Magpie

Chapter 1

“So no light dressing? None?” Ellora glared at the cashier behind the register, and he seemed to whither at her confrontation. She was a tall and fit woman, with dark features and an RBF, so the response was one she was met with often. She was at a new salad joint her assistant had chosen, the only place in the area decent enough for her picky needs to set the meeting for her newest client. She had to drive almost an hour out of the city and was a bit cranky after sitting so long. Although she was always a bit cranky and restless.

“Sorry,” the cashier replied quietly. “I can put it on the side if you want?”

Ellora sighed. “Sure, fine.” Relieved, the cashier went to grab a small plastic sauce cup, but paused when he realized he didn’t know which dressing to fill it with. “Balsamic,” Ellora said rudely, more rudely than she meant to. She was already thinking of the drive back home and all the things she still had to do today. She hated meeting with clients, but it was necessary in her line of work.

“That’ll be $8.59,” the cashier said, having served the dressing and rung up her order. The POS asked if she wanted to leave a tip, and she chose the highest percentage, feeling slightly bad for snapping at the man. She tapped her card and collected her salad, then turned to find a spot to sit and eat. “Enjoy,” she heard the cashier say softly behind her.

Ellora chose a small bistro-sized table by the window, facing the restaurant’s entrance. She wasn’t sure when she developed such on-guard habits, but they had helped her in many iffy situations in the past. The sunshine streaming in did put her slightly at ease, as did the happy passersby jogging or walking their dogs. She thought briefly of her own chow chow at home and once again wished to be back at her condo, playing with Bobo or at least getting work done. ‘This IS work,’ she reminded herself. Although at the moment it didn’t feel like it. The minutes rolled by as she ate her salad. She was only a little early, but her client hadn’t shown up yet. She usually gave them twenty minutes grace, and she secretly hoped this one wouldn’t show. Then she could go home, and keep the deposit too.

After about ten minutes, Ellora noticed a woman dressed in a trench coat and absurdly large sunglasses approaching the restaurant through the window. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Why were they always so cliche? The woman entered the restaurant and looked around for a second. There weren’t that many diners before lunch so her eyes found Ellora quickly. The woman slowly approached her table and peered around as if to check for spies or something.

“Blue birds don’t fly,” she whispered.

“My God, just sit down,” Ellora said to the woman, irritated by her antics. “And take off those stupid glasses.”

“Oh, s-sorry. You are Magpie, aren’t you?” The woman quickly sat down and reluctantly removed her sunglasses. “I thought you said to use that code phrase.”

“I didn’t, my assistant was likely messing with you. And me too apparently.” Ellora continued to eat her salad. She noticed a manila envelope in the lady’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh yes, here.” The woman slid the envelope across the small table carefully. Ellora rolled her eyes internally once again. Part of the reason she hated these meetings was because of this. The clients, or their representatives, were always some kind of weird or annoying. She picked up the envelope and opened it. There were several documents, the first of which included a professional headshot of a middle-aged man in a grey suit and blue dress shirt. He had dull green eyes and light brown hair, and an overall average looking but nice face. He seemed somewhat familiar, although she couldn’t quite place from where. The next document was a printed web article by a David Seulman. ‘Grandstaff to Approve Production of Millions of Tons of Harmful Emissions in Rural Cities,’ the title read. Ellora realized where she’d seen the man’s face. He was always on TV, often invited by local news outlets to debate environmental issues through low-quality zoom calls. She felt a bit disappointed, it looked like she was going after a good guy this time around. The rest of the documents were similar articles written by Seulman, all concerning a power plant that was being built nearby and John Grandstaff, a local politician.

“So I work for Grandstaff, he’s my boss,” the woman clarified. “Basically this Seulman guy is–”

“I don’t care.” Ellora placed the documents back in the envelope and returned it to the woman. All she really needed was a name, her assistant Tiffany could figure out the rest. She ate the last bite of her salad and began to collect her things. “I’ll be in touch, you can tell your boss that,” she said as she stood up to leave. The woman stared up at her, confused.

“Wait, but don’t–” the woman started. But Ellora was already halfway to the exit.

“I’ll be in touch!” she called back again. She pulled out her phone to text Tiffany.

‘Meeting done
David Seulman’