Maggie Get Your Gun Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mr. Smith,
holding up the bag, “is merely the tip of the iceberg.”
    I looked over at Killian but his face was impassively
blank.  He wasn’t going to help me out on this one.  Guess he knew I probably
wouldn’t listen.  It’s what makes us good partners.
    “How big an iceberg?  Would it, say, sink the Titanic?” I
asked.
    “The number of objects that need retrieval make that berg
look like an ice cube in a tray,” Mr. Smith said, taking out an envelope.  He
tapped it against his fingers a couple times, almost as if he was sizing me up
before he pushed it across the table towards me.  “This is the next object on
my list.”
    Killian was giving me just a little shake of his head.  It’s
like we were thinking with the same brain.  I managed to stay awake to the end
of Titanic and saw what happens when your ego tells you it’s a great
idea to pit yourself against large frozen masses.  I had no desire to reenact
any of those scenes, specifically the ones where the main characters died.
    I pushed the envelope back, “Listen, Mr. Smith, you seem
like your heart is in the right place.  But I’m thinking I would like to keep
my heart in the right place, too.  Namely, inside my chest.  I’m going to have
to pass on this adventure.”
    Mr. Smith took the envelope and placed it in my inbox,
“Contact me if you should decide otherwise, my dear.”
    “Well, don’t hang around the phone like a mopey thirteen
year old, okay?  It’s been a…” I couldn’t quite manage to spit out something
like “been a pleasure”.  So, I just gritted my teeth and said, “Well… it’s been
‘business’ doing this thing with you.”
    He put on his old, beat-up fedora and struggled heavily to
his feet.  The rubber tip of his cane thudded uncomfortably on the ground.  Each
time it hit, I could hear my mom telling me to be nice to old people,
especially old people whose bodies have quit them.  I can’t believe that I was
telling a cripple to go take a leap.  But I was.  I’m just an asshole like
that.  An asshole that had a burning desire to see another day.
    Mr. Smith held his hand out to me, “I shall be in touch.”
    “I won’t answer the phone.”
    Mr. Smith smiled, “If experience has shown me anything, you
will.”
    He tipped his hat and walked out.
    I looked over at Killian as the door shut, “I’m thinking it
might be time to get a receptionist.”
     

 
     
    Chapter 6
    “Hey, Maggie-girl!” called my dad, sauntering into the
office and tossing his coat on his desk.  His lean, craggy face was burned to
that crisp shade of red that only the Irish can do and his shaggy hair was
bleached from too much time in the sun.  Guess he decided to show Mom that
Mediterranean spot we had discovered. 
    “Productive weekend?” he asked as he sat down.
    “Something like that,” I said, barely looking up from my
disassembled gun.  “Nice to see you again.”
    Dad looked at me and sighed, “All right.  What did I do
wrong this time?”
    “Nothing,” I said, shoving the patch and bore brush down
the barrel, “Just might have been nice if you had left your phone on.”
    He slapped his head, “I totally forgot.  Sorry about that. 
International rates are a bitch.  Hope there wasn’t anything too urgent.”
    “No, nothing too urgent,” I replied.
    That’s when Dad opened his drawer and saw the stack of
money.
    “Where did all this come from?” he asked, pulling it out to
show me like I wasn’t perfectly aware of its presence.
    “Oh, yah,” I said, maybe just a little smugly, “you might
want to check your voicemail.”
    He put the wad of cash on his desk and felt around his
pockets for his forgotten phone.  He dialed and punched in some numbers, hung
up, then dialed again, then hung up in exasperation, “What’s my pass code again?”
    “1969.”
    “Right.”
    This time he got through.  I watched as his eyes got wide.
    He covered the receiver, “Isaac Smith was here?”
    I nodded