"That we'd go with it?"
"I guess."
A brittle nail leveled at Rune's face like a bright red dagger. "This is the big time. You keep forgetting that. We don't run a story until it's completely buttoned up." She walked stridently through the newsroom on her clattering heels while employees moved quickly but unobtrusively as far out of her way as they could.
chapter 18
DOWNSTAIRS, IN THE LOBBY, RUNE SURVEYED THE JOB AND didn't like what she saw.
A directory of residents, containing over a hundred names.
"Help you?" The doorman's accent seemed to be Russian. But then Rune decided she didn't know what a Russian accent sounded like; the man--wearing an old gray uniform shiny on the butt--might have been Czech or Romanian or Yugoslavian or even Greek or Argentine. Whatever his ethnic origin, he was big and snide and unfriendly.
"I was just looking at the directory."
"Who you wanna see?"
"Nobody really. I was just--"
He smiled slyly as if he'd just caught on that three-card monte games were rigged. "I know. They done that before."
"I'm a student."
"Yeah, student." He worked a spot on the inside of his mouth with his tongue.
"How long you worked here?" she asked.
"Six months. I just came over here. This country. Lived with my cousin for a while."
"Who worked here before you?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. How would I know? You make good money doing it? You know what I'm saying?"
"What do you mean? I'm a student."
"I've heard it all. You think I haven't heard it?"
"I'm an art student. Architecture. I--?"
"Yeah." The smile was staying put. The tongue foraged. "What you make?"
"Make?" Rune asked.
"How much you sell them for?"
"What?"
"The names." He nodded. "You sell them to companies send everybody that junk mail. No junk mail in my country. Here! It's everywhere."
"What I'm doing is I'd like to talk to some people who live here. About the design of their apartments."
A nod joined the smile.
There was nothing worse than being accused of something you hadn't done--even if you were doing something you shouldn't've been doing.
She rummaged for a minute in the dark recesses of her bag until she came up with a stiff bill. A twenty. Hot out of the ATM. She handed it to him.
Zip. It vanished into his pocket.