I got the reaction that I had expected. As I was taking my own sweet time in complying with the request, a pair of hands from behind roughly assisted me into position. Like I said, I knew it was a bad idea. As the goon behind searched me I couldn’t help but think that it was a relatively simple not to mention gentle search, aside from the initial treatment of course. I guess the tone was one they were used to considering the crowd they were dealing with.
“You know, you could have just asked me if I was carrying weapons or anything like that.” I offered to the man who appeared to be this little group’s boss.
With the slightest scoff he stepped a little closer to me before saying, “Our boss is not the most trusting type and so by extension neither are we. And to be perfectly blunt we don’t know you, so how can we trust you? And if we can’t trust you, why would we ask you if you were carrying anything we wouldn’t allow?”
“So if you knew me, you would trust me?”
“If we really knew you we wouldn’t have to trust you.”
“Why’s that?” I asked with genuine curiosity. What is this man’s philosophy on trust?
“Because if we knew you, you would no longer be in the land of the living.” The lead guard replied with that same blend of gentleness and firmness that he had greeted me with. And that made his tone of voice even creepier than it was already. “Cheerfully-creepy” should never be used to describe someone’s tone of voice as far as I was concerned.
I felt the thug’s hands stop as he felt something in my pockets and I mentally sighed. Now I knew he wasn’t going to find guns, a wireless antenna, or anything like that. But there were a few things I had been hoping they would overlook. Unfortunately, it seemed that the guard searching me was more observant that I had hoped. He pulled out one of the hand warmers that were stuffed into my coat pocket and asked, “What’s this?”
For a second I considered softening my tone, but then I thought better of it as all these guys were the type of men who might see that as a weakness. It was better they thought me rude than weak. So I kept up the defiant attitude as I flashed their boss a smile and turned my head to look at the goon. “It’s a hand warmer my dear friend. Did you want to borrow it?”
The only reaction I saw from the man was a slight tightening of his eyes. It was actually the boss who replied to my question, and, again, I had to suppress a shudder at his tone. “More importantly, why do you need one? It’s a perfectly warm day out.”
I turned my head back to stare at the lead thug as I answered him, with the first obfuscated truth I could think of. “Sometimes my body has trouble regulating itself and I can get cold very easily. So when that happens I need to have something on hand to warm myself up.” It’s mostly true anyway.
“Really?” He asked. Why can so many people master that technique while I struggle with it?
But I pressed on with the fabrication, “It’s a condition I’ve had since childhood. And while it’s gotten better over the years, it does seem to crop up at the most inconvenient times. So I have learned never to leave home without a few of these stowed in my pockets.” Finished with my explanation I turned my head back around to face the thug who had taken the hand warmer out of my pocket and asked. “Could I please have it back? I would hate to need it and not have it.”
For anyone else a hand warmer would be nothing special. But for me, it was like a triple shot of espresso laced with amphetamines. Fortunately no one here had any idea what I was capable of. Presumably the head gentle-thug gave his man a nod because a hand was thrust into my pocket, with more than enough force to rock me slightly. The thug behind me chirped a feigned apology, “I’m so sorry about that, sir.”
Apparently the tone I had been using was working, since the rented muscles stopped searching me. With that boon I should have just moved on. After all I had clearly rattled them enough that they forget to fully do their job. There was no reason for me to insult them further. Of course my big mouth ignored this logic. “It’s quite alright my dear man, I know how the uncoordinated fair in life.”
I could see the face of the lead man change from casual dislike to fierce animosity, I doubted that anyone ever dared insult him or his men. And with a man like that there was always sure to be a reckoning. Lucky for me his leash would keep anything from happening right here and now. Fortunately, he remembered this just before his rising temper exploded. With a stiff gesture he wordlessly pointed at the door while someone hurriedly spoke for him with an altogether shaky voice. “Your fee was accepted sir, welcome to the game.”
Just as the one man spoke another reached for the door and opened it wide. I took in the visibly shaken men and spoke a few kind words, which only served to make them angrier. “Well, thank you all for the pleasant conversation not to mention you’re attention to detail.” Striving to not look like I wanted to run for my life, I walked through the door and into the warehouse.
Chapter 3
I knew who the targeted clientele were, but that hadn’t even begun to prepare me for what I saw. If you had blindfolded someone and brought them into this building, they would never have been able to tell they were inside a warehouse. It was as if I had been transported from a seedy neighborhood right into a five-star hotel. There wasn’t a single, typical American warehouse feature anywhere. Granted, everything I knew about warehouse interiors I had learned from television, but the stereotype made sense. I mean where were the unfinished walls and the endless array of shelves with their uniform boxes?