The Delivery

[Orrex]

Part 1

Doug wore his black knit cap pulled down to his eyebrows, and he turned the silver object over in his hands. It was about the size of his palm, with three small plungers at one end. It looked like the valve assembly of a silver trumpet. He depressed one of the plungers with no result.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Maybe," he said after a few moments. He opened his briefcase and he laid the object on one of the foam pads inside, then closed the case.
"Five hundred," he said.
"Done," said the man.

He could have taken the cab through the tunnels but didn't. Instead he exited at the far end of Liberty and walked two blocks north to the bus stop. The wind off the river smelled of coal dust as he waited. A bus passed in the wrong direction. Then another a few minutes later.
The afternoon sun dipped below the tall buildings, and the streets stood in twilight. He held the case easily at his side. A cop passed in a cruiser and glanced at him but drove on. He checked his watch and suspected that he'd missed his last bus.


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[Orrex]

1. Part 2

It was midnight before he got home. He cleared an area on the kitchen counter and set the case there. Then he opened the fridge and took out a beer. After a few sips he decided that he didn't want it, so he set the bottle in the sink.

He went to the living room and found the bus schedule in a stack of papers beside the sofa. Effingham, Illinois was six hours, with a bus leaving each day at noon. He'd have plenty of time to sleep and get his things in order. Maybe visit Saul in the morning.

He returned to the kitchen and retrieved the case. He thumbed back the latches and opened it, the silver object inside catching the flicker of the fluorescent bulb overhead. Again he pressed one of the valves, but nothing happened. He turned it over and examined the underside. A series of raised squiggles woven together in a subtle pattern. He'd looked at it for several minutes before realizing that it might be writing. He restored the object to the case and shut it.

Briefly he considered leaving it here, in plain sight, but then he thought better of it and slid a chair over to the sink. Then he climbed onto it and reached for the tile overhead. It flexed several times as he pressed on it, until finally it came loose with a dull pop and a settling of dust.

Balancing, he bent over and grabbed the case, then pushed it into the gap in the ceiling. He put the tile back and jiggled it until it fell into place. Then he stepped down from the chair and sat.

The faucet was dripping, and he noted with annoyance the mildew smell still hanging in the air. A gallon of bleach and a weekend's worth of scrubbing had done nothing to clear the air. The payment for transporting the object would clear his debts and set him up in a nice house north of the river. But he wondered if the fee would be worth it.

He put the chair back under the table and switched off the light. Stepping from his shoes, he made his way back to the sofa. He stretched out on it and stared at the ceiling in the darkness.


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[Orrex]

2. Part 3

When Doug heard the garbage truck hoist the dumpster, he knew that it must be after three. He listened to the clatter and boom for a minute or so until the truck returned the dumpster to its concrete pad and rumbled away.

Despite the hour he considered calling Saul, but at last he talked himself out of it. It would be morning in a couple of hours, and he'd call then. He turned on his side and rested his head on the arm of the sofa.

Some time later he heard footsteps and muffled voices in the hallway. He didn't know how long he'd slept and had no idea of the time. The lights were off in the apartment, so he crept to the living room and listened. Nothing further, and no shadows passed the thin strip of light on the threshold. Whatever the noise had been, it was past.

He checked the clock on the stove and started a pot of coffee. Then he went back into the living room to wait for the sun.


Saul held the device with a pair of plastic tongs and tilted it under the light. He frowned and moved the jeweler's loupe to his other eye. At last he set the loupe on the table and put his glasses back on. "Moroccan?"

"They didn't say. What's it worth?"

Saul returned the object to its foam pad and picked up an unsharpened pencil. With the eraser he pointed to the tracery along the lower tubing. "This inlay is unusual. I saw something like it before the war, but not this nice. What's your fee?"

Doug shook his head. "What's it worth?"

"Two," said Saul. "Two-fifty, tops."

"Are you sure?"

Saul ignored him. "Do you know the buyer?"

"It's just a delivery."

"You should have turned it down."

"What for?" asked Doug. "The price is worth the risk."

"You're only saying that because you don't know what the risk is."

"And you do?"

"I'm not delivering it," said Saul. "Do you want my advice or not?"

Doug colored. "Sure," he said, and Saul nodded sharply.

"Don't touch it with your skin," he said. "That's foremost."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Yes," said Saul. "Probably in lots of ways. But if they're paying that much, then they're either desperate to get rid of it or desperate to drop it on someone else."


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[Orrex]

3. Part 4

Doug thumbed open the case and looked again at the silver object inside it. Moroccan, Saul had said. Maybe. Anyway, he'd agreed to make the delivery, so he couldn't go back on it now. But he regretted not asking more questions.

That was stupid. Asking questions meant that you didn't want the job. And even if he didn't, he wanted the money. But Saul said it wasn't worth it. Even so, in six hours he'd be in Effingham, and the case would be out of his hands, and he could forget about it.

He was in a stall in the men's room of the bus station, sitting on the commode. He listened in case anyone else entered, but no one did. He closed the case and latched it. Then he exited the stall and made his way across the station to his gate.

The bench was worn and hard, like sitting on a curb. He sat by himself for about twenty minutes when a guy came over and took a seat at the other end of the bench. The guy nodded gruffly and took a novel from his pocket. After a few minutes he looked over at Doug.

"Where you headed?"

Doug regarded him.

"I'm heading for Duluth," said the guy, and he shook his head. "Hell of a way to travel. "

Without saying anything, Doug put the case on the floor between his feet.

"That looks like a clarinet case. Do you play?"

Doug faced him. "Can I help you with something?"

"Just making conversation," said the guy. "Duluth's a long way. Effingham's a long way, too. You've got to be careful, Doug."

Doug grasped the case and stood.

"Sit down," said the guy.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to deliver what's in that case. I want you to get on the bus, and don't talk to anyone until you reach Effingham. Then I want you to take your money and disappear."

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[Orrex]

4. Part 5

Doug boarded the bus and took a seat near the back. He held the case under his arm and looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Through the window he saw the man still seated on the bench.

The man was reading a newspaper, but stopped and looked directly at Doug. Then he stood up, folded the paper, and walked away.

Doug had planned to sleep during the six-hour ride, but now he decided to stay awake. He didn't know who else might be watching or how they'd react to see him guarding the case so carelessly. Tucking the case between himself and the wall of the bus, he settled back to see who else boarded.

Several people entered the bus and sat here or there, but none seemed to take notice of Doug. But before long an old woman made her way up the entryway steps and looked down the aisle. She gave a shrugging motion as though tipping something from her shoulders, then started back toward Doug. She sat in the seat opposite him.

For a few moments she fumbled in her purse, finally taking out a book of crossword puzzles and a felt tip pen. She thumbed thought the book until stopping on a page with a new puzzle, and she settled back into her chair.

Doug felt a thump as the cargo door was slammed shut, then the driver stepped into the bus. He took a quick count of the passengers, then seated himself at the wheel. With a great lurch the bus eased back out of its stall, then a grinding roar as it headed into traffic.

"I need a five letter word," said the old woman. "Foolish undertaking."

Doug thought for few seconds. "Folly," he said.

"Folly," she said, and she wrote the word in her puzzle. "Folly is right, Doug," she said. "Why don't you give me that case?"

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[petgoat]

5. Good minimalism

I like the spare, tough-guy prose.

A little wordiness really clogs a piece one reads this carefully, though.

"Doug boarded the bus and took a seat near the back" Could be
"Doug took a seat near the back of the bus."

"She thumbed thought the book until stopping on a page with a new puzzle" could be
"She thumbed through the book until she found a new puzzle"

"Doug felt a thump as the cargo door was slammed shut," could be
"The cargo door thumped shut"



The bus can't lurch AND ease out of its stall.

The tension of nothing happening is really good in part 1, but it starts to drag in 2.
Those pictures in 2 are good, but they could be painted more deftly. In the first
sentence we have a good picture of Doug listening to the garbage truck, but when you
invoke the concrete pad, all of a sudden we're looking at the pad and the dumpster
instead of at Doug. That's jarring. We don't need the pad. "He listened to the
clatter and boom for a minute or so until the truck returned the dumpster to its
concrete pad and rumbled away" could be "He listened to the clatter and boom until
the truck rumbled away." You needn't describe the operation to us.

"It would be morning in a couple of hours, and he'd call then" could be "He'd wait until
morning." You already told us it was after three.

"Some time later" could be just "Later". "Whatever the noise had been, it was past,"
doesn't add any value.


I like the way you artfully clarified that "500" means thousands, not dollars.

Calling it a ceiling "tile" bothers me. I think you're describing a suspended ceiling
that has those lightweight 2' by 4' panels. "Tile" makes me think of those 9" x 9"
acoustical tiles with the holes in them, and if Doug has tricked out one of those to make
it removable I think you should explain that.

Calling it the "object" gets old too. Can you call it a gizmo or a McGuffin or a thingee?
Does Doug invent a pet name for it? Or is there a term of art in the biz--package,
consignment, bundle, pouch, property, football? Puck?

In 4 I like the point about asking questions. You could point that up in part one by
having the client give him a disgusted look when he asks "what is it," or say "None of
our business." Or maybe there's a reason you want to keep this low key in 1.

In 4, I like the interaction with the supervisor (or is he really an adversary pretending
to be a supervisor?) but... if I were delivering a package worth 500k I would not be
using the bus station restroom or hanging out outside the boarding gate. I would find
someplace else to wait, and turn up at the gate at the last minute. If Doug was hanging
out at a coffee shop down the street, perhaps having taken pains to see he wasn't followed,
and he gets accosted there by the supervisor, that would be even more surprising than being
accosted at the gate.

I hope these suggestions are viewed as constructive. I really like this piece, is why I
bother. You're a good writer, with a good eye for telling detail, talented at writing dialog,
and obviously skilled at inventing surprises.

I love the noir genre ("Nothing is what it seems") and if you're ready to be the new Jim
Thompson, I'll read every book you write. I'm a big Jim Thomson fan (also Hunter Thompson
and Paul Thompson!)

Thanks for sharing this! It's a real good start, but some close attention to detail can
improve it.

[Orrex]

6. Excellent and thorough critiques--thank you very much!

I appreciate your time and effort and giving such specific feedback. In particular, I value your thoughts on phrasing and sentence structure.

I'm not greatly familiar with the noir genre, outside of what you can see on TCM now and again, so I'm aiming for a "best guess" at the style. At the very least, I likely let the noir elements steer the writing, even if they only form the background.


Right now it's somewhere around 2,000 words, if I'd have to guess. I'm thinking that it'll go to 4,000 or 4,500. In the end, I'll post a consolidated version, and I'll definitely incorporate your suggestions.


Thanks again!

[petgoat]

7. 5000 words? It looks like the opening to a novel to me.

After you nail it down at 5000, consider complicating it
to 40,000.

[Orrex]

8. Part 6

She wore a tired smile and seemed perfectly harmless. With her pen she adjusted her glasses.

"You don't even know what it is," she said.

"It's a delivery," said Doug. "I don't care what's inside."

"I don't believe you," she said, and her smile widened. "What if you don't deliver it?"

"Then I'm out of a job."

"I'll bet they're paying you a bundle. Five thousand? Ten?"

He ignored her and turned toward the window.

"They're fools if they're paying a dime more than fifteen."

"Excuse me," he said, and he rose from his seat. With the case under his arm he made his way back along the aisle to the bathroom and locked the door. Then he dialed Saul's number.

"How's Illinois?" asked Saul.

"We just left the station," said Doug. "You got to tell me more about this thing. Everywhere I go, somebody knows about it."

"Why don't you ask them?"

"I'm serious. Do you know anyone in Effingham?"

"I will when you get there."

"If I get there."

"You have to make the delivery," said Saul. "Or they'll come after you."

"I know how it works," Doug said sharply.

"Then why are we talking?"

Doug took a deep breath. "I'll call when I get in," he said, and he hung up. Then he exited the bathroom and looked over the passengers. The old woman had moved a few seats toward the front of the bus, and she didn't even look at him. Everything else appeared the same. He moved down the aisle to a place a little farther back than he'd been sitting.

When they reached the interstate, Doug allowed himself to relax a little. The old woman hadn't acknowledged him since he'd stepped out of the bathroom, and no one else seemed to care about him, either.

About halfway to the front of the bus, a kid sat in a heavy coat much too warm for the weather. Doug noticed him because he kept making a shuddering motion with his right elbow, and his head snapped from right to left. He was young, maybe seventeen.

Ten miles later the kid shrieked and grabbed the man across the aisle.

"Please kill me," the kid rasped, jumping to his feet.


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[Orrex]

9. Part 7

The driver jerked the wheel, and the bus pitched toward the median. He recovered, but already the passengers were in a panic. The driver was watching the road and trying to see what was going on behind him. The kid was still screaming, still begging to be killed.

A big guy somewhere toward the front of the bus got up and raced down the aisle. He bear hugged the kid and wrestled him into the window seat. Then he sat down next to him, still clutching the kid. From where he sat, Doug could only see the tops of their heads.

"What the hell's wrong with him?" the driver shouted.

"He's okay," said the big guy. "It's all right."

But the kid hadn't let up. He was whimpering and slamming his head against the seat cushion.

"I'm dying!" he wheezed. "Please kill me!"

"I'm calling the cops," said the driver. He grabbed the radio mic.

"Get an ambulance," the big guy added.

Doug renewed his grip on the case and hunkered down in his seat. He drew his legs up and sat sideways. Then he realized that a woman across from him was speaking.

"It's a seizure," she said with confidence. "My brother has them sometimes. He'll be fine in a few minutes."

Doug didn't know who she was talking to. He didn't say anything.

"He's lucky," she went on. "The bad ones can break bones or dislocate joints. That's what happened to my brother."

The driver was still rattled, and he steered the bus into a rest stop. There was a small brick building and a few picnic tables. Behind them a thick stand of shielded the highway and rest stop from whatever was beyond. After the driver parked, he came back down the aisle to check on the kid.

"An ambulance will be here soon," the driver said.

"No cops," said the kid.

"That's fine," said the big guy. "Let's get you some fresh air."

He and the kid made their way to the front of the bus and down the steps. Then they stood on the gravel lot, the big guy still gripping the kid around the shoulders. Doug watched through the window. He couldn't hear anything outside.

"Withdrawal," somebody else said. "Poor kid probably feels like he's on fire."

"I need a cigarette," said the seizure woman. A number of people mumbled their agreement, and they moved to the exit. When the first one stepped to the gravel, the driver said something and pointed wildly at the bus. He seemed angry. Doug supposed that the people weren't supposed to exit the bus for some reason.

The kid saw his moment and broke from the big guy's grip. Whether it was withdrawal or a seizure or something else, the kid was fast, and he was halfway to the trees before anyone else moved. Then the big guy ran after him, and after a moment the driver followed, too. Soon all three had vanished.

The other passengers huddled on the parking lot with their cigarettes. In a few minutes an ambulance pulled into the rest stop, followed closely by a police cruiser. No sign of the three who'd run for the trees.

Doug checked his watch. Effingham was a still long way off.


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