Chapter 43: The Curb Line

Qing had stopped hitting the iron panel by the time Su reached the yard. She stood at the east wall with the tire iron hanging from one hand and rain running off her chin, studying the grate the way she studied parcels that claimed to be out for delivery. "Four bolts," she said. "Seventeen millimeter, rusted to the plate. Behind them, a steel panel in a track. In June I counted the bolts. I did not think to ask what they were protecting." "You wanted to know where the warm air came from." "I wanted to be right about the warm air. This is worse." Rain struck the loading platform hard enough to rebound. Runoff poured down the ramp from Airport Way, carrying leaves, grit, and a silver skin of diesel. Su held it against the curb in a band no higher than the red stripe Qing had marked on…