By Bojan Ratković
When he first took possession of a small leather briefcase from the man in the white hat, Kastner didn’t intend to open it. His job was clean and simple: get the merchandise, make the call, wait exactly 48 hours before making the delivery. He never looked inside — the thought didn’t even cross his mind — and this, he believed, was why the woman continued to employ him.
He received the package at the same place, the back entrance of the Café Isidore across the street from the park. As he did a hundred times before, Kastner nodded to the man in the white hat, grabbed the briefcase, and strolled casually into the park and out of sight. He entered the phone booth on the corner of Flint and Elyse at five past one, his beige fedora perched just above his eyes. He closed the doors behind him and grabbed the receiver, sliding a single quarter into the slot and dialing the woman’s number. There was a brief pause, and then the familiar click on the other line.