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soliciting.”
    â€œI’m not selling anything. I’m just letting you know about the guy on the roof. I think he’s from Africa.”
    â€œWe are all from Africa originally.”
    â€œCan you let me in or go up and check on him yourself? I think he’s in trouble.”
    â€œJust a minute.”
    She appeared on the other side of the glass door.
    â€œLet’s see some ID .”
    Adam took out his PMO card and held it up so that she could read it through the glass of the inner door. The card had his photo and the words, “Temporary Permit” printed diagonally across it in green ink.
    â€œHoly shit. I mean, come in.” She unlocked the door and held it open.
    â€œThanks.” He went to the elevator and pushed the “Up” button.
    â€œReally sorry, eh. If I’d known—I mean, I’m sorry if I—have you, like, seen him or anything?”
    â€œAs I said, he called down to me.” Was it her purpose in life not to listen to what anyone told her?
    â€œNo, I mean, you know. God, he’s so...”
    â€œOh. Right.” He’s taller than you think. I was at an event with him not long ago. Couldn’t be bothered talking to the man. Another engagement I had to get to, don’t you know.
    â€œYou have? What’s he like? Do you think you could get me his autograph if I gave you the address?” Without waiting for his answer she dashed into the office, which was nearby, and came out with two identical business cards that gave her name and position under the co-op’s letterhead. “Gail Sykes, Office Coordinator.” Adam signed the back of one, returned it to her, and pocketed the other.
    â€œWhat’s this?” she said with a sniff, squinting at his scrawl.
    â€œDidn’t you...?
    â€œOne for him, one for her.”
    He patted his pocket. “As soon as I get back to Ottawa, I promise.”
    â€œGod, I can’t hardly believe it.” The elevator, which had come and gone once already, opened. “Take it all the way to the top. That’ll bring you to the roof.”
    â€œThanks so much, uh,” fishing again for her card.
    â€œGail.”
    â€œGail.”
    â€œThere are stairs, too, once you’re there.”
    â€œI’ll look for them.”
    â€œAre you like a spy or something?”
    â€œSort of.”
    â€œWhat does he do with his—?” The door closed and the elevator began to climb.
    On the roof a wooden picnic table sat beside a large metal shed that he figured housed the elevator’s drive mechanism. He was alone. Remembering that he had not tested the door before letting it close behind him, he tried the handle. The door opened easily.
    Adam walked over to the eastern edge of the roof and put his fingers through the links of the steel fence. The harbour spread out before him in the middle distance: George’s Island, a tall, obstructive building with the green letters, “ ALIANT ” near the top, the container terminal near the tip of the peninsula, an oil refinery on the Dartmouth side. How odd to be up here, he thought. How right it felt. He was beginning to forget why he had come to this city, when he heard a deep reverberant laugh coming up from street level. Looking down he saw the same man who had tricked him onto the roof.
    â€œEnjoying the panorama, my man?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I am.”
    â€œDon Feeney Gets It Done. Do he indeed!”
    Adam was puzzled until he saw that the man was holding a lawn sign by its wooden shaft, and he remembered that he had left both it and the window sign meant for Mrs. Fallingbrooke in the entrance to the co-op.
    â€œWhat do he get done, mon? He hairdo?” Another rumbling James Earl Jones laugh, one so strong it could have moved boulders.
    â€œDo you mind leaving that there, please?”
    Riding the elevator down, Adam scolded himself for his anxiety. The election signs were