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and-granola houses, leaving Cyrus to wonder once again what all the cloak and dagger was about. |
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"Don't you diamond types ever meet in a, you know, a jewelry store? Or is that too bourgeois?" |
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Kyna shook her head. "Not if I can help it. Surest way to get ripped off is to go hanging around jewelry stores carrying a briefcase." |
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She drove around until she found a parking spot under the interstate. Then, after a short walk, Cyrus took up a position next to a creosote dock piling where he could keep an eye on the swap. The gemologist du jour was a beefy young man wearing a bow tie and a pair of glasses with lenses that looked like they came out of the Hubble telescope. After the exchange, Kyna made her deposit in the Lincoln's trunk and they had lunch at a bagel place on the other side of the expressway. Later, they took a stroll through the shops and exhibits along the harbor to talk. It was time for Cyrus to find out what was going on. If for no other reason than to protect Kyna. |
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"I'm as freaked by all this as you are." She stopped to peer in the window of a sourdough bakery. "It was I could do to stop shaking long enough to make the exchange." |
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Cyrus stopped and turned in a circle, staring at all the faux nautical shops and stores as if they had suddenly appeared out of thin air. Just past the end of the pier, a Russian tanker cut through the gray-black water of Elliott Bay as silently as the grim reaper's scythe. Sea gulls, their white feathers ruffling like kittens' fur in the breeze, sat atop the pilings as if placed there by the Seattle Board of Tourism. Aside from the gaily painted restaurants and bars, the street was lined with memento mills and stores hawking trendy brass trinkets and Korean-made yachting caps. |
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It was too much. Too much junk, too many smells, too much color. All that sunlight without the softening effect of clouds created shadows in the alleys and overhangs that were sharp enough to cut flesh. The sky was so blue that it hurt |
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