main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 19 Colbrin As they entered the lighthouse, the phone rang. Gammell reached it first. “Hello?” Verity stood next to the couch and did not take off her coat. She looked at the pile of books that he had left there, pretending to be interested in the titles. From his end of the conversation, she assumed that he was talking to Pelorus. He put down the phone. “Pelorus cancelled the meeting. He said some emergency came up.” “What sort of emergency?” “A potential buyer has just walked into his shop. He can never pass up an opportunity to make some quick money.” “Perhaps it would be better for him to just concentrate on his business.” “You could be right.” He glanced at the computer. “I should turn this off.” “Everything on there is already saved.” He closed down the operating system and flipped the power switch. “Since there is no meeting, I was thinking about visiting the Verne warehouse. It probably won’t be too interesting. It’s located in the older business district. Most of the businesses there are closed down anyway.” They went back out to take his car. As Gammell started up the engine and eased the vehicle onto the road, Verity finally wondered where she was. She was partially glad that he had not asked her how she felt after the kiss or to discuss where their supposed relationship was heading. In truth, she wasn’t sure how she felt and she didn’t know where they were heading. But she did want to curse him for changing everything. She had wanted whatever that had been between them to have stayed the same. She briefly looked at her hands and bandaged wrists and then looked outside at the passing scenery. But nothing ever stayed the same. Everything always changes. Gammell navigated his car along Seadoch Road passing by worn apartment buildings. Some of them seemed vaguely familiar. Was one of those discolored rectangular blocks outlined by the darkening sky one of the apartments that Miranda lived? Verity crossed her arms and wondered why she suddenly felt hungry. The business district branched off into a myriad of small streets. As they drove further into the district, the buildings began sagging more as if they were carrying some invisible weight. The buildings also grew larger until they finally reached a small street packed with warehouses that were so close together that only one person could walk between them. They were five to six stories tall with dirty windows. Some of the windows were cracked and broken. Gammell parked on the side of the road and when Verity got out, it seemed abruptly silent and colder. The closest warehouse had a sign pasted on the front door. It was a fading blue and the words were in grayed, chipping paint. “Verne Storehouse.” All the windows on the first floor, at least, were unbroken and it appeared as if someone was inside as a faint light radiated out from the dirt-caked panes. “I don’t like the looks of this,” said Verity. “Nothing looks good in the old part of the business district,” said Gammell. He knocked on the door. “We’ll try the conventional route. And if no one answers…” “We go in the back and break in?” He looked at her. “You’re feeling contrary today aren’t you?” “I’m always feeling contrary. Well, if no one answers, are you going to break in?” “I don’t want to do anything illegal. My record with the doctors is already a black mark against me.” “Good. I just wanted to make sure.” “We could call whoever owns this now.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Then why didn’t you call earlier? It could have saved us all the trouble of coming all the way out here.” “Sometimes doing things the hard way can lead to better results.” “The phone call sounds like a simpler and more elegant solution.” The door finally opened revealing a stout man standing on the threshold. He had a small moustache and small eyes that peered at the two visitors suspiciously. He wore a navy uniform of a security guard, but it did nothing to disguise his growing gut. A tight cap on his head finished the ensemble—he looked both professional and incompetent as he pulled at the lobes of his ears nervously. “Who are you?” he demanded. “This is the Verne Storehouse?” said Gammell. “I heard that there was some inventory down here. I just wanted to know if Samuel Verne still owns the place or if it has been sold to someone else.” “It doesn’t belong to Samuel Verne anymore,” sniffed the security guard. “Is that all you wanted? It’s cold out there and I don’t want to let all the warm air out.” “So who does it belong to?” “The current owner prefers to remain anonymous, so if you don’t mind,” the security guard began closing the door. Gammell laid a hand on the door to push it open. “I just wanted a few other questions answered too.” “Now wait a minute, I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” the guard spluttered. “This is private property and I could have you arrested for trespassing!” “What is it Wood?” came a voice from the interior. “Who are you entertaining at the door?” “Some nosy people,” replied the security guard. A short figure shuffled into the light. To Verity’s eye, the man looked like an ugly imp. The imp, seeing Gammell, grinned revealing sharp teeth. “Come in, come in! This is an acquaintance of mine.” Reluctantly, Wood ushered Gammell and Verity to the interior and then closed the door to prevent any more of the heat to leak out. The Verne Storehouse looked like the inside of a garage stacked up with numerous objects and boxes as if someone were in the midst of moving day. Most of the objects were things like crockery, battered pieces of furniture, and broken pieces of ornamental knick-knacks. The warehouse itself was supported on thick concrete columns interspersed at regular intervals. Some of the junk and boxes were also leaning on these columns as if someone had been attempting to build a miniature fortress of useless things. “What are you doing here Gammell?” The imp of a man wore an ugly brown body suit and was incredibly short; he barely came up to Verity’s shoulder. He was bald and pale and wrinkly. His eyes were wide and so black that from a distance, one would think his entire eye was just one large pupil. The tips of his ears was sharp, as was his beak-like nose. He held his claw-like hands close to his chest, his left hand absently petting the back of his right hand as if it were a cat. He grinned again and Verity wondered if the man filed his teeth to points for vanity—just as some women religiously plucked their eyebrows. “Colbrin.” Gammell said the man’s name emotionlessly, but Verity could tell from the slight twitch of his mouth that he found the little imp distasteful. “I was just wondering who owned the warehouse. I’m just doing some research for a colleague. What are you doing here?” “You probably don’t know this, but Samuel Verne, the man who used to own this died and bequeathed this particular estate to one of his nephews. The nephew contacted me to get an assessment of the place. Obviously, you can immediately see there’s not much here that would even attract vultures. You can take a look around if you like.” “I’ll do just that.” Unerringly, Gammell headed into the depths of the warehouse to root around for anything, something. Verity moved to follow him, but Colbrin moved to block her pathway. “Who are you?” Colbrin’s inquiry was a loud, threatening hiss. “I’m his assistant.” “Gammell doesn’t have assistants.” “He hired me.” Colbrin turned his head slightly and sniffed the air. His eyes narrowed as he turned back to stare at her. A snarl was on his lips. “I smell him on you.” “You must be kidding me. I’m supposed to be helping Gammell with his research.” She stepped to the side and tried to brush past him. Colbrin blocked her again. “You stay right here! Wood, make sure she doesn’t wander off.” “Yes sir.” Verity watched the imp stalk of toward Gammell. “I wouldn’t worry about it much if I were you.” Wood, the security guard, took out a packet of cigarettes and put one in his mouth. He lit it with a lighter he kept in another pocket. “Colbrin’s real weird. He’s like that all the time.” “I’d say. I just want to help my boss on his research, you know?” “Yeah, I know. It’s tough being the employee of the head honcho. You don’t have much authority. That’s why I figure if I saved enough money, I’d start a small store of my own.” Verity and the security guard stood near the entrance watching as Gammell seemingly rummaged around in among the junk in a haphazard pattern. Colbrin, however, had not gone to Gammell to ask him if he needed any help. Instead, the small man hid behind one of the concrete columns watching Gammell as he rubbed his hands and repeatedly brushed his right leg against the column. “Pervert,” Wood muttered. Then he held out the packet of cigarettes to Verity. “Want a smoke?” “No thanks.” “Suit yourself.” Gammell finally wandered back toward the entrance. Colbrin trailed him. “I think that phone call you mentioned is a better idea,” Gammell told her. The security guard took a drag on his cigarette and watched the two visitors as they headed out. “I want to let you know that the job I offered you six months ago is still open,” said Colbrin. Gammell stopped briefly but did not turn back to look at the little man who was watching his back hopefully. “I don’t work for anyone.” “Well, we can always work out a partnership.” “I’m not into that kind of partnership.” “Then why did you hire that…that woman as an assistant?” Colbrin spat out the word ‘assistant’ as if he had accidentally ate a fly in his soup. “I’m not justifying my work decisions to you.” As Gammell opened the door and motioned for Verity to exit before him, Colbrin suddenly launched toward him and latched onto his free arm. “I think you’re the best consultant in the city. I want to hire the best for my business.” It was obvious that he was actually not talking about his business at all. He not so gently shoved the imp-like man away from him. “Don’t touch me.” Colbrin reverently placed his hands on his cheeks. “Call me, the job is always open.”