Читать книгу A Thin Place - Jack Peterson - Страница 10

June 4, 1927

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Allowing himself an infrequent personal luxury, Trent was determined to take a taxi to his meeting with Richard Gurzi. Standing curbside outside his apartment, he repeatedly waved off the older taxis. He had a newer model in mind and would wait.

Ten minutes passed before a brand new 1927 Ford Model T finally pulled curbside. He had never owned a car but, if his plan worked, a little window-shopping seemed appropriate. The taxi’s seats were spacious, the fabric more supple than anything he had ever seen as he marveled at the technology. All steel, the car had a dual crank, automatic starter, and bright red wooden spoke wheels. With crystal-clear mirror-like jet-black paint and a speedometer, it was a luxury that, until now, he could only dream of having. Just eight years old when the first “T” hit the streets in ‘08, an untamed excitement about his chances of owning such a vehicle continued to infest his mind, but he remained cautious. The ride across town to St. Paul could be a turning point in his life. All he needed was a little cooperation, and luck.

Outside, the dark evening sky slowly engulfed the rest of what had been a seamlessly sunny day. Without warning, the light rain succumbed to a typical mid-western downpour that began pelting the taxi’s windshield, but Trent’s mind was elsewhere. His capricious decision in early April to attend the annual American Chemical Society convention in Washington DC was about to pay off. He rarely gave the organization the time of day but, when he found that over eight thousand members would be attending, he saw an opportunity. While most attendees were chemists, they were there more to socialize rather than for the business at hand. They would eat, drink a few beers, and go home. Trent was there because most major drug company representatives would be there looking for new talent and ideas. He did not want a job, he had one. Swapping employers would not solve his dissatisfaction for his career choice, but he did have an idea that, if he could sell it, could help expedite a change in lifestyle.

The taxi made a sharp turn onto Market Street toward the Rice Park District. Just as the towering St. Paul Hotel came into view, a loud jolt of thunder slammed a shockwave through the taxi and only heightened Trent’s nervousness. Since meeting Gurzi at April’s convention, they had maintained regular communications by phone but, in a few minutes, they would meet one-on-one for only the second time. If there were any other way to finance medical school, Trent was certain he would have favored a different road. While they were both twenty-seven years old, he held little in common with Gurzi. The man made him very uncomfortable, but he had no other options. For the next sixty minutes, Gurzi held his future in his hands.