to the streetcar stop, which was his stated destination. But Corban waved him off.
“Young man,” said Corban, “I survived the Nazis. New Orleans I can handle.”
“Well, okay, if you’re sure–oh, one more thing. Where did you hear about me?”
“A retired dentist who used to be my best customer told me you were good at whatever it is you do.” Corban mentioned the name. Nick remembered the job. “Also he said you were reasonable. Ha! What does he know? These dentists and their fast cars.” He left, shaking his head.
So the Yellow Pages ad still had not produced.
Standing at the open door of his office, Nick listened for a few minutes to make sure his new client made it down the stairs safely. He heard Corban’s not quite convincing hack echoing up the stairwell, and regretted not having asked for half of the money in advance.
.
2
This was crazy, really crazy. She knew it was. What a chance she had taken! It was all highly illegal.
But the money! There was the power that had fortified Elzbieta throughout the seemingly interminable train and plane rides.
She worked at the District State Archive in Poznan, Poland. Her long journey had taken her to Zurich, to New York, and finally here, to the New Orleans airport.
Hunger pangs pulled at her stomach. She forced herself to stay away from all the tantalizing aromas wafting from the restaurants that seemed to fill every niche. There would be time for such things, later.
She had encountered no delays in customs in New York, but she did witness a drug bust in the line next to hers. Some very nervous young men were apparently trying to smuggle heroin into the country in condoms they’d swallowed. She had figured out what was happening from the odd word overheard and understood and from the desperate pantomime of the situation.
Elzbieta knew this trip would be the most momentous event of her life; she tried to memorize every detail of her journey.
What a day! What a wide, astounding world it was! What a lot of money this strange errand of hers would bring. A hundred thousand American dollars! It was almost unbelievable that she had found the courage to make the additional demand. The future belonged to the bold in the new Poland; and, in truth, she had done worse things during the nightmare years. Now, she would be able to take her son for the operation in Germany; she could buy new clothes; some jewelry; she could maybe even get a car, one of the fine new ones from the West, not the smoke-belching Eastern Bloc jalopies she recalled from her childhood.
Some new glasses. Yes, she would buy them here, before she went home. A small indulgence, but she deserved it.
The richness of the rest of the world had shocked Elzbieta anew twenty-four hours ago; but now she was just plain numb from exhaustion and sensory overload. Though she was only an assistant librarian at the Archives, she had already seen something of the world. She’d attended a small religious college in Virginia on an American Baptist scholarship just after the Berlin Wall went down and communism imploded. She had not actually been interested in being a Baptist, but even a short Western education was worth the two-year charade of faith for the benefit of those earnest Americans. Especially an education that gave her knowledge of English. A very peculiar, difficult language, but a definite asset that got attention. Elzbieta went after what she wanted.
But in the hubbub of the moment, she realized her English wasn’t as good as she’d believed. She struggled with the direction signs. Announcements from speakers distracted her; she couldn’t help trying to figure out what the rapid-fire words meant.
Concentrate, concentrate! she berated herself silently. She was looking for the taxi area, where someone would be waiting for her with a sign with her name on it.
Everybody except her seemed to know where to go. Would her contact wait? This was like a spy novel, more fun to read than to enact.
Lugging her one small taped-together suitcase she struggled through crowds of people. The suitcase contained most of her meager worldly belongings–a few precious bootleg cosmetics, grooming items, two changes of underwear, one blouse, one pair of old, mended, but genuine Levis, which she coveted from her college years and could still fit into, almost without painful pinching. In Zurich, using a good deal of her advance money–$5000–she’d loaded up on over-the-counter medicines she’d never heard of; she could sell