Revenant

Chapter 33

In a pinch there was always picking up a regular, extra-sturdy shipping container and putting together a do-it-yourself flash refrigeration solution, though something like that would take time. Time it felt like I didn't have. Plus, I only had the vaguest notion of what that might look like, or how to go about it. Exactly how does one go about turning a regular shipping container into a makeshift storage freezer in about a day or so?

Logistically, however, I was feeling pretty okay with the shipping container idea in general... despite Stevie's earlier demonstration of brute strength, vis-a-vis him smashing his way out of a metal coffin. I realized that although he was insanely strong, he was still bound by the laws of physics, or at least some of them. His superhuman strength had enabled him to get out of the box because he wasn't simply punching the sides, he was also laying against it, which gave him the leverage he needed to apply the kind of force necessary to warp the metal and crack his prison open. Inside of a much larger box, like a shipping container, he wouldn't be able to do the same thing - there was nothing for him to leverage against. He could stand there punching metal for weeks and barely make a dent. Strong as he was, even if he threw himself at the inside walls of a shipping container with as much force as he could muster it was very likely he'd simply bounce off.

Then again, the laws of physics and biology had been acting pretty twitchy around Stevie as of late.

There were other things to consider, of course, like what to do with Stevie and the shipping container once he'd been trapped or frozen inside of it, but first I had to find out how feasible the first portion of the plan was. There was no point in making elaborate plans involving a shipping container if I didn't even know if I'd be able to get one in the first place. And that meant waiting for word from my sources. Which reminded me....

I pulled up an application window on my computer and checked my website folder for uploads, something I'd been doing every couple of hours or so. Rather than an empty folder, I saw that my open window now had a small text file in it, one that had been uploaded about an hour and a half ago, according to the timestamp. Smiling, I double-clicked it and began to read.

Then I saw the note had nothing to do with my attempts to purchase a refrigerated shipping container, and my smile became something else entirely.

Need to meet in order to discuss progress. I shall come to your place, likely to arrive at eleven. Taking precautions, but will leave pets outside and my purse at home. -Maria

Yeah, that's what I needed right now... to provide my employer's right-hand woman with an update on how things were coming along. And at a time when the only two things I knew with unfailing certainty were 'jack' and 'shit'.

I checked the time. Twenty to eleven, which gave me a bit of time to get ready, but not a lot. I re-read Calvino's message a couple of times and frowned.

Things had gone off the rails in spectacular fashion last night, and I was all but guaranteed to receive some sort of dressing down as a result of Diavolo's guy getting murdered. Calvino appeared to know how these sorts of things worked though - speaking obliquely and using metaphors - which was a plus. What she was essentially saying was that she would have an escort with her, likely of the thick-necked and well-armed variety, but wouldn't bring them in the bar with her. That, and she wouldn't have any weapons on her person.

I would, of course, but she probably already knew that, too.

There's a certain amount of courage required when you're planning to sit down with someone whose professional occupation involves killing people and disposing of their bodies. In fact, I've had some customers who were more jittery and nervous at the prospect of seeing me than some of my marks. Given that Calvino knew exactly who I was and never appeared to be anything but calm and collected in our dealings with one another, she had that sort of courage in spades.