said the Sergeant.
“Get out of here,” said Tanz.
It was 6:15 before Largo arrived at the office. Other couriers were already filing out with parcels and letters. Some grinned and a few sneered at him, knowing what was waiting for him inside. Andrzej bumped his shoulder into Largo’s on the way out. “What happened to you?” said Parvulesco. “Branca asked about you twice.”
Largo shook his head. “I’ll tell you later.” His friend gave him a pat on the arm and went to his bicycle.
Margit was the last courier to come out of the office. She was small and blond and wore her hair short like a young boy’s. Because it was rumored that she preferred women romantically, some of the other couriers teased her constantly. Her eyes were covered by glasses with round dark lenses. Largo lightly touched her elbow. “I need to speak to you,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow at him. “About your funeral? Herr Branca has it planned out. We’ll all be attending.”
“I need some morphia,” Largo whispered.
Margit looked around. “I don’t have any with me. Maybe at lunch. Do you have cash?”
“I will by then.”
“See that you do,” she said sternly. “I can’t give credit anymore. Even to you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have money.”
“At lunch then.” She turned and went to her bicycle. Largo looked at the door to Herr Branca’s office, took a breath, and went inside.
Branca glanced up at him when Largo entered the room. He made a great show of capping his pen and setting it down on his desk. “Thank you for joining us this morning, Largo.”
“I’m very sorry I’m late.”
“I thought we discussed this. As chief courier, you have to be an example to the others.”
“Yes sir. I understand, but the bullocks, that is, the police wouldn’t let me go.”
Branca frowned and came around his desk. “The police? What did you do to attract their attention?”
“Nothing. There was an incident in the butchers’ quarter and I was trying to leave.”
“What kind of incident?”
“A man was ill. It might have been the Drops.”
“How dramatic,” said Branca. “Why did the police think it was necessary to question you?”
“They accused me of being the man’s accomplice.”
Branca stepped closer to Largo. “Accomplice? Accomplice in what?”
“They said he was an anarchist.”
Branca opened his eyes wider. “And are you?”
“Sir?”
“Are you an anarchist?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s good,” said Branca. “I can’t abide seditionists and neither can the company.”
“There’s something else …,” said Largo.
“Well?”
“I’m afraid they might come to talk to you.”
“Here? You told them where you worked?”
“I had no choice.”
“I see. I assume they searched you? What did the officers say when they discovered your knife?”
Reluctantly, Largo said, “I didn’t have it.”
Branca looked at the ceiling. “Where is it?” he said.
“At home.”
“I see. You didn’t go home last night?”
“No. I was with a sick friend.”
“Of course,” said Branca. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps it was a lucky thing, this sick friend of yours. If the police suspected you of a crime they might have misconstrued the knife.”
“Do you think it’s safe for me to continue wearing it?”
Branca clasped his hands behind his back. “You must make a choice. Which is the greater fear: the police, or losing your job and possibly your life?”
“I want to keep my job. And my life.”
“A wise choice. See that you don’t forget the knife again.”
“I won’t.”
“All right. Enough of this nonsense. You have deliveries to make,” said Branca. He went back behind his desk.
“Then I’m not fired?”
“We’ll see. I’m not happy about the police incident, but I applaud you for your honesty.” Branca looked at a few parcels stacked on a battered wooden worktable. He picked up one and weighed it in his hands. “This will do nicely. I suspect you’ll wish you had your knife with you this morning.”
Largo looked at the package and wondered what was inside. He tried reading the address, but it was too far away. Is the old bastard just giving me a hard time or sending me off to get killed? he wondered. “I’ll get the knife during my lunch break,” he said.
“Another wise choice,” said Branca. “Tell me, does this sick friend of yours have any other friends?”
“Yes. Many.”
“Then perhaps one of them can visit tonight so that you won’t be tardy tomorrow.”
Largo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It won’t be necessary. She’s much better now.”
“I’m nearly fainting in delight,” said Branca, handing the parcel and an old shoulder bag to Largo, who took them and started out.
“Largo,” said Herr Branca.
He stopped and turned around.
“I approve of your shirt. It’s good to see you dressing a bit more professionally. I should have the money for your clothing stipend tomorrow. That’s all.”
Largo nodded to Branca and went out to his bicycle. He was excited at the prospect of having some decent clothes to wear. However, when he read the address on the parcel the excitement evaporated.
I was right.
The prick wants me dead.
