By Joshua Ryan
Chapter 5: You Must Take the Tour
A taxi took me to the headquarters of the State Labour Program. It was a couple of miles from the hotel, and on St. Bevons, a couple of miles makes a lot of difference. The street was wide but almost deserted. A few old frame houses straggled along, but most of the frontage was warehouses or wholesale places—Stor-It-Here, Pure Products, Empress of India Auto Parts . . . . Because it was St. Bevons, everything was wreathed with tropical foliage, even the razor wire fences around the parking lots. But you could see why this part of town wasn’t on the tourist itinerary.
The cheerfulest place was actually the SLP building. Nothing to brag about, but they did make an effort to fix it up in a “colonial” style, and the foliage facing the street was well maintained. Even the little strip of grass in front looked like it was trimmed by hand, every day. As soon as my shadow approached the glass doors, a slappie jumped out and held one wide for me, bowing. A man at a desk—a real man, not a slappie—stood to welcome me, asked if I were Mr. Lansing, and said that Major Timmons was awaiting me. Within a minute I was comfortably seated at a table in the Major’s spacious office, watching the morning light play across his ebony features.
