Free Courier by Terry Irving Page B

It’s something you need to feel."
    "Well, that’s not going to happen."
    They had arrived at the enormous subway dig that had replaced D Street. It was only a block from Rick’s group house.
    "I’m staying just over there in that pink house," Eve said. "You don’t have to come all the way to the door. There isn’t room for two people to walk on these damn rickety catwalks."
    Rick looked over the wooden beams that served as a fence around the enormous pit. "I can never believe how deep this goes. It’s got to be ten to fifteen stories down."
    The entire street was simply gone – ripped out and trucked away. Trees, sidewalks, and even front gardens had been lost – and what remained was a deep, dark space filled with girders, stairs, and work lights. Big mobile cranes were working at both ends of the dig and at the bottom, acetylene torches flared.
    "From what I read, this is where they dropped the mole in to dig the tunnels."
    "Mole?" Eve asked.
    "Yeah, they’re using a monster drill that cuts out the whole subway tunnel at once with room for both train tracks. That’s the mole. Every day they just goose it forward a bit more and lay concrete in behind it. At least most of it’s underground up here. Downtown it’s all cut-and-cover, and the streets are just boards."
    She smiled. "Tough on a motorcycle, I’ll bet."
    "Damn right. If it’s raining, it’s like trying to drive on an ice rink. Last week, a taxi missed the turn at Connecticut Avenue and just slid right over the edge. He was lucky that he caught on the exhaust pipes after the front wheels went over. They had to pull him out with a crane." He looked over the edge again. "And it’s not nearly as deep as this."
    "The girl I’m staying with says that they’re afraid all the houses are just going to fall in someday." She pointed at one of the pastel-colored brick-fronts that sat only a few feet from the edge of the pit. "See, they’ve had to hammer in I-beams like that to brace up a number of the houses. The walls were beginning to crack."
    "Well, if your place starts to topple, I’m just over there." Rick pointed. "You’re welcome to drop by anytime. Just don’t let my roommates frighten you off."
    "Are they bikers, too?"
    "Worse, computer hackers and a Senate staffer."
    She gave a fake shudder. "Yeah, that’s worse. If anything happens, I think I’ll just go ahead and fall in."
    Then she smiled, gave him a quick wave, and walked quickly down the flimsy walkway over the incredible drop.

CHAPTER 10
    Â 
    Rick didn’t have to start his shift until 1 o’clock. Mornings were slow, and the couriers didn’t have to go into all-out crazy speed mode until after noon, when the push to the 6 o’clock deadline began to pick up speed. He drove slowly up 14th Street – bemused by how the blinking lights and inviting signs of the gaudy nightclubs and the leering come-ons of the sex shops were only blocks from the White House.
    A man in a wrinkled raincoat, whose hat just happened to be covering his face, came out of the Olympic Baths and scurried away. Across the street, two tired hookers, one in ripped fishnet stockings and the other in a tiny denim skirt, were sitting on the stoop of a house between two strip clubs: This is It and The Butterfly. One of them waved at him without any real hope. He just waved back.
    Ahead, he spotted the rundown town house and garage on H Street where Motor Mouse Couriers was located. At least there was a sign outside that claimed that Motor Mouse was a courier company, but to his knowledge, no one had ever hired them.
    Certainly, no one who had ever actually visited their office.
    The chopped Harleys outside the garage doors proclaimed its real occupants, the Dawn Riders Motorcycle Club, a group far less violent than the gunrunning Pagans in Prince George’s County or the black bikers of the Galloping Gooses, but still dangerous