Читать книгу The Grand Dark онлайн | страница 10

“Fine, sir. It’s just a lot to think about.”

“Think at lunch. Right now, you have your first delivery.” From the Mara, Branca took a wooden box about the size of the one that had held the knife and tossed it to Largo. “The address is on the parcel. You know the area, I believe?”

Largo checked a slip of paper affixed to the box with red wax. It was a street in Haxan Green. He drew in a breath, wondering if this was some kind of test. Unpleasant as he knew the delivery was going to be, he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “Yes. It’s at the far end of Pervitin Weg, where it crosses the canal.”

“Very good. Not the best part of town, but not bad for a first run in your new position.” Branca took a leather shoulder satchel and tossed that to Largo too. “Keep your new deliveries in that. It’s old and if you think the stains inside look like dried grease, they are. It’s the type of bag used by many of the workers at the armaments factory. A nondescript way to haul your cargo and perhaps save your hide. Do you have any questions before you go?”

“None,” said Largo. “Thank you again for the opportunity, sir.”

“Stop thanking me and stop saying ‘sir’ all the time. That’s for the others. Not the chief courier.”

Largo’s bones felt icy. He needed to get away. “All right,” he said, having to choke back a reflexive sir. “Before I go out, do I have time to use the toilet?”

Branca went back to doing paperwork. He didn’t look up when he spoke. “Use the toilet if you need to. Better now than being arrested for pissing into the canal.”

Largo put the box in the shoulder bag and started out. His hands were beginning to tremble.

“One more thing, Largo,” said Branca.

He stopped nervously midstride. “Yes, sir?”

“Your chum Parvulesco. Keep an eye on him too. He’s never been arrested, but he has a most colorful reputation.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that,” said Largo before hurrying out of the office and down the hall to the employee toilets. Once inside, he locked himself in the farthest stall from the door. His cold hands shook as he pulled the bottle of morphia from an inside pocket of his jacket. Earlier, as Branca had taken it off him to fit the harness, he’d been nervous that his boss would discover the drug. Now Largo couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered was the bottle.