Hello Dear Readers And Thank You For Being Here. The Post Below Is The First Installment Of My Debut Novel, The Ohio Client. The Work Belongs To A Crime/Detective/Noir Typology. Accordingly, I Will Be Delivering It To You In Several Pieces, In The Spirit Of The Serialized Fiction Of The Pulp Era.
The Cover Of The Book Will Also Evolve With Each New Installment, So Be Sure To Stick Around Over The Coming Weeks To See The Whole Thing.
And So, Without Further Ado:
The Ohio Client
A Story Of Genuine Talent And Grind
I
It was unlike Greg to be late, especially on a Monday. In the fifteen years I’d known him he was always on time. Rarely early, sure, but never late. Never like this. Where was he?
I tried to ignore my concerns, but the marching tick of the clock on the wall interrupted my thoughts every time they wandered from Greg’s absence, even for a moment. Ten o’clock. Tick. Ten twenty. Tick. Ten Thirty. Tick. Eleven.
Enough. The drawing set I was working on could wait. I stood and turned to look out the window. The late morning sun smeared across the facade of the building across the street, evaporating what little was left of the morning dew. Apart from the sound of construction a few blocks away, the street was quiet, unremarkable. Nothing out of the ordinary, except of course for Greg’s absence.
I turned back to face my desk and made a half-hearted effort to push in my chair, then crossed the room, opened my office door, and walked into the lobby.
“Rita,” I greeted at the front desk, “Have You Heard Anything From Greg This Morning?” Rita had been employed with us for several months. She was a few years younger than Greg and myself. She had answered an ad in the paper for a receptionist position but was fast becoming an integral part of the office, picking up more and more with each passing day.
She smiled at my question: a wide, kind smile. “Haven’t heard anything yet, Vitruvius, but if—“
The trill of the phone on her desk cut her off.
“Talent and Grind Architects, this is Rita…Hello? Hello?”
She hung up the phone and turned back to me, “That’s weird. No one there.”
In the few seconds she was holding the phone up to her ear, I looked across her desk. There was an unfamiliar parcel that looked out of place, just barely peeking out from beneath a stack of rolled-up drawing sets.
“Rita, What’s This?” I asked.
She pushed the drawings aside and held up a thick brown envelope and read aloud from a small scrap of trace paper clipped to the front: “FOR VITRUVIUS’S EYES ONLY, —GREG”
“Looks like it’s for you, V,” she said, holding it out in my direction, “I don’t know how I missed it when I got in this morning.”
“Thank You, Rita,” I said, taking the envelope from her outstretched hand. “Please Let Me Know If You Do Hear Anything.”
“I will,” she replied.
Walking back into my office and to my desk I turned the envelope over in my palms. A 9”x12” envelope was nothing special, though I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen one in the office. Its surface was rough and worn, but still conveyed a certain luxury. Whatever rich wax finish had once protected the contents inside from damp and spills had long since worn off: probably inevitable after what looked to be many years of repeated use, safeguarding any number of sensitive messages. If paper could talk, this envelope would have some stories.
What could Greg have wanted to tell me with such secrecy? And could it explain his unusual absence? As an office we had always taken pride in our open and secret-free communication style. The day seemed to be growing more unusual by the minute.
I sat down and began to unwind the red string holding the top flap in place. As I opened the envelope a small rectangle fluttered out and fell to the floor. While reaching down to pick it up with in my left hand, I used my right to empty the rest of the contents onto my desk. Laid out in front of me was: a train ticket; a thin bundle of cash, held together with a paperclip; a few touristy brochures for attractions I didn’t recognize; and another note from Greg, which read:
Vitruvius,
I’ve just had the most tantalizing conversation. I wish I’d had more time to tell you in person, but there was simply not a moment to lose. There’s a very unusual client who’s interested in our services. I just met with his assistant and we’ve been invited to the client’s residence for an in-person conversation.
We’ll discuss more when you get here, but the potential fee would be life-changing for us. We could finally open that second office we’ve been talking about. And the project itself sounds fascinating, a perfect match for our skills and experience. Have you ever held a seashell up to your ear to hear the ocean? What I hear for us in this one is success. I know you’ll be interested in taking this meeting.
Vitruvius, I’ve already bought your train ticket, so you can’t say no. By the time you read this, I’ll be at the client’s home already. We look forward to your arrival.
Yours in hustle,
Greg Talent
I took another look at the ticket and then jumped up in shock: I had less than an hour to get to the train station.
I had no choice. If I wanted to find Greg and figure out what this was all about, I would need to go to Ohio.
II
I collected my things in a hurry and put them, along with Greg’s envelope and its contents, into a brown leather satchel, the same bag I’d used for years. The leather had faded in places and the buckles were scratched and worn, but not in an unseemly way. I liked to believe it gave the appearance of a seasoned traveler. First impressions count and I hoped our mystery client would not be in any way disappointed by my appearance.
There was no time to pack clothes or to stop at home before leaving. I’d have to pick up a few items on the other end or rely on the generosity of our host. This made me uneasy: I don’t like to travel anywhere unprepared if I can avoid it. But I was also excited. Frankly we could use some additional work in the office. Greg had a killer instinct with clients and his confidence in this meeting helped calm my own nerves.
Before leaving, I leaned out of my office door to ask Rita to hold any messages for me, but then thought better of it.
“Rita!”
“Yes Vitruvius?”
“Greg And I Will Be Out Of Town For A Few Days, Maybe Longer.”
“Doing some sightseeing?”
“Not Quite. We’re Looking At Some New Work, But It Sounds Like We’ll Need To Seal The Deal With The Client In Person.” I reached into the satchel and pulled a few of the travel brochures from Greg’s envelope, briefly thumbing through them as I talked. “But,” I added, “Perhaps We’ll Take A Look At This ‘World’s Reddest Barn’ On Our Way Back; The Brochure Says It’s Repainted Nightly”
“Oh, okay,” she replied, rolling her eyes a bit at the mention of the barn. “Do you need anything from me while you’re away?”
“Thank You Rita, But I Think We’ll Be Okay,” I replied, “In Fact, Feel Free To Take Some Time Off Yourself. No Need For You To Sit Here All Alone In An Empty Office. Consider It A Surprise Vacation. I’ll Give You A Call At Home When We Return.”
“Oh! Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I hope your trip goes well and that you and Greg get the project.”
As she gathered up her bag and coat, my eyes drifted back to my desk and landed on the small rectangular card that had fallen from the envelope. I realized I had never picked it up. I walked over and crouched down to the carpet. One side of the card was blank. The other had a dense network of branching lines, drawn with remarkable precision in black ink. One group of lines near the edge of the card was circled in red. There was no text on the card, no way to know what it meant.
“Vitruvius?” Rita’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes Rita?”
“Be careful,” she said.
“I Will…” I replied, though I couldn’t tell if she heard me before she stepped out the front door.
I tucked card into my satchel and was putting on my jacket when the phone rang. By the end of the second ring I was back at Rita’s desk to pick it up.
“Talent And Grind Architects, Grind Speaking…”
I waited. Five seconds, ten seconds. Only silence met me on the other end.
I’ve long believed it’s impossible to be bored in a train station, and that day was no exception. Businesspeople hurried by with their hats and coats. A group of schoolchildren were pestering their chaperones with questions: “When does our train get here? Can we ride up front in the locomotive? Can I switch seat partners?”
A partner is a funny thing. Greg and I had met in school and worked together for years. When we finally opened our own practice together, it felt natural, maybe even inevitable. I trusted Greg completely and he trusted me. And yet, we sometimes still surprised each other. I found myself reading and rereading his note to me. I’d never known him to be impulsive, so whatever “tantalizing conversation” he’d had must have been particularly enticing.
All around me, the hustle and bustle of the station carried on. A train arrived, then departed a few minutes later. The chaperones finally quieted the children. I reread Greg’s message and looked at my ticket. My train would arrive at any minute, but with stops along the way I wouldn’t reach my destination until nightfall. I assumed Greg would be there to meet me at the station, though he hadn’t said as much in his letter.
My train pulled in, the steady pulse of its engine drowning out the sounds of the station and the mounting questions in my head. Time to go.
III
I found a window seat in a mostly empty car. The morning’s bright sun had been brushed over with a patchy coating of clouds. I hoped to myself that the clouds would increase as the day went on. Looking out the window on an overcast day was one of my favorite ways to travel
From my bag I fished out a the latest issue of a trendy, forward-looking architecture magazine. I flipped through the pages, looking for an article to read before the train pulled out of the station. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything in particular, so I idly turned pages back and forth, admiring the pictures.
The lines between editorial coverage and advertising supplements begin to blur: Astounding Innovations In Aluminum! Camelot Design Partners Unveil Headquarters For Portico Plastics! Rumored Atomic-Age “Supermaterials” Could Change Architecture Forever—Is Your Office Ready? Oak Bridge Day School Announces Design Competition For New Campus.
Greg’s departure crept in at the edges of my vision no matter what I did. The magazine returned to my satchel. A whistle sounded in the distance, then:
*Tshhhhhhh*
The car inched backward for a moment then began to roll forward.
*Tshhh*
*Tshhh*
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
I decided to rest my eyes for a few moments. If a new client was waiting on the other side, I might as well arrive refreshed and ready to work. I let the rhythm of the train lull me into a light sleep.
I wasn’t immediately sure how much time had passed when I awoke. The clouds out the window had deepened into a dark overcast gloom. Rain ahead, most likely.
“You’re awake.”
“Excuse Me?” I said, turning suddenly to face forward. A woman was sitting in the seat directly facing mine. She must have entered the car while I was asleep. She was in her late 20s. Even seated and bundled up in her coat, I could tell she was small in stature. Her clothes looked expensive, but not ostentatious. They looked like they might’ve belonged to a woman several decades older.
“You’re awake,” she repeated. “Do you feel rested?”
“Rested Enough,” I replied. “Pardon Me, But Have We Met?”
The woman flashed a half-smile and turned her eyes downward. “We haven’t,” she said. “I do hope you’ll forgive my intrusion.”
“I Think I Can Do That.” I extended my right arm for a handshake. “My Name Is Vitruvius Grind.” She reciprocated with a gloved hand and a surprisingly firm grip.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grind. You can call me Victoria.” She lifted her gaze back up to mine and I could see her features clearly for the first time. Dark curls framed a pale face: small mouth, full cheeks. Her earrings and makeup, like her clothes, seemed as if they were pulled from the turn of the century. Her eyes were large and full and brown, like two cups of Saturday morning coffee right in the center of her face.
“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?” she asked.
“Business,” I replied. “And You?”
“Something like that.” she replied. I tilted my head and made a small sound, expecting some further explanation on her part, but none came.
“I’m An Architect,” I volunteered. “I’m On My Way to Meet A New Client.”
“How exciting,” she said, although her voice conveyed nothing of the sort. “Where is this new client of yours?”
I leaned forward in my seat and handed her my ticket to inspect. She seemed to recognize the destination.
“I’ve Traveled Through But Never Spent Any Time In The State Before,” I added.
“It’s a nice enough area,” she said, returning the ticket to my hand. “So long as you can put up with the weather.” She made a small gesture out the window. Evidently during my sleep the clouds had turned to a steady drizzle. I felt a slight sting as I remembered that a rain jacket was among the items I didn’t have time to retrieve before boarding the train.
“Who’s Greg? she asked, pulling me from my distraction.
“Greg?”
“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I shouldn’t be so forward. It’s just that, well, when you were sleeping a few minutes ago…” her voice began to trail off as she looked up at me.
“Go On.” I said.
“Well you were talking a bit in your sleep. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear. I just couldn’t help but notice. You kept saying something about needing to find Greg.”
“Ah,” I said. “Greg Is My Business Partner. He Went On Ahead To Meet With The Client Before Me. I’ll Be Joining Him Later Today.”
She nodded slowly and made a little wordless sound to indicate she understood. “Have you two known each other long? Where did you meet?”
Had I known my business partner long? Where did we meet? We were moving outside the usual arena of small talk.
“Quite A Long Time, In Fact,” I began. “I’d Be Happy To Tell You More, But I Think I Need To Head To The Dining Car For Another Cup Of Coffee Before I Tell Any Stories. If You Don’t Mind, That Is.”
“Oh, please allow me! I feel terrible for disrupting your rest…” she said.
“Nonsense, You Didn’t Disrupt Anything. And I’m Perfectly Capable Of—“
“Mr. Grind, I really do insist.” she said, cutting me off before I could decline her offer.
“Please, Call Me Vitruvius. And I Suppose I’ll Allow It Just This Once. If We Meet On A Train Again, Though, The Next Round Is On Me.”
Victoria smiled, apparently relieved. “Wonderful,” she said. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Just Black,” I replied, “Thank You.”
She stood up, smoothing the bottom of her coat before picking up a small black clutch from the seat beside her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
I smiled, leaned back in my seat, and put my hands up, palms facing forward, as if to say “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be Right Here.”
I took another look around the train car as she walked down the aisle. It was nearly three-quarters empty. Who was this woman? And why had she chosen to sit right here and strike up a conversation with me?
IV
Victoria would be gone for ten minutes at least, maybe longer if the dining car was busy. I returned my gaze to the window and tried to gather my thoughts. In the deepening gloom I could see less and less of the world outside and more and more of my own reflection.
The situation so far, as best as I could understand it, was as follows:
Greg met a potential client over the weekend and left town on short notice. Trusting Greg completely, I got on a train to join him at the client’s home. If we got the project, we stood to move up in the world. If not, we’d return to the office and carry on with our lives. And now, a woman I’d never met was buying me a coffee and asking questions about my life. Not exactly a typical Monday.
Out the window, horses dotted a grassy hillside, apparently unbothered by the rain. How little they must comprehend of the world around them, the lives rolling by on these tracks a dozen times a day. I let my eyes refocus and looked at the contours of my own face for a moment. My eyes betrayed my fatigue, and my cheeks carried a darkening stubble. I hoped I would have time to shave before meeting our mystery client.
Another face appeared behind my own: Victoria, back with the coffee. She smiled and handed me the mug as I turned around. A matching mug was in her left hand.
“Thank You. Do You Drink Yours Black, Too?” I asked.
“Oh,” she replied. “It’s actually just tea for me today.”
I nodded silently and drew the mug up to my lips. The coffee was hot, still too hot to drink. The steam rising off the slick, black liquid fogged up my glasses. I suppressed a yawn as Victoria sat back down in her seat.
“Tired?” she asked me.
“Just A Bit,” I replied. “But This Will Help.” I lifted the coffee mug up as I spoke.
“You Had Asked About My Friend Greg,” I began. “We First Met Back In Architecture School.”
Victoria took a sip of her tea. Whether she was just being polite or had some deeper curiosity, I couldn’t tell. But she was listening intently.
“Greg Was A Few Years Ahead Of Me In His Studies, But Took Some Time Off From School. When He Returned, He Joined Up With My Class. In Our Last Semester We Worked On Our Final Projects Together, His Assigned Desk And Mine Facing One Another. We Looked Over Each Others Plans, Gave Each Other Critiques, Pinned Up Large Drawings Together.”
I raised my mug and took a big gulp of coffee. Its smell was strong and rich, but the taste was wanting: bitter, weak. I knew that dining car coffee was hit-or-miss, but this was an especially poor showing. I returned to my story.
“When We Graduated, It Felt Only Natural To Work Together. Our Skills Were Complementary. Our Ideals Were Aligned. A Few Years Later, Talent And Grind Architects Opened Its Doors. We’ve Had Our Ups And Downs Like Any Partnership, But I’m Proud Of The Work We’ve Done Together And Glad To Call Greg My Best Friend.”
“Are you worried about him?”
“Worried?” Her question caught me at an odd angle, which must have shown in my face.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that earlier, when you were talking in your sleep, you sounded nervous.”
I took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. Was I worried?
“Greg And I Are Close. Work With Someone For A Long Time And It Gets Harder To Be Surprised By Their Behavior. Greg’s Decision To Go After This Project Was A Surprise To Me. That’s All.”
I wasn’t sure if I totally believed myself, or if any trace of worry I felt was just a consequence of the suggestion itself. Either way, I couldn’t let my mindset be disrupted by probing questions from a stranger on the train.
I looked back at Victoria, expecting her to continue the conversation, but she had turned to look out the window. I turned as well.
Outside had grown even darker. Wind was pushing the rain to an acute angle. Fields in the distance receded to a uniform green-grey. I took a small sip of, then a large sip of, and then finished off, my coffee. I was nowhere near as awake as I had hoped to be.
I thought about asking Victoria about her life, but something in her expression suggested that she’d prefer silence. The train would arrive at my destination in about an hour. I carefully placed the empty coffee mug on the seat beside me and returned to looking out the window. I moved in closer to see more of the passing countryside, letting my forehead rest against the glass. The rhythm of the train tracks passing below reverberated through my body. My eyelids grew heavy.
V
*Tshhhhhhh*
A jerk awake. Where am I? The train.
*Tshhh*
Victoria? Gone. Where am I? Outside the window: a station.
*Tshhh*
A station. My station. My stop. And we’re pulling out.
I stood up and grabbed my satchel and coat in one motion. The dining car coffee mug fell to the ground, cracking the porcelain. I wish I could’ve stayed and cleaned the mess and repaid the dining car, but I was already on the cusp of missing my stop.
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
I took long, vaulting steps down the aisle, wincing and apologizing whenever I bumped or jostled a fellow passenger.
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
“Pardon Me! So Sorry!” I said as I muscled past an attendant and opened the car’s rear door.
*Tshhh Tsh Tsh Tsh*
Standing on the shifting metal coupling between the cars, I looked down. There were only few yards of platform left before a steep drop-off, and they were rolling by fast. I clutched my satchel close to my chest, took a deep breath, and jumped.
What Will Happen To Vitruvius? Who Was The Woman On The Train? And What Is The Mysterious Project Greg Is So Excited About? Stay Tuned For Future Installments Of… The Ohio Client.
Also Follow The Hustle Architect On Twitter At @VitruviusGrind.