Off the Road - 35

a jazz novel on a typewriter

4

Some dreams don’t wait: the opaque glass doors on the other side of the office opened. And out came two people both older and festooned with authority from their suits to their shoes. One was a man who had put on an exceedingly large weight and the other one was a woman who was then beyond them and looked as if she had used and abused certain products which etched her face. The men spoke first:

“You are a few days late. Is there any reason for this or is it just your normal slipshod way of doing things?”

But Dean was still as cool as ever: “There were minor adjustments and major problems with the delivery of all of the ingredients. The pyramid of the Midwest is not the same. And you know that this is not a Chinese shipping lane that arrives on time, or at least that used to be how they did it before current events took place.”

The man was about to lambaste Dean with a scaring complaint, but the woman touched him on his shoulder and cooed softly. Her response was abrupt: “They will take the product only at one-third off the original price. Did you have any trouble getting here?” Only the slightest smile escaped her lips in a kind of blue that was not quite right.

“15% My friends have a very practical mind and high would take all of the losses” Dean looked hard and ready to bargain. Ready to bargain with his life because he knew that if they did not like his supplies, they would shoot him up with them and leave the body for the police officers to find.

“25. And I will look at the goods before the exchange happens with an eye of wisdom.”

“20 and that is as much as I can do. There are others who would like to start the bidding with that number and probably would win.”

The man plastered a sneer: “I didn’t think this would be an open concern with anyone including the city hall having a cut.” There was a slight worry on the man’s face, and his cheek was touched by his jowl. It was definitely serious with no jokes involved. This was far too light for that.

But Dean flipped his right hand as if he were taking out a cigarette though he wasn’t. “And I didn’t think there would be a negotiation on the price.”

The woman answered back: “We didn’t think there would be any delay. And we would rather not be light on the delivery. All would be lost at that point.” The woman looked concerned but not for us.

“Carrying charges. Carrying charges.” There was a hard line between the actors like a bomb going off in a hall. some dreams are just a lie.

The man spoke after a moment and said: “Let me get out the specialist to sample, and if they are quality then we have a deal.” The man looked as if he might say something else but decided against it.

Then everything calmed down once the goods were looked at. Dean was pristine in how he got the product and in who he trusted. That I didn’t know was actually a benefit now that I saw the people with whom he was dealing and trading. It is all fun and games until someone fades a weapon.

We were motioned out with enough diamonds to pay for the pleasure they were going to sell but Dean was still on edge. We left the building and entered into MacArthur station and Dean noticed two men who just didn’t look like the sort who would ride BART in an artist sort of way. Their clothes were just too clean and too expensive to risk on public transportation.

We entered and noticed that the two men had boarded the same car on the other end. We were standing not sitting and our eyes did not look at them at all. But once you were in the long to between Oakland and SF, the two men tromped down the corridor and took out too-long knives. It was only then that I saw the red light on the cameras were shut and it seemed as if the end was coming for us. Dean backed away and I did the same figuring that he probably had a plan even if it was not a good plan.

Then they started to run but before they reached us contorted in agony and each one clasped a dart in his mid-section and could not make a sound. The cameras were still off, and Dean handed me a mask which I put on. When we hit Embarcadero, we walked calmly out the door and up into the light of the sun.

Then we hit the Muni and I kept quiet but then in hours later on the beach the rest of the day was spent on the “N” line end, Dean explained to me that he had called a friend who worked on the BART police force and said that something messy was going to happen and he would rather not the involved. He knew from the expressions on their faces that they would like to cut out the middleman. It was obvious, really, out of the delivery and take the extra change. Words were exchanged and I thought that there was some other agreement that I would rather not know about.

The rest of the day was spent pushing the sand and looking outward to the steaming ships and fluttering seagulls. All in the distance several jet planes were seen flying to points east casting in a festive light with mothers, fathers, and children looking out into the endless ocean not concerned with all of the things that occurred to make their trip possible. It did not occur to most of them the illegal, immoral, and wretched acts that were part of the trade and they would not care to think that they would that they beneficiaries of the sorted trade in human flesh and designer wetware. It was just cash on the barrel head with a spike of opioids to keep their pilot fresh. We horsed around because our job had been done. Then the darkness closed in like a distant fog that rolled in down the houses and into the sea. But it was more than just the climate but the quiet night.