The Pickup
I waited, as instructed, on the main drag, ten to midnight. It was luckily still warm even as the lights and traffic lights bounced reflections off the mirror of the wet tarmac. Wet here, I had come to understand, did not equate to cold winter nights back home. The place was deserted. A single SUV was parked up but no other vehicles, either stationary or moving and not a single soul was in sight.
If you saw a picture of the scene you would say 'small US town' it was such a clichéd scene. The telegraph poles strung webs across the road and between the houses and flats. I looked at them imagining all the chatter, then realising that everyone was on a mobile, sorry cell, now and they were probably redundant. One day they might all come down when we get phones and internet through satellites.
My mind was drifting. Can you tell? I was here for a purpose, a little damp from the journey, but sheltered in a phonebox. Did these work by wires from above? Again this was real Americana - a glass box with an accordion door. It felt more like a shower than…
I jumped out of my skin as the phone sprang into life ringing at an alarming volume. Ridiculously I hadn’t put it together that I would be being called - I’d just assumed that this was a good place to wait for whatever was going to happen. I was so confused I almost didn’t pick the phone up thinking it might be a wrong number or for someone else ( I mean who? No one was around ) When I did pick up a familiar voice:
“ What took you so long numbnuts “
“ I didn’t think it was for me “
“ Sorry, it’s not, could you put the unicorn on, please? “
“Haha. Funny. So come on then, what’s the plan? Why am I stuck out here in the rain in the middle of the night in a ghost town “ I tried to sound blasé, cool and confident but I have a feeling I just came over pathetic.
“ Have you got a pen? “
“ No. Why would I have a pen? Wait a minute I’ll take a note on my mo… cell “
“ 356 McArthur Street, flat 3, top buzzer. Ring it four times in quick succession and then wait “
“ Wait for what? “
“ You’ll know when it happens”
“ I don’t even know where that is “
“ It’s the one at the end of the cobbled street next to Jassops Hardware … oh just fucking Googlemaps huh? “
“ Fine - but is that where the pickup is? Or is this some kind of weird treasure hunt where I have to wander around the city at night in the rain looking for clues “
“ A what? “
“ Oh forget it. Should I contact you after? “
“ You’ll get your instructions. The less you know the better. Trust me you don’t want to know all the details, just do your job and you’ll get what you need ”
It was frustrating that I had to stoop to these levels - but in the end, I didn’t see how I had much of a choice. I had no green card and my visa was about to run out. If things didn’t happen, then I’d have little choice but to leave - either that or risk getting put in prison, sorry jail.
Kilburn, London ( sorry - I know it should be the US! ) 2006 - Holga 120GFN
Waiting to read…what happens next as you’ve peaked my curiosity.
The difference is whether you're on remand. If so, you're in jail. It'll usually be called a "jail". A prison is where you go (if you're unlucky) after having been held on remand.
Don't long, involved instructions get ... long and involved? I remember telling a friend on a visit to my home (he is a subscriber on this blog, actually) where to find the doorstops. I had decided that, as long as he and his girlfriend were here, they had to do something "materially useful", which is when the instructions for finding the doorstops in the basement started. There does come a point when the thought of "it'd be quicker doing it yourself" flits, if momentarily, through the mind, but it was far more fun imperiously pointing to them after he had tried valiantly, but failed and returned empty-handed, having not been able to follow the ... erm, long, involved instructions. This was very good. The instructions made me curious ... as to whether it'd be quicker for the caller to do it themselves.