{"id":634,"date":"2011-05-23T11:35:08","date_gmt":"2011-05-23T16:35:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.ajaalto.com\/?p=634"},"modified":"2011-05-23T11:56:44","modified_gmt":"2011-05-23T16:56:44","slug":"waiting-for-boudreau","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.ajaalto.com\/?p=634","title":{"rendered":"Waiting For Boudreau"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n
\u00a0\"\"<\/a>\u00a0There was a van parked across the street, a blue utility van with white lettering\u2014Percy & Slade Windows & Siding\u2014which was absurd, really, considering the only renovating Percy or Slade\u00a0ever did\u00a0involved realigning the bones of unlucky men. The old-fashioned park bench was wood and iron\u2014as opposed to those awful vinyl ones the Greenies made from recycled pop bottles, Olivia thought, a nice touch for an urban strip\u2014and\u00a0moist from the afternoon rain.\u00a0 Damp seeped through her black corduroys, yet she was made far more uncomfortable by the fleeting glances of the brunette sitting beside her. I\u2019ll have to speak to Slade about not sending me fucking amateurs.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Olivia entered a number into her cell phone and held it to her ear without pressing send. The brunette unwrapped a bagel\u2014cinnamon raisin, toasted, with butter\u2014and proceeded to pick the raisins out and flick them to the pavement. Pigeons waddled and cooed at her feet, and Olivia thought, at least she\u2019s wearing sensible shoes<\/em>.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Liv said to the empty phone, her voice a soft British lilt, \u201cMight I assume everything is in place?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Cinnamon sans<\/em> raisins frowned at the bagel as though it had offended her, and took a long look down Franklin street in the opposite direction. \u201cFell through.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0“You\u2019re quite sure?\u201d\u00a0Liv tapped a fingernail against the hard plastic of the phone expectantly, tap tap tap<\/em>.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cHe won\u2019t talk.\u201d A paper cup of coffee appeared from her side, went to her lips, and disappeared again. “Won’t talk to Goldsmith, won’t talk to Pfeifer, won’t talk to me.”<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cYour failure displeases me,\u201d\u00a0Liv told the silent phone, finally thumbing send. \u201cMoreover, it will displease M. <\/em>As will your use of names in public. Christ.<\/em>\u201d Percy picked up on the first ring without a hello. She informed him, \u201cI need some glass replaced.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0There was no reply.\u00a0Liv thought the silence was tainted by irritation.\u00a0Then\u00a0again, Mel\u00a0Percy\u2019s emotional range wasn\u2019t that broad to begin with. He was usually dialed to don\u2019t fuck with me,<\/em> and only once had Olivia seen him brighten, briefly, to that\u2019s not complete and total shit<\/em>.<\/strong><\/p>\n

She\u00a0waited for the blue van move away from the curb, to take Franklin to 13th, beyond which she could see ModAgro International\u2019s massive chrome and glass headquarters, Stuart Roth\u2019s phallic surrogate thrust stiff and proud above the other buildings, struggling into a soft and yielding grey sky. She waited a further five minutes beside a woman who might have half an hour left to live\u2014and 30 minutes was stretching it–wondering if Cinnamon Bagel had any idea.\u00a0 Now I have to call M. And M will send AJ.\u00a0 He always does.<\/em> This\u00a0had the potential to\u00a0get ugly, fast; Liv was no longer sure she wanted a part\u00a0in it.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>When\u00a0Liv finally did stand, sweeping a cascade of ash blonde hair back over her shoulder, she passed a brushing hand over her damp posterior with a grimace.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Bagel stopped chewing to offer up a simple, if muddled, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Liv thought, Clueless.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Olivia was half a block away, waiting for the limo driver to open her door for her, when she heard the single pop, and caught in her peripheral vision the crumpling of a body off a park bench. She didn\u2019t look back to see the dregs of the rookie\u2019s coffee running into the storm drain. Checking her Tag Heuer, noting the late hour in Ireland , she ignored some citizen\u2019s wailing alarm, and swung into the back seat.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0In her natural accent, pure Quebecois, she told the driver, \u201cBack to the Fairmont , s’il vous plait.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cGonna hit traffic, Madam Pelletier,\u201d\u00a0he said.<\/strong><\/p>\n

“Ostie de marde<\/em>,”\u00a0she muttered beneath her breath, texting M.\u00a0His reply, despite the late hour, was immediate and concise: Pass off to AJ.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cBe about a 50 minute drive,\u201d the driver told her, avoiding her eyes in the rearview mirror.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0Olivia slipped out of her Etienne Aigners and brought her bare feet up onto the seat, silk stockings sliding across cool leather. Putting her iPhone ear buds in, she cranked Vivaldi\u2019s opera 7 concerto 7 in D minor, and waited a heartbeat for her serenity to return.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0As it always did<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

To be continued \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

That\u2019s right, my faithful readers. As you might have guessed from the above, another evil author interview is in the works (and by that, I mean the interview is evil, not the author<\/em>). Can you guess who it is? I’ll give you a hint: his last name rhymes with flu-row … which sounds like the last\u00a0kinda boat\u00a0you saw\u00a0if transferred to the lazarettos in Venice in 1423, yes? You know,\u00a0yersinia pestis<\/em>\u00a0… NEVERmind, I’ve drifted into geek territory now. Back to spy-chick!<\/strong><\/p>\n

Coming soon, the curl-your-toes charming Al Boudreau will sit down with me (well, not literally with me, more\u2019s the pity, cuz I\u2019m a real sucker for that why-resist-me-I\u2019m-harmless smile of his, not that I buy it for a heartbeat<\/em>). <\/strong>Al and I (yes, Al and Allie<\/em>) will discuss his political thriller In Memory of Greed, his coming plans\u2014both writing and travel\u2014and his views on\"\"<\/a> the often odd life of a writer. And his thoughts on warm soda. And if he\u2019s allergic to beestings, or has any scars on or around his junk\u2014what?!<\/em> Oh, don\u2019t pretend you don\u2019t wanna know, ya buncha pervs. Then, while his resistance is down, I\u2019ll go in for the kill. My plan is a thing of beauty \u2026 if by \u201cbeauty\u201d, you mean \u201cwarped and puerile\u201d.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 (Witness the “I’m harmless” smile ^\u00a0Not buyin’ it!)<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0In any case, I look forward to prying his secrets from him. Some sympathy may be in order, since he\u2019s a sweet, sweet man indeed, and I hate to have to rough him up. No,\u00a0sympathy for me<\/em>, not for him! It breaks my iron-clad heart to hunt him down like this. But I\u2019d do anything for my readers, dontchaknow?<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0He’s given my accomplices the slip, but don’t you worry: AJ’s been called to the task.\u00a0*smiles innocently, hauling the business end of a .357 Walther P22 to eye level* And once I\u2019ve set my sights on someone, well, you should know by now: I always hit my target center of mass. Just hope I don\u2019t chip a nail \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

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