“It’s sick. There’ll be no problems… you’ll kill it easily.”
That was the strange snippet of conversation I overheard as I walked down McGill Street into Old Montreal. Normally this part of the street is pretty boring, no shops, no restaurants, only this old Art Deco building, with the sign “Duke Investments” in stone, high above the windows. Today was different, today was a warm spring day, and their window was open.
I was intrigued, but also late. I hurried on to my lunch with my old boss Andre.
That snippet of conversation didn’t leave me. Things like that always spark my curiosity, and I became obsessed, especially since it was such a violent phrase. Was there some murder planned? Was something nefarious underfoot? I needed to investigate.
The next day, just before lunch, I decided to walk by Duke Investments again and just bend over and tie my shoe beneath the window. I also could sit there and pretend to beg for change.
As I sat down, I was rewarded with: “Look there are only two choke points… here and here. We need to funnel them through into those kill zones. Hamad, that’ll be your job.”
Now, I knew something horrible was being planned, but I needed evidence. Before I could get my cell phone out to record the conversation, I heard the front door squeak open. I quickly got up and moved on. As I turned around to see who they were, I saw the backs of two heavy-set men going the other way.
I didn’t like the looks of that, so I crossed the street and took up a position on the other side. It was crazy that I was so emotionally invested in this mystery, I told myself. It was crazy that I needed to know what was happening inside Duke Investments. Was this a Mafia safe house? Was this a hideout for terrorists? Or was my imagination just was running wild. In any case, I felt a visceral need to do something.
Against my better judgment, I went to tie my shoe underneath the window again.
“I don’t care, it’s got to be done by tonight. Do whatever it takes Jones!”
Then the window closed. The sun had gone behind the clouds, it was getting chilly. I couldn’t expect them to open the window again.
It’s strange how somethings get under your skin, and you need to scratch, no matter the cost? I needed to find out; alert the police and be the hero of the city. Everyone would love me. I’d be famous.
I created a plan. I went down the street to the Pizza Restaurant and ordered three of the most expensive Pizzas, to go. I then walked over to Duke Investments and knocked.
A young woman opened the door, and I said, “Uber Eats Delivery for a Mr. Hamad.”
“Who?” She asked.
“I think it’s Hamad, or maybe it’s Jones. I am not sure which is the first name.”
She looked at me funny, “It’s for Duke Investments,” I added.
She frowned and said, “This is the Blizzard Online Game Studio. We don’t have any Hamad or Jones here.”
I wasn’t sure of my next move, but then she brightened up and said, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll take those pizzas off your hands.
The voice actors have just finished rehearsing and need to record their scripts. It’s going to be a late night; they won’t have time to go out for supper. This’ll keep them going till they finish.”