“Where to?” the cabbie asks the moment Heather slams the door shut.
“North and Wells” she responds tersely.
She stares at the small black box in her hands.
What is this about? This is not how a professional does business. Heather replays the events over in her mind.
“Did you see the Picasso exhibit?” the cabbie interrupts her thoughts, attempting to start a conversation.
“What…what was that?” Heather asks. Right, he picked me up in front of the Art Institute. “No, I didn’t have time to see it” she says before he has a chance to clarify.
“Too bad, I hear it’s really nice” he continues.
She responds with a barely audible grunt that sounds like an affirmative.
The cabbie opens his mouth again, “You want me to take Lake Shore?”
“Yes” Heather responds.
“Funny thing about Lake Shore Drive…” he begins. But, Heather cuts him off. “Hey…”, she looks at his cabbie ID card attached to the back of his seat, “Jimmy. I really appreciate you trying to chat with me on this fare. But, I appreciate it if you just keep your mouth shut.” She usually handles situations like this with more tact.
“Sorry ma’am” he says nothing else from the rest of the ride.
Heather is happy to have the time to think. Time to devise a plan. What the hell is going on? This was supposed to be easy money. No mess. No fuss. And now this, she looks at the black box.
The cab pulls up in front of Starbucks. She hands Jimmy a twenty dollar bill. “Thanks” she says as she exits the cab.
She walks around the corner to an old stone building. She looks up to the third floor. The lights are on.
Heather walks up the five steps to the front door. She presses the only doorbell with no name tag.
“Yes” a voice crackles through the intercom.
“I’m here” she replies.
The door buzzes and she pushes it open.
Time to find out about the finger in this black box.
Quixotic Quandary 