A bicycle messenger for nearly 20 years, Landis started just as cell phones replaced pagers and Nextel walkie-talkies as the state-of-the-art communications in the courier world. He’d just returned from a decade of teaching English in Taiwan and needed a job, any job. The freedom of riding a bicycle as an independent contractor appealed to him—and as a former All-State soccer player at Bethesda–Chevy Chase High, he had an athletic background. Why not?
Today Landis still loves the work. But he’s a dinosaur on wheels. Like affordable neighborhoods and half-smoke food carts, DC’s messengers are nearly extinct. With his cycling cap, compact build, and bulging calves, Landis resembles a retired Tour de France sprinter on his road bike—only many days, he pedals at half speed, barely breaking a sweat. At his previous gig, Landis was the last messenger left standing for a company called LaserShip, which has since merged with OnTrac. “They had 30 couriers when I started,” he says. “By the time the pandemic hit, I was covering the whole city for Laser.”
The city of Seville awoke early, the old streets alive with singing birds and distant bells. The cobblestone alleys smelled faintly of hidden gardens. I’d flown here for a chance to hold a 480-year-old map in my hand. The archive’s curators had given me no guarantees but said that I could come, in person, to make the request. For a century after Christopher Columbus, this town was the white-hot center of global exploration, teeming with sailors who’d been to the New World and returned to tell the tale. Now it was mellow and quaint.
And even though this novel makes fun of the classic murder mystery — with its baroque plots and too-neat solutions — Atkinson understands its delights. As everything clicks into place — and the mystery is solved — we let out a satisfied, Ahhh.