the smuggler’s bible

Margery

Sometimes a service outage is just a fluke with an easy fix. You know, clear a few caches, cycle the power. That kind of stuff.

“This is different,” Margery says, standing with the superintedent in front of the tiny door they found behind a pile of crates in the basement.

“Standard rates, though, right?”

Margery hands over the flashlight and unclips her toolbelt. “Nonstandard,” she says. “Wait here and—stop gasping, calm down. If I’m gone longer than an hour, call dispatch. They’ll send someone else.”

Then she hunches her shoulders and crawls through with a knife in her teeth.