I looked at the printout next, looking mostly at the addresses of the houses for sale. Eight years as a paramedic had made me more than passingly familiar with the layout of the streets in this, or indeed any Spokane County neighborhood. There were four listings in close proximity to the office. I started up my car and drove to the first of them, my eyes looking for the right combination of details. I had a pretty good idea of what I was looking for.
I checked all four of the houses as a matter of course but the moment I saw the second one I knew it was as close to perfect as I was going to get. A small city park was directly across the street, complete with rows of bushes and thick foliage. The house itself had two large trees in the front yard, trees which would serve to cut the view from inside the house. The driveway, which I looked at most carefully, was completely unobservable from the interior of the house due to it's positioning. Truly, for what I had in mind, it could not be much better.
After dismissing the last house and firmly settling my mind on the second, I drove to the freeway, heading for downtown Spokane, my mind full of shaky confidence that my crazy scheme could be pulled off.
The hall of records was located in the Spokane County Courthouse, a dilapitated building in the unfashionable part of downtown. After battling for a parking spot, fighting my way through three clerks who wanted detailed explanations of why I, a teenager, wanted to take a look at these supposedly open public records, and then pouring through tons of paperwork in the largest filing cabinets I've ever personally seen, I was forced to admit there was something I missed terribly from my old life. The Internet. In 1999 I would have been able to pull up this information, information that took me more than two hours to retrieve in the courthouse, in less than five minutes. God bless technology, despite the Unabomber's ravings to the contrary.
I finally found what I was looking for in an obscure file marked "Real Estate Transactions--1983", a file which was not, I might add, stored with Real Estate Transactions 1900 to 1982 as you would have thought it would be.
The file was more than an inch thick. I paged forward until I found the months of October and November. I began scanning through the columns of text and legalese, looking for two names in particular: Anita Browling and Jack Valentine. I found them eventually and copied down the names that were listed with them as clients.
Satisfied with my work, I returned the file to its proper place, signed out, and went home. I hoped this was all going to work. I'd been to a lot of trouble if it didn't.
That night I gave Mike a call.
"What's up?" He asked me, pleasantly enough.
"Not much." I told him. "You still coming over to study tomorrow?"
"Fuckin' aye." He agreed. "Got a test coming up in English and I need you to go over this modifier crap with me."
"You got it." I told him. "How's ROP going?"
"Bitchin." He said. "I'm diggin the new station. The BC has been hangin out with me a lot, you know, talkin to me and all. I think he likes me. He told me they'd probably be testing for hire in August this year. Looks like I might be getting paid to work there then."
"Cool Mike." I told him. "You'd better quit smoking and start running." I advised him. "I hear that physical agility test is a bitch."
"Yeah, that's what the BC told me too." He answered. "I thought maybe I'd start jogging at night before I go to bed. That'll probably help."
"Probably." I agreed, inwardly feeling very pleased to hear his words. It sounded like Mike was growing up a little. Strange but true. "Listen," I told him. "I was wondering if maybe you could do me a little favor before you head to the fire station tomorrow."
"It'd have to be a quick favor." He told me. "I don't want to be late."
"It'll only take a minute." I explained. "Just meet me at the payphone by the office after lunch."
"What for?" He asked.
"I need to borrow your voice for something."
"How is your hand healing up?" Nina asked me the next day at lunch, her voice still careful and guarded.
"I think I'll live." I answered, holding it up for her inspection. The stitches were still quite prominent but the skin itself was starting to knit back together. It didn't actually hurt anymore but it itched like mad most of the time.
She nodded quietly. "You ought to be more careful what you do." She commented.
"I'm trying to be Nina." I told her seriously. "I'm really trying to be."
This won me a smile. Not the best I'd ever seen from her, but it was getting there.
By the end of that lunch period she'd thawed a little more. Not completely, but a little more. She laughed a little. She offered looser comments. She even slapped at my shoulder playfully once, sending thrills racing through me at her touch. I began to suspect that things between Nina and I might just work out. Maybe even sooner than I'd expected.
I left the lunchroom happier than I'd been in quite some time.
Mike met me at the payphone just as I'd asked him to. The light snow of the day before had turned into heavier snow accompanied by an icy North wind. He was shivering when I found him there.
"God damn dude." He told me, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm. "I was about to leave. I'm freezing my ass off out here. What took you so long?"
"Sorry." I apologized. "I was talking to Nina and time kind of slipped away from me."
"Nina's talking to you again?" He asked, feigning disinterest.
"Yeah." I nodded. "I guess you could say we made up."
"Cool deal." He told me wisely, speaking with his voice of experience. "I think she's got the hots for you man. You play your cards right, you might even get some off her like I did with Kathy the other night. Let me tell you, that bitch knows how to suck a…" He continued for more than five minutes, graphically detailing an encounter with this girl; someone I'd never heard of.
When he finished, I said, "Well that's cool. But anyway, can you make this call for me?"
"Sure." He said. "What do you want me to say?"
I explained what I wanted to him and we went over it a few times. "And be sure to deepen your voice a little, just a little, so you sound like an adult."
"And why are we doing this again?" He asked.
"It's a long story." I told him. "But you can rest assured it's for the betterment of all mankind."
He looked at me for a moment and then laughed. "Jesus Bill, you sure know how to come up with 'em."
I handed him a dime and he picked up the phone. As he plugged the coin into the slot he took a sheet of paper from me, scanned it for a second, and then punched in the number that I'd instructed him to dial. He held on to the paper after dialing so he could refer to the names and addresses I'd printed there.
I was worried that he would over-act but, to give him credit, he performed perfectly. He listened for a few seconds and then I could see by his face that the phone had been picked up. With just the right amount of deepening to his voice, he said into the phone. "Good afternoon Mrs. Browling. My name is Bob Hartley. I was referred to you by a friend of mine who purchased a house on Sallyport Way last month; Rick Whaling?"
He paused for a second and then gave me a thumbs-up, letting me know she was buying it so far.
"Yes," He nodded. "Rick loves the house and he recommended you if I should ever find myself in need of a good real estate agent. Well, as it turns out, my wife and I have been planning to buy a house for quite some time. After five years of saving we've managed to put aside eight thousand for a down payment." A pause. "Yes, that's right. Eight thousand. Anyway, we've been kind of looking on our own and we found a house that is listed with your agency out in North Spokane." Another pause. "Well it's at…" He read from the sheet. "Twenty-one nineteen Westbrook Lane." A pause. "Yes, Westbrook Lane." He rolled his eyes upward for a moment. "Why sure, I'll hold."