The Senior 6

“And then?”

The Senior stopped in front of the car. “Save that for another day, shall we?” He dug in his pocket and tossed the keys to a puzzled Kit. “The instructions are on the passenger seat.”

“Un-kink yourself, lad. Get going.”

Kit, still frozen, stared at the Senior.

“You can drive?”

Kit nodded glumly.

“Then I suggest you get to it. You're expected.” And the Senior promptly turned about and walked away.

***

A still-bewildered, and now moderately disheveled, Kit approached the building, glancing over each shoulder again and again, and opened the door.

“Not bad at all, boy. Not bad.”

Kit whirled about the empty lobby, and found the Senior sitting on a folding chair off to one side. He stalked towards him, and in doing so took in the room: beyond the plate glass door, heavy now that he came to think of it, the hall pulled a sharp left, with nothing left for the eye save an elevator, a stairway door, and the aforementioned man on a folding chair.

Now poised in front of the Senior, all of the curses and epithets Kit had collected for the man along his stressful drive all along the major and minor and dead end streets of the City failed him and the only word that could pass through his gritted teeth was “You!”

Kit drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and at their finest moment together, or so Kit would retell the story, the elevator opened and a third figure joined the scene.

“Hello, Sir,” said a sharply dressed woman as she bent down to kiss the man on the cheek.

“Kathe,” said the Senior.