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TORQUE is now available as an ebook through these major online outlets: Available for the iPad through iTunes The paperback edition is available online here: and in stock at these fine local bookstores: 1060 King Street West Hamilton, Ontario, Canada L8S 1L7 513 Locust Street Burlington, Ontario Canada L7S 1V3 325 Dundas Street East Waterdown, Ontario Canada L0R 2H5 |
Excerpt Chapter 5 The
Stockport Lounge was busier than normal for a Wednesday.
Fall’s crisp calling card had arrived and the office crowd was
feeling cozy. Located on the mezzanine of Hanlon Place, a hybrid
of office tower and luxury hotel, the bar’s hospitality
beckoned to those who disembarked soundless elevators opposite
the rain-specked brass and glass street exit. Chatter
ebbed and flowed around small round tables, cresting
occasionally into laughter then receding to choppy conversation.
Over bobbing heads, new arrivals caught the eye of the
bartender. He nodded while slicing limes for the ever popular
Mai Tai and Daiquiri. He couldn’t see the TV but listened, as
he worked, to the news anchor’s summary. “The
Bank of Canada is forecasting yet another rise in interest
rates, and the body of a second youth has been discovered in
Hamilton. More details in a moment.” The
station switched to a commercial and the barman changed the
channel. Stark reality was not good for the tip jar. “You
don't mind?” he said, indicating the large screen to the only
patron who might have an interest in it. The
heavyset man on the barstool shook his head. The
Stockport Lounge wasn't exactly Stanislaw Svoljsak’s kind of
place. Next to a beer at home he preferred a street corner
tavern where the drinks were cheap and the patrons talked about
hockey or fight clubs. The two-for-one cocktail hour was okay,
though. He raised his glass and drained the amber dregs of a
double scotch. “Another
one, Sir?” Svoljsak
assented, and armed with the plastic miniature spear sat hunched
over the drink like an Inuit at a seal hole. He reached into his
jacket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. On the side with
the goose, written in fine blue marker, was the name of the
lounge and the date and time he was expected. It was a novel way
to get his attention, though a mere C-note wouldn’t keep it
for much longer. Now twenty minutes past the allotted time his
patience was already evaporating with the alcohol. He
took a sip and stole a glance at the segmented mirror behind the
bar. The view was obscured by the bottles in front so he hitched
around on his stool and casually panned the room. Most of the
suits and skirts were there on his arrival. A mixed group in a
large booth appeared to be fanning the flames of an office
romance between two of their co-workers. His
scan had just about reached its unobtrusive limit when he caught
the pale sheen of white flesh in silk stockings. He took a quick
mental snapshot then turned back to the bar as if he hadn’t
noticed. That
woman hadn’t been sitting there when he'd arrived. Nor had she
entered after he'd found a stool at the bar, he could see the
doorway and wouldn’t have missed legs like that coming in. She
must have followed him from the lobby. That could just be a
matter of timing, but in Svoljsak's line of work timing was
important. There
was a motion beside him, a hint of perfume, then a flash of
silk-clad thighs being crossed on the next stool over. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Svoljsak. I'm sorry for the delay, but one can never be too careful.” |