensive glassware and inflatable sex dolls," he murmured. "That has a ring to it, I grant you." Then he returned his attention to me and asked, "How do you display your merchandise?"

  "The dolls flex their stomachs to get a good grip on the stems, silly," the brunette quipped.

  "Do any of your current clients store similar goods?" I asked. "You see the crystal is extremely sensitive to barometric pressure changes."

  "I'm not sure"

  "There's a lot of that going around," the brunette interjected. Then she pointed an index finger up before letting it droop. "One second it's where you need it. The next it takes an unexpected dip."

  "Sounds serious."

  Davis loosened his tie, his face now crimson. "We don't have anyone with your particular inventory combination. However, we have one who stores glassware. Naturally, I could not discuss our arrangements with her. We pride ourselves on confidentiality. It's our most outstanding feature."

  "A rare thing, considering so little else stands out these days." The brunette smiled, the tenor of her words placing emphasis upon 'little' and 'out.'

  He took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweating brow. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

  "Thank God for you." I gave one of his hands a firm shake. "I can't tell you how infuriating it is to have some gossip bantering about the details of one's equipment. Particularly during times of dipping disadvantage."

  He glanced over at the brunette again before muttering, "I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Bishop."

  "Could I see that storage area? Just to get an idea of how it's setup? It would relieve my mind. I've had so many insurance issues of late and I can't bear another theft."

  He thought for a moment and then nodded. "I don't see why not. I couldn't actually let you in there, you understand?"

  "Confidentiality about your equipment," I said, nodding in agreement.

  I gave the brunette another wink, and then let Davis lead me to a section on the warehouse's second floor. It required a pass card to reach that level. A separate card reader mounted to a steel fire door released an electric lock. This, in turn, gave us access to a long passageway lined with chain-link. The latter rose from concrete floor to the concrete ceiling, segmented into cubicles of various sizes. As Davis strode proudly ahead of me, I noted that each storage area was further secured by a solid steel door blessed by a heavy tumbler lock.

  After a brisk walk, he stopped. "This is it." He patted the door to a section was the size of a semi-trailer. Inside were about 100 brown shipping boxes. On several I saw the name, 'Moira'.

  "Well I'll be damned," I said, feigning surprise. "Don't tell me Moira Huggins leases this?"

  The manager started to nod, but caught himself. "I cannot say, either way," he said. "You understand, of course?"

  I nodded. "Equipment confidentiality."

  "Er, have you known Mrs. Huggins long?"

  "Old friends. From long before she married Leon. In fact, I'm having dinner with her, tonight. Is it true her husband's in some sort of trouble with the police?"

  "Terrible thing," Davis said. "I've tried to be the soul of consolation."

  "You see Moira often?"

  He cleared his throat. "Not that often. She has a very busy schedule. She and I have, shall I say, an understanding."

  "Really? She'd always preferred someone very large—when it came to understandings—before she married. Have you met her husband?"

  His face fell with dismay. "Only once. I knew immediately he was the violent type. An ex-boxer, you know. Er, how large?"

  "Well, I don't like to brag." Then I clucked my tongue appropriately and tapped the chain link. "I like what I see, but couldn't someone cut their way through that?"

  He stoked the mesh lovingly. "It's titanium. Cutting without a torch would be impossible. With one, it would still be a very risky and time-consuming task. No thief in his right mind would attempt it. Er, you knew Moira well?"

  I nodded. "Intimately."

  "Was she ever desperate? I mean, what about in an emotional emergency? Did Moira ever settle for, shall we say, medium?"

  I wagged my head. "Length and girth are key, I'm afraid."

  He sagged back against the wire mesh, looking weary and defeated. "Most, disappointing."

  "What about risk from break-in? The pass-card is a good deterrent but…"

  One of his arms made an expansive motion. "We have the latest in warehouse security. M
otion detectors, heat sensors, video cameras and of course an automated sprinkler system. I don't suppose she drinks to excess?"

  "And wouldn't notice any short comings? Not that I remember." Then I nodded toward the boxes. "How many will fit in this size space?"

  His chin took another dip. Then with a mournful sigh he replied, "Moira has over a hundred, now. That's probably all it can hold without stacking the cases more than head-high—not recommended. Things have a way of tumbling unexpectedly."

  I held up one forefinger and then let it curl downward. "Most embarrassing, I imagine."

  "Yes, well, each space is customizable and it is up to the lessee to determine its utilization—within the bounds of our requirements, of course." He offered me a sad smile. "I'd always been told that size doesn't matter."

  "A rumor started by the short-set, no doubt. When can I move in, as it were?"

  His shoulders sagged in despair. "As soon as a contract can be executed," he droned. "I had such dreams."

  I tapped on the mesh. "What if something bigger was needed?"

  "Naturally, we could lease you something larger—not an entire floor at this time. However, there is substantial space on the ground floor."

  I looked around, carefully evaluating the risk of breaking into the place. Access from below was out since the floor was reinforced concrete. I looked up. Access from above was not possible for the same reason. The only way in or out was through its steel door. To manage that, I would need a card from someone leasing space on this floor. "I would prefer space on this floor."

  "I'm afraid, this entire level is booked."

  So much for plans 'A thru Z'. "Now, I'm disappointed."

  "How much are your inflatable sex dolls?" he asked.

  "With or without a vibrating vagina?"

  He stood erect his eyes suddenly bright. "It vibrates?"

  I nodded. "I designed it with Moira in mind. How can I get to my storage area if you're out ill, for example?"

  "Your access card such gets you past the main entrance and allows exclusive admittance to your assigned floor. After using the access reader, you merely go to your particular spot and with the issued key gain admittance to your goods. We prefer not to offer duplicate keys for security reasons. However there have been exceptions."

  "What about after hours, access?"

  He shook his head. "If you need that, you'd better look for one of those drive-in pay-stations. We have a strict schedule and there is no variation."

  "That's a bit of a drawback. You see I'm out of town frequently on buying trips. Can I send someone in my stead to retrieve merchandise?"

  He nodded. "Happens all the time. In fact, just the other day one of Moira's… ­er, this client's hired-help came with a delivery. Naturally, you would be responsible if your property is stolen under those circumstances."

  "Fair enough. One last thing, my trucks are rather large and I don't want to inconvenience your other tenants while I'm moving in. Is there a time when it isn't too busy?"

  He nodded. "Just after noon is usually the slowest. However, I'm not available at that time on the off-chance you need assistance."

  "Is your receptionist here?"

  His face renewed its red glow. "She's usually gone during that timeframe, as well."

  "Ah, out for some exercise, I'm sure. She looked very fit. I take it she's quite fussy about what she puts in her mouth? Complains when it isn't just right?"

  He offered a feeble smile. "Among other things. We could—or rather, I could—make other arrangements on a particular day if you have issues that can be resolved only during that timeframe. Naturally, there would be a service charge."

  "Dear me what a surprise. I hadn't expected that."

  "It seems to be the thing everywhere, lately," he sighed.

  "Does the charge depend on the time duration? Or what is to be accomplished?"

  "Both, actually. It can be very frustrating. Oh, you mean here? Well, time is the issue."

  "Especially if you want it right then and there. Still, I'm sure it's well worth paying."

  He took out his handkerchief and daubed his neck. "Some days I'm not."

  After he escorted me back to his office, I was given a look at the security system's central control panel. I commented on the pretty red lights, while silently noting it was a brand that offered little leeway in circumventing. After which, I promised to return in a few days to sign a multiyear lease. He was holding back tears of joy as I left. The brunette was licking her lips.