Friday, July 2, 2010

Fiction: The Crate

“This is Patrick and I’m Tom. I spoke with you on the phone.”

The truck’s lights cast strange shadows on the man’s face as he spoke. His eyes twinkled in the orange glow of the Mac truck's running lights.

The moon hung high in the night sky and the stars shone brightly. Fog settled off the coast, but didn’t seem to be moving in like it had the few nights before. It was cold and clear and bright, but something seemed very stuffy about the air. Some sort of pressure front was playing with the atmosphere.

The thing man before Tom Archer nodded, half listening. “Yes, yes.”

“Is this the only container we’re moving?” Patrick ran his hand over the stubble on his chin and stared blankly at the large container on the dolly. His broad shoulders rolled and he knelt down. “We can strap this in and down behind the other boxes in the 150, Tom. No need for the Mac.”
“There are issues that I’ve spoken to Mr….um…Tom…about. We want it secured and within a containment area. Not in the back of a pickup truck, Patrick.” The thin man pressed his glasses higher on his beak-like nose and addressed Tom again. “Are all the arrangements agreed on, Tom? Are we ready to move it?” His words were nervous and tight. He smelled of liquor and, though he was clean cut and well dressed, he seemed somewhat disheveled and out of sorts. His thinning hair blew around on his head and he slid a hand over it to push it back into place. Patrick thought his skin looked gray.
“Sure thing. And the money is fine as well.” Tom watched as lights crested on the hill, then turned off on the main road. The warehouse they were parked in front of was completely dark – the high barbed fence that surrounded it whistled as the wind came up.
“Yes, yes – fine.” The thin man moved to his car and glanced around uncomfortably before opening it and pulling out the envelope within. A soft ding emanated from the vehicle and repeated over and over until the door was shut again.

Brave enough to read on?

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