Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
and getting back to his room by following the map was no problem. The technology was straightforward, and sailing had tuned his navigation skills. Curious about the nondescript box that came out of the gun safe, he unboxed it carefully. If anybody saw the contents, they would think—toy gun. It was canary yellow, except for the bright silver trigger and some black lettering. Though Hank had no experience with this type of gun, he knew it wasn't a toy and instinctively treated it with the respect all firearms deserve.
He skimmed the instructions, focused in on the practical highlights and skipped through the pages of boilerplate safety and cautionary legalese. This version of the SALT Supply Company’s pepper spray gun was smaller than what he had seen on videos. This model was about the size of a Glock 19, only chubbier. Without the CO2 cartridge and unloaded, it even felt like a toy, but when charged and loaded, it could send a plastic round filled with powdered pepper spray at a speed of 375 feet per second and would affect the recipient with the same kinetic energy as being hit by a fastball traveling at highway speeds.
Hank inserted the CO2 cartridge, loaded and reloaded the gun, until he was familiar with its design, safeties, and feel. Using the small tool included, he matched the laser sight to the iron sites.
His new watch rang, and Willy’s face appeared. “Hope you didn’t fire off that Nerf gun. Says right in your contract you’re responsible for any property damage. Now, follow the yellow brick road and get over here or you’ll miss the fun.”
Willy was waiting just outside the elevator as Hank exited. He said, “You’re riding shotgun in the light green minivan. Don’t ask me why, but you’ve got the birthday girl and a few of her friends. Better keep your new gun handy.”
“I thought the briefing said no riots tonight?”
Willy grinned and replied, “You’re about to get into a van with five females.” Shaking his head from side to side. “You sure are new to this.” The minivan pulled a little past them. Willy pointed at the front passenger door, then swatted the air with the back of his hand. “Go.” A dirty gray Honda pulled up and Willy climbed in.
Hank figured rich kids out on the town got around in limos or at least a huge black SUV like in the movies, but Irina and three of her best friends sat in the reconfigured back of the Toyota Sienna. The girls buckled into plush captain’s chairs. Spicy music with a heavy beat competed with giggles and conversation as the cacophony spilled through the open panel separating the front from the back. As it closed, the girls waved to Hank, and one blew him a kiss.
The closed panel created a barrier, airbrushed in dark colors to look like the minivan was empty. The bass was still audible, but the closure of the panel strangled words and lyrics. His attention turned to the driver. “Hi, I’m Hank.”
“Sit there and be quiet.”
Not giving a damn didn’t come naturally to Hank, but he had become adept at disinterest, so he ignored the driver and watched Vancouver roll by. So many people out, most walking, taking in the city. There was no sign of unrest, at least not on the streets. Nobody stared at the unwashed minivan. Hank wondered who thought to put the worn bumper sticker and the white outline decals of a mom, dad, two kids and a cat on the dark back window. If wearing nondescript clothing allowed a person to blend in as the proverbial gray man, then this was the transportation equivalent. Even the driver, the bitchy thirty-something woman, looked like any soccer mom from the neck up.
As they arrived, Willy opened the door and Hank offered a hand to Irina and her girlfriends as they stepped out. The girl that had blown him a kiss stepped out last. Her bangs and straight black hair framed her porcelain face. Compared to the rest of the partygoers, she had missed the gist of the birthday party’s theme. She handled the where-in-the-world aspect—she was Japanese—but the ancestral respect part was a stretch. She wore the uniform of a Japanese schoolgirl, white Keds, knee socks, plaid skirt (too short), and white blouse (too tight). As she sprang out the door, she grasped Hank’s hand. Her eyes studied him and her grasp lingered long enough to make him uncomfortable.