The Memory Agent by Matthew B.J. Delaney

Author:Matthew B.J. Delaney [Delaney, Matthew B.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503942691
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2017-07-17T22:00:00+00:00

The meeting took place inside an abandoned biscuit factory, a grand old structure from the glory days of the neighborhood. The building was a half-block in length, with ornate wheat sheaves carved into the side. Most of the windows were now broken, the elaborate cornices over the loading doors covered in graffiti, the stonework crumbling into ruin. The officers parked and entered through a creaking metal door inside the loading dock. Beyond the door was an industrial elevator that carried them to the factory floor.

“Who are we meeting?” Clayton looked nervous. He straightened his suit jacket, smoothed down his hair, prepared himself like a man before a job interview.

“Don’t know. Never met with them in person before. Always farmed out jobs over the phone.”

The elevator ground to a halt and the duo stepped out onto an expansive, empty floor. Light filtered in through the dirty glass. Silt and broken needles littered the ground. Industrial machines rusted in the far corners of the floor, dust-covered and long forgotten. A man leaned against a thick support column, waiting. He wore an elegant suit with a vaguely vintage feel. His face was partially obscured by scraggly muttonchops that advanced down each of his cheeks, framing a thick nose and mustache. On his head, a large black stovepipe hat. He was a complete anachronism, like someone who just stepped out of a black and white Victorian-era photograph.

As Parker and Clayton crossed the floor, the man smiled. It was a beautiful smile, the kind of smile actors dreamed of having. But there was nothing welcoming about his expression, and Parker grew wary.

“You brought a friend,” the man said. He spoke with a vague accent. The words had a nasal tone, the sound of some lost East Coast American dialect long ago smoothed out.

“My partner,” Parker said.

“The partner of the legendary Parker is always welcome here.” The man indicated the decrepit warehouse.

“You know me?” Parker asked.

“You need no introduction,” the man said. “I, however, do. My name is Dunbar. I am the representative of the organization that has employed you for various projects. And we have marveled at your success.”

“I’ve been lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with our success in life. Our destiny is in our own hands. Believe anything but that and you’ll become a prisoner yourself.”

“What did you want to see me about?”

Dunbar smiled his actor’s smile again. “Your last job, how did you feel?”

“Like a blank space.”

“We have a contract for you.”

“What’s the job?”

“What the job has always been.”

“Escape.”

“Bingo,” Dunbar said, the term sounding strange as it sprung from his Victorian era mouth. Dunbar indicated a map stretched out on a work table near one of the industrial machines. The paper was faded to a burned yellow. It was a map of New York City. “I think you know this place.”

Parker studied the map. Manhattan and Brooklyn were meshes of streets and parks and subway lines. Queens was still filled with the open farmland. Parker had become something of an expert in maps.

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