(034)
The location had seemed an odd choice when the guy had suggested it, but even more so today. A cold had crept up Graham’s spine during the night and he’d awoken with swollen eyes and a nose that wouldn’t stop running. Crawling out of bed had taken a herculean effort, and standing under a tree getting soaked to the bone was probably the last thing he should be doing – but needs must.
He sniffs to stop snot leaking onto his coat again, his head throbbing its intense disagreement to the plan. He takes a moist handkerchief from one of his front pockets – whether from the rain or his own bodily fluids, it was hard to say. A loud, inelegant honk accompanies him filling it with both barrels. Sniffing, he stuffs it back into his pocket, then pats the bulge protruding at rib height through his sodden coat.
Still there.
Obviously it was still there – the rustling from the plastic bags had been an ever present as he’d walked here – but still he felt the need to check. He’d never had so much cash on him at one time. Despite the fog of sickness it was hard not to be at least a little exhilarated. Like he was naked under his knee length brown puffer coat and only he knew it.
Graham checks his watch again. The guy wasn’t actually late but in his eagerness to be on time he’d turned up 15 minutes too early, so it felt like it. If they’d just met at the guy’s place like Graham had suggested that wouldn’t have mattered so much, but the guy had argued that:
‘I can’t have people knowing where my supply is.’
So now he was pissed wet through and getting sicker by the second, all the while a faint tickle in his throat was begging for his attention. It’s a trap, of course – it’s never just one cough. He’d end up in the foetal position at the foot of the tree praying for it to end. No, a gentle swallow would have to suffice. He checks his watch for a third time, and the third time’s the charm.
Breaking out from the treeline in a black leather trench coat, sunglasses and boots was the guy. He covers the field in great strides, apparently unperturbed by the rain that slicks his thinning hair to his scalp. His ponytail flicks over each shoulder in great pendulous swings as he walks, though the weight of the water seems to be doing most of the work. Resting in his right hand, however, is what matters most to Graham. A black leather briefcase, inside of which was the real reason he came. The guy stomps into a puddle and he winces as the muddy splash it creates almost drenches it.
“Did you come alone?” The guy says, looking left and right.
“Uh, yeah– yeah.” Graham sniffs, his voice bunged up and nasal.
The guy recoils.
“Are you sick??” He takes a step back out into the rain.
Graham wipes his nose with his sleeve absentmindedly.
“A little, but it’s okay.”
The guy shakes his head and reaches into his deep coat pockets, producing two bottles of alcohol gel. He chucks one to Graham at head height, who only just catches it.
“Use that, and keep it– why don’t you have a mask?” He pops open his bottle and squeezes it with one hand, coating the top of his fingers and then putting them in his nose.
Graham opens his bottle and tips it into his other hand, then slowly copies what he’d seen the guy do. The sting threatens a sneeze but he fights it. He can’t come this close to lose it to a sneeze.
“No I uh– I was in a bit of a rush, but it’s not that bad, honestly.”
The guy doesn’t seem convinced, choosing to remain where he is.
“You got the money?”
Graham nods, patting his coat to produce the rustle on cue.
“Let me see it.” The guy says.
“Of course! But…under the tree? I don’t want it to get wet.” Graham smiles sheepishly, unzipping his coat.
Now he knows you’re naked too.
He slides his hand into the inside pocket and withdraws the cash. The plastic bag it’s housed in sags with the weight of it. The guy eyes it from afar, still hovering on the boundary.
“Open it.” He orders.
Graham’s wet fingers struggle to find the correct placement to undo the handles, and without something to rest it on the weight only tightens it. He squats against the tree to set it on his knees, using the motion to mask another nose wipe and grimacing awkwardly at the guy. The sunglasses betray no response, though he takes this moment to tip-toe out of the rain. The bag finally gives and he opens it to reveal the contents – a single rolled up stack of varying coloured notes nestled atop a bed of different looking coins.
The guy lowers his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose to get a better look.
“Sorry about the coins; my change jar has been overflowing for years and I never use cash anymore, but I only took the biggest ones!” Graham says with an apologetic smile.
He sighs and pushes his sunglasses back into place.
“I need to count it.”
“No problem!” Graham stands to hand it over but the guy recoils again.
“Uh, how do you want to…how do you want to do this?” He asks.
“Put it on the floor by the tree, then go round the other side and face the other way.” The guy says.
Graham bristles at this.
“I still need to be able to see you.”
The guy is still for a moment, then nods.
“Okay, stand on the other side of the tree, as far as possible from me but facing my direction.” He states.
Graham dips his chin in agreement, carefully setting the bag at his feet and walking around to the other side. The guy waits until the tree is between them before making his move. He leans the briefcase against the trunk and sifts through the coins with one hand, forming little piles from them in the other. Graham peers round the tree to watch.
“It’s 30 in change in total, I think.” He says.
The guy tilts his head, frowning. His lips move in an attempt to keep count for a moment, then they stop, he lets out a heavy sigh and starts counting the ones in his hand again. Graham bites his tongue and sniffs. The urge to blow his nose is almost unbearable but he daren’t take his handkerchief out in case it frightens the guy off, so he sniffs again. His skin aches standing still, and watching the guy painstakingly count out every denomination makes him regret his choice to raid the change jar. The tickle in his throat teases and coaxes him, asking with more urgency for just one little cough. Almost as the feeling of wooziness is threatening to topple him, the guy is done counting. He dumps the coins back into the bag and hooks it up by the handles before dropping it into his pocket in one motion.
“Okay!” Graham barks with more force than he’d intended. “Can I see it now?”
The guy nods, placing the briefcase where the bag had been and unbuckling the clasps. Graham almost trips himself over trying to get a good look round the tree. The guy eyes him with a frown.
“What are you doing?” He asks. “Come round– but not too close!”
Graham does as he’s told. He takes care to keep a perimeter between them but his eyes are always on the prize. The guy’s fingers rest on the outer corners of the case waiting for the opportune moment, the tips seeming to glow red with anticipation. One look over his shoulder to confirm Graham’s watching, then he lifts.
The gloom is punctured by a brilliant yellow light so bright that Graham has to shield his eyes from it. He squints through his fingers at the illuminated face of the guy looking in his direction again.
“Whatdya think?” He gestures with his head towards the briefcase.
“Uh…” Graham tries to look into it again but his eyes can’t adjust.
“It’s like Pulp Fiction– I had it installed.” A grin breaks out through his lips and he looks down to admire it.
“Oh!” Graham laughs, aggravating the tickle in his throat and only just stopping a cough from escaping. Snot fires from each nostril from the sudden force and he scrambles for his handkerchief.
“Yeah, everyone gets a kick out of it when I do it. It gives the reveal moment a real oomph, don’t you think?” The guy turns and finds Graham holding a closed fist to his cheekbone, peering into it.
“Oh yeah– yeah absolutely.” He sniffs.
“It’s blown your mind a bit hasn’t it?” The guy laughs.
“Mmm, yeah, it took me by surprise for sure– could you uh–” He gestures with his hand to turn it off.
“Ah! Of course, I installed a dimmer switch as well, let me just–” he reaches into it and the light softens enough for the contents to be visible. A blue microfibre towel – the last barrier between him and what he came for.
“Now for the real reveal.” The guy grips the object on either side and lifts it out with the towel wrapped around it. Graham instinctively leans closer, tucking his snot filled handkerchief into his front pocket. The guy rests it in one hand and untucks the folds with the other.
“So, here we have it. A 2007 first edition Pirate Barbie, and as you can see–” the guy points the tip of his finger towards the top of the transparent box, “the eyepatch there shows that it’s one of the first editions, with only a thousand printed and sold before they were pulled from the shelves due to the backlash over marking her face.”
Graham’s head swims as elation fuses with the sickness and he feels like he’s going to faint. He steps forward to steady himself with his hands held out in front of him. The thrum of the rain is suddenly accompanied by a high pitched ringing, and little spots wriggle before his eyes. The guy turns the box over in his hand and points out a few other of its unique features, though the sound is muffled and indecipherable to Graham. Every ounce of his energy is going into maintaining the lie that he’s okay and listening attentively. The guy looks at him standing in his surf-like stance and says something else. Graham nods in response and watches as the guy removes the towel and passes the box lengthwise into his open palms, then stands and closes the briefcase. Graham hopes he’s holding himself in a way that seems casual and nods as the guy rambles on, with the ringing abating just in time to hear the words: “Wait until I’m out of sight.” Then he disappears into the rain.
Graham remains rooted to the spot until his vision returns, although it’s hard to say for sure how long that takes. He admires the box in his hand and all the effort he’d taken to get it, then he unzips his coat and slips it into the inside pocket. Relief rolls through him like a dam had broken. He fishes for his handkerchief once more, his careful focus dropping for just a moment, but that moment is all the cough needs. The first one’s only little – but of course it’s never just one.
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