The Mississippi Company

by Mark Kertzman

Chapter 9

synopsis

A tale of two individuals on opposite sides of a fraud stretching from India to the Asteroid Belt.

The old clothing district at mid-morning was a hive of frenetic activity. Delivery trucks, couriers on electric bikes, and tuk-tuks belching kerosene and coconut-oil fumes all jockeyed for position on the cramped, narrow streets. Pedestrians looking for wholesale deals mixed with cutters, pattern-makers and pressers out smoking on their breaks.

Jim was late, but he didn’t mind. He reveled in the chaos, sidestepping some matronly sari-clad women out shopping. As he continued towards the dirty concrete facade of the six-story industrial building where his office nestled, he whistled a happy tune, glad to be in the middle of this bustling commerce.

Out of the hot, blue-sky day, something was amiss. Oh, sure, it wasn’t unusual to see a couple of cops, walking a beat. But a full dozen of them? And in riot gear? Right around the corner from his building? Crouching at the ready like that?

He almost stopped dead in the street, but barely had the presence of mind to keep up his casual stroll. Now alert, he angled over to a small alcove leading to a rarely used access door. From that shelter, he could kind of keep watch on them.

They definitely looked like they were ready to pounce on somebody, sweat staining their khaki uniforms under flak vests and black steel helmets. The purposeful-looking matte-black plastic automatic carbines that they carried gave Jim a definite pause. Yet it was the man with them that really caused alarm bells to go off in Jim’s head.

He wasn’t very tall, or very large. The blue shirt and tan suit pants were exceedingly ordinary and would not have looked out of place had he not been wearing the police-issue flak vest and helmet over them. Jim couldn’t see a weapon on him, but this man gave the impression that a weapon wasn’t really necessary. If he didn’t actually command the police officers, his body language made it clear that he was somehow in charge.

His eyes were what made Jim the most nervous. As he spoke in urgent whispers to the police sergeant next to him, his eyes blazed with a combination of penetrating intelligence and pure predatory instinct. Those were the eyes of a dangerous man. At least, a man dangerous to Jim.

They were moving now. In single file, tensely gripping their auto-carbines, the police rounded the corner and headed for the glass doors of Jim’s building. One by one, they disappeared into the darker interior. The police sergeant and the flak-vested civilian were the last to enter. Before going in, the civilian gave the street one last intense glare.

Jim watched the doors, waiting. The police and their companion did not reappear, and finally Jim casually left the shelter of his alcove. He gave his building one final glance, then set off down the street. He wasn’t running, exactly, but he was moving fast, back the way he came. He wasn’t whistling any more.

Proceed to Chapter 10...