“Why are you looking at Pete’s feet?” I asked, staring hard at Max.
He shrugged. “It’s hard not to. He’s always got those neon pink flip-flops on. It’s like a moth to the flame—I can’t look away.”
I frowned when Pete’s voicemail message started once more. “Pete,” I said firmly after the beep. “It’s Sebastian Snow. From the Emporium—that place you promised to be at between eleven and threeish. It’s quarter to six and I’m going home.” I ended the call without saying anything else.
“Ish is a measurement of time found between ‘I don’t give a fuck’ and ‘this is who I am as a person,’” Max stated.
“Pete’s dead to me.”
“I can’t decide if your dad giving you the middle name Andrew contributed to your award-winning personality, or if he had a premonition as to the sort of man you’d become.”
Sebastian Andrew Snow.
SAS.
Those who knew my middle name eventually pointed that out.
Everyone was a comedian.
“Go sweep the floor.”
Max smirked and left the counter.
I began tidying up for the evening, but paused when I picked up the plastic sleeve with the shipping label for the Kinetoscope. I brought it close, retrieved the phone once again, and dialed the office number printed on the form.
“Barnes Brothers Shipping. We do the heavy lifting so you don’t have to. Save up to 15 percent on all packages shipped between now and May twelfth. Offer only valid with domestic ground service, maximum weight twenty pounds. Offer cannot be combined with other coupons. My name is Cindy, how can I help you?”
I held my breath.
“Hello?” she asked in the same bored, monotone voice as the monologue she’d just performed.
“Oh, is it my turn?”
Cindy popped her gum loudly.
“My name is Sebastian Snow, I run an antique shop in the East Village. This morning I received a large crate that originated from your office.”
Pop,pop.
My left eye twitched. “There was no sender information.”
“And so what did you need?” she asked.
“Sender information.” Was there an echo in here?
“I’m afraid I can’t provide that.”
“Why? I was the recipient.”
“Our customer’s contact information is confidential.”
Pop.
“Cindy, was it?”
“Yeah,” she answered, unenthused.
“How about I just talk to your manager about this.”
