Grenshaw and the Monster 3
When Grenshaw got to his bike, he poured the juice in immediately. He got on his phone and dialed his secretary. “Mary. Grenshaw. Listen, put the intern on the phone.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Grenshaw,” Mary said. He waited for a half a minute and then heard Mary say, “Here he is, Mr. Grenshaw.”
“Hello?” A young man now spoke.
“It’s Thomas, sir.”
“Right. Listen, I need you to do something for me right away. I need you to find out who supplies Marigold CafÃ© with its orange juice.”
“Marigold CafÃ©. Okay. Where is that?”
“It’s on Third and Prospect. You writing this down?”
“Yes, sir. Marigold CafÃ©. Third and Prospect.”
“Yeah. Find out their supplier and then underbid them.”
“Yeah, Tommy. The idea is to get a corner on the market. We underbid the competition, lose some money in the short run, but then we can jack up prices later.”
“I see, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
Grenshaw started up his bike and hopped on. The motor purred, and as the scent of orange juice filled the air, he took in his surroundings. This was the nice section of town, lined with expensive boutiques and restaurants. Next to the French restaurant he’d eaten at the previous night was an antique plastics shop. It advertised Tupperware in its windows. Next to that was a high-end computer store, selling wireless, glass computers and bearing the slogan, “Powered by your state of mind.”
Grenshaw took a deep breath. Today would be a good day, he decided. As he was about to pull out in to the street, he noticed the mug he’d gotten from Marigold CafÃ© lying on the ground next to his bike. It wouldn’t have taken much to get off his bike and pick up the mug, but he didn’t want to put forth the effort.
As he pulled away, he knocked the mug over. It broke.
He pulled out into the street and did a u-turn, pointing his bike toward the office and making a mental note to tell Tommy to take a new mug to the Marigold CafÃ©. As he drove off, he looked over his shoulder at the broken shards of the mug, but they were nowhere in sight. “That’s some efficient anti-litter technology,” he said to himself.
For some reason, he started thinking about the glowing pair of eyes he’d seen in the alley the night before.
to be continued. . .