He barked and bolted out of the room, in his quest to find the missing ball. This gave me time to grab my chewed handbag, toss my phone, keys, silver chain, and a few other necessities inside, put on my raincoat, and leave the room. Magnus was in the shop, his head stuck under one of the shelves, whining as he searched for the ball.
Breadknife had left behind a briefcase that contained blueprints of the dragon’s mansion, as well as a summary of the security measures in place for the mansion and the vault. I had no idea how he’d gotten hold of this information, but I knew better than to ask. Breadknife knew people.
I grabbed the briefcase, and left the shop. As I locked the door, Magnus began wailing, realizing my treachery.
The address was only ten minutes away on my bicycle, which would have been a nice ride if not for the rain. Despite my coat, my clothing was developing an increasing sogginess. I hung the briefcase with the documents on the left handlebar, and it messed with my balance, making me wobble and zig-zag. I cursed myself repeatedly for not taking the bus.
As I rode, the houses around me slowly shifted into office buildings, which grew taller and taller as I got closer to the address Sinead had sent me. When I reached it, I checked my phone twice, just to make sure I was in the right place.
101 Federal Street was the Lebron James of buildings. As I stared up at the endless wall, my neck slowly creaked from the unnatural angle I was imposing on it. What the hell was Sinead doing here?
I pulled open the glass door and entered the shiny, lavish lobby. Feeling very much out of place with my informal attire and wet hair, I shuffled past the front desk to the elevators. There were six of them, and I entered one, pressing number 13.
I had no idea which office Sinead would be in, and when I got off the elevator, I gazed around me, rummaging in my handbag for my phone. Then my eyes landed on the formal writing etched on one of the glass doors, and I instantly knew I had found her.
I went over to “Friedman and Co.—Hippopotamus Hunting Trips.”
The interior of the office was old-school, the furniture mostly dark wood. A young secretary eyed me as I walked inside.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m looking for…” I hesitated, suddenly guessing my friend was using a fake name.
“Are you Ms. Vitalis? Lou Vitalis?” the secretary asked.
“That’s right.”
“Ms. Dubois is expecting you. Second door on the right.”
I strode down the hall toward the second door, where the name “Sinead Dubois” was stenciled on a plaque. A murmur of conversation came from inside. I knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Sinead’s chirpy voice called.
I opened the door, slid inside, and closed it behind me, gawking.
Sinead sat behind a huge oak desk, dressed in a white button-down shirt and a black skirt, a pair of fake glasses on her nose. Her long, smooth, beautiful red hair was tied in a businesslike updo. The desk in front of her was mostly clean, aside from a monitor, a pile of pamphlets, and a small brass statue depicting a man standing with one foot on what looked like a dead hippopotamus.
In front of her sat a plump man with a pink face, lanky hair, and spots of sweat under his armpits. He glanced at me, then back at Sinead.
Sinead smiled at me. “Lou! Come in! Mr. Dickson, this is Lou, the famous hippopotamus hunter I told you about.”
He studied me, frowning. I gave him my best hippo-hunter face. I sat down in the one free chair, putting the briefcase on the desk.
“Nice to meet you,” I told Mr. Dickson. “Um… I take it you are considering one of our trips?”
“The premium trip!” Sinead said. “Mr. Dickson wants the real deal.”
“Oh, good.” I smiled at him with respect. “There’s none better. Do you have a hunting rifle?”
“A rifle?” His eyes widened in outrage. “I was told—”
“The premium trip, as you recall,” Sinead interjected, giving me a look, “employs custom-made spears.”
I blinked, taking a full second to recuperate from the outrageous stupidity in front of me. “Custom-made spears. Of course—how could I forget.”
“Mr. Dickson has a very strong right arm,” Sinead added. “He played baseball in college. Best pitcher in his team.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Oh, good! But let me ask—are you up to the trip? Physically?”
“Of course!” Mr. Dickson puffed his chest. “I’m in the peak of health.”
“Did he get a medical certification?” I asked Sinead.
“Not yet,” she answered. “I thought that, for Mr. Dickson, we could make an exception.”
“We need it, Sinead. The insurance company demands it, no exceptions.”
She sighed mournfully. “Lou is right. You’ll have to get a medical certification. We have a specialist; I’ll set a meeting. There’s a small advance fee.”
“Of course.” Dickson nodded. “If I decide to take this tour…”
“What date are you two discussing?” I asked.
“Mr. Dickson wants to go on the November tour,” Sinead explained.
“Well, we can’t do that,” I said sharply. “It’s full.”
“What?” Dickson squeaked.
“It’s not full!” Sinead protested. “We have five places left!”
“The Smith family booked it this morning. Didn’t you check your email?”
Sinead gave me a disappointed head shake for using the name “Smith,” which showed a lack of imagination on my part. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, Mr. Dickson. Perhaps we could interest you in a later date?”
“I can’t! I told you, my vacation is in November!”
I lowered my voice. “What if… No. Never mind.”
“What?” Dickson asked.
“It’s nothing. Except… well, one of our clients is still unsure. She told me she’d call today, but if you book now, we can give you her spot. She doesn’t look like hippopotamus hunting material to me anyway. And I’m the expert. She doesn’t have your…” I paused, searching my mind for any trait he might have that could conceivably help with hunting hippos. “Stamina.”
“All right! I’ll book now!” The urgency and excitement in his voice was somewhat pitiful.
“Fantastic!” Sinead clapped her hands together, and began to outline the registration fees, the medical exam fees, the insurance fees, the personal spear customization fees… My mind wandered as Mr. Dickson signed a bunch of forms, gave her his credit card number, and accepted a pamphlet titled “The Ultimate Big Game—Hippopotamuses.” It showed a man grinning and holding a spear above a clearly Photoshopped hippo.
Mr. Dickson finally left, his eyes unfocused as he presumably imagined himself standing above his slain hippo. Sinead and I sat in silence as we listened to his footsteps receding, the office door closing behind him.
At which point Sinead burst out laughing. I joined her—there was no other option. Sinead had a laugh more infectious than the flu—joyous, full of life. Her eyes crinkled as she teared up.
“Your face!” she wheezed. “When I said ‘custom spear’! Oh, god, that was priceless!”
“Where do you find these people?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“I started prowling hunting groups on Facebook.”