Writing: Package Man, Part 2

If you missed part one of “Package Man” you can read it by clicking here.

He could always tell when a stranger was somehow connected to the people he worked for. Jacob knew full well that there was no establishment called “The Covenant” in this city. “The Covenant” was a code used among those in the not-so-small circle he found himself in. In this case, the weathered cabbie knew exactly where to take him.

Feeling the crushing numbness of déjà vu, Jacob woke with a start. Sitting up straight on the worn vinyl seat, he looked around and realized he was still in the taxi cab, which continued to maneuver through the cold, dark streets. The only acknowledgment that Milo was still awake himself, was the slight shift of the eyes to check on the movement behind him through the rear-view mirror.

“Good rest, my friend?” asked the cabbie.

“Where are we? How long have we been driving?” responded Jacob.

“Only about fifteen minutes, I think.” Milo’s accent was difficult for Jacob’s swimming mind to decipher.

The remainder of the drive was in silence, save for the occasional slosh of fluid in a container. If Jacob didn’t know better, he would have sworn he saw quick up-and-down movements from the driver’s free hand.

“Is this man really knocking back some booze while driving?” he thought.

A few minutes later, with the parking prowess of a block of granite, the cab jerked to the side of the road. Milo threw the shifter into “Park” before the car had even finished slowing down.

“Is there a problem?” asked Jacob.

“This is your Covenant, yes?”

“Oh, Covenant. Right. Yes it is.” replied Jacob.

After handing Milo money for the cab fare, Jacob exited the filthy cab by pushing the door open with his foot. Jacob nudged the door closed with his elbow and stood in the rain-soaked street. He lifted his head toward the cold night sky. With his eyes closed and hands in his pockets, Jacob breathed in the smell of the cold rain on the warm asphalt, slow and full. When he opened his eyes he could understand why, in this city at least, this place was dubbed “The Coventant” – the actual name was “Henrietta’s”.

Pulling the heavy metal door open, Jacob was greeted by a swath of red light that made the night outside look bright like a tropical beach in July. Not wanting to draw attention to himself while his eyes adjusted, he walked slowly inside and moved his head around casually, as if he was familiar with this place. By the time he found his way to the bar, his eyes had adjusted to the dark atmosphere. When the bartender came near, Jacob asked for a scotch.

He sipped his drink and surveyed the place as he always did when he came to an unfamiliar place.

This Covenant was built of brick and Jacob could sense that the mortar holding it all together was mixed with misplaced hopes, broken dreams and lost ambitions. This Covenant certainly was not a place of worship for any god, yet it was clear that these patrons came here regularly for fellowship and consolation.

Two things caught his eye as he stood at the bar, swirling the liquid in his glass.

The first was a brunette sitting at a table in the back. By the looks of the table setting, she was alone and was not expecting anyone. Even through the dim red glow and the stale- almost -sour smell of the place, he could tell she wasn’t a regular fixture there. If there was any doubt about it, the quick glances shot her way from the men in the bar erased the very thought.

Jacob stood watching her. As a smile, foreign to his face for quite some time, began to spread across his lips, it occurred to him that he had nearly forgotten about the undercover cop who was also there.

Jacob could usually spot them with relative ease but this one might as well have been carrying a flashing neon sign. He first noticed him while he waited for the bartender to bring over his drink, because of the tell tale “cop walk” as the officer moved from the juke box back to his table, which was selected to provide a complete view of the entire room. Uniformed street cops usually walk with their arms held out from their sides so that their skin doesn’t get scratched and cut by their handguns.

He focused his attention back to the brunette sitting alone and walked over to her table. Without saying a word, he pulled out a chair and sat with his back toward the door. He was struck by how smooth and soft her shoulder-length black hair looked. He wanted to reach out a hand and run his fingers through it, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, still asleep in the back of Milo’s cab.

Without saying a word, the brunette took another sip of her drink.

He could tell by the lack of wet rings on the wooden table top and the unmelted ice cubes in her glass, that she had only just arrived herself.

Sitting there sizing the other up, Jacob and the brunette sat in silence until, after what felt like an eternity, she said calmly, “Watch my things, will you please, Jacob? I’ll be right back.”

Putting his hand atop the brunettes, to stop her, Jacob quietly said, “Before you excuse yourself, it might interest you to know that there’s uninvited company here. Second table from the front door, on the left.”

The brunette glanced over Jacob’s right shoulder.

“There’s a diner four blocks east of here. I’ll meet you there in a half hour.” she replied, just before getting up from her seat and moving toward the back of the room.

Jacob paid for the drinks and as he walked toward the front door, he thought about the worn wooden floor beneath his boots and about all of the spilled beer and tears that kept it’s protective lacquer intact.

“The Covenant,” he thought, smiling, “The union of a person and the temporary remedy for their troubles. Only those downcast souls could tolerate the smell and stickiness of the bar, which no doubt serves as both pulpit and confessional.”

“Good riddance. Let them have it.” he said to himself, as he pushed aside the metal door and stepped into the dark, sodden night.

Related posts:

1. Writing: Package Man