Courier
The Pickup
Carter pulled into the gas station parking lot outside the airport and spotted the grey sedan exactly where the voice had described it would be. Carefully maneuvering his car into the parking space beside it, he glanced down at the piece of paper he had scribbled instructions on last night. Lowering his passenger side window, he looked over at the man in the sunglasses and hat.
Starting to speak, he thought better of it and closed his mouth. He needed the money and was determined to follow the exact instructions so he could feed his kids. A paper bag flew in his window and the man told him to open it. A small stack of twenties and a shiny silver tube the size of a pencil were inside.
“That’s half. You’ll get the rest when you land and deliver the package successfully.”
“This?” Carter asked, reaching into the bag and holding up the silver tube.
Shaking his head, the man held up a fancy, black writing pen. For the millionth time, Carter asked himself if this job was worth it. And just as quickly, he answered with five thousand reasons, half of which he now had in his hand.
“OK,” he said, breathing in deeply and holding up his hand. “Toss it over.”
“First, open the tube. It twists open, just give it a tug.”
As he twisted open the tube, it beeped, and a tiny blue light glowed. Pulling it apart, he saw that it was a case, protecting a thin plastic tube with a metal coating on one end.
“That’s a thermometer, put the metal end in your mouth for 30 seconds.”
Once again, Carter felt questions rising in his mind and opened his mouth to ask. Concentrating on how much money this job was paying, he once again shut his mouth, this time, firmly on the thermometer.
“I know what you’re thinking, that you feel fine,” said the man. “ You may feel fine right now, but they’re screening everyone at the airports and if you have any indication of a fever, they won’t let you on the plane. You don’t get on that plane, you don’t deliver the package, you don’t get the other half of the money.”
The thermometer beeped again and Carter took it out of his mouth, turning it over in his hand and looking for a dial or meter that would tell him his temperature.
“Where’s the reading?” he asked.
“It’s still blue, that means you’re good.”
“Oh. Wow. You could make a killing with this, that’s easy.”
“Yeah. I’m sure someone will. OK, listen.”
The man held up the black writing pen again.
“Don’t let this pen out of your control. The only time you can put it down is when you go through screening and they make you empty your pockets. It has ink, it will write, so you should have no issues. It’s what’s inside that it’s important.”
Carter nodded.
“When you land, there’s a rental car waiting for you. It’s already paid for, so you can skip the line and go straight to the lot and pick it up. Just show your ID when you exit, you’re already loaded in the system so there won’t be any issues. Drive to the location I gave you last night, it should only take about 10 minutes to get there once you leave the airport itself. You have the e-ticket that I texted you?”
“Yes, yes,” Carter nodded.
“Let me see it.”
Sighing imperceptibly, Carter unlocked his phone and held up the electronic boarding pass for the man to see. He nodded and seemed to soften a little.
“Hey, I know this seems like all these steps are a pain in the ass, but it’s good money, isn’t it? And if you can do this, we may have some more runs for you. Point A to Point B. You deliver. We give you cash.”
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely. I can use the money. OK, I’m good to go”.
The man nodded and held up the pen again. “Great. You can do this. Here.”
Carter caught the pen as it flew into his window. Forcing down his thoughts as to what could possibly be the pen, what could be inside of it, he once again clamped his mouth shut and tucked the pen into his inside jacket pocket. It didn’t really matter what it was, he was being paid more for a day’s work than he normally made in a month.
Patting his jacket to show the pen was securely tucked away, he waved and put his car into reverse.
The Journey
The drive to the airport took longer than he expected, and security was much more intense than he had ever seen. Of course, he hadn’t traveled much in the last year. Not many people did. Going through the security screening lines was much different now. Three different people took his temperature, using a handheld scanning device like the ones doctors use. A woman just ahead of him in line muffled a cough and airport personnel immediately took her aside, walking her off down a corridor. Soldiers were everywhere. It was a different world now.
Carter picked up a packaged lunch and soda at a Grab and Go on the way to his gate. He wasn’t sure if airplanes served food anymore, and four hours was a long time to wait. Standing in the line to board, he patted his jacket again, reassuring himself that the pen was still there. That a way to feed his children and take care of his family hadn’t gone anywhere.
Settling into his seat, Carter opened the sandwich and chips, taking a bite and assessing the situation. No one had questioned him, no one had noticed the pen, and aside from the ramped-up security and testing at the airport, it hadn’t taken that long to get through. This was easy. Easy money. He could do this as much as they wanted, pick up a pen, get on a plane and deliver it. A sense of calmness and stability settled over him and he contentedly wrapped up the rest of his food, putting it in the seat pocket for later. He leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes as the plane lifted off.
He woke up to a dimmed cabin and the sounds of other passengers sleeping. Suppressing a cough, Carter felt a dryness in his throat. Opening his soda and taking a deep drink, he heard faint snores around him and supposed that he had also snored when he dozed off, which explained the dryness. What it didn’t explain was the sudden urge to be sick to his stomach. Carefully getting up, Carter quickly made his way to the back lavatory, sealing himself inside just in time. Rinsing his mouth out with one of the disposable cups provided, he checked his reflection carefully in the mirror and flushed the last evidence. Coming out of the bathroom, Carter ran into a pair of flight attendants waiting for him.
“Excuse me, Sir. Did you just get sick in there?” the taller one asked.
“No, well….yes, but it was just the sandwich I had. It was from the Grab and Go and you know how they are.”
They stared at him.
“Are you sweating?”
“No. No! I just washed off my face. I’m perfectly fine. Here, take my temperature,” Carter offered.
They continued to stare. “Just go back to your seat, and if you feel sick, we need to know so we can let the pilot know.”
“Yes, yes, I understand. I’m fine, I’m good. I’m ok.”
Carter made his way back to his seat and buckled his belt. Almost there, he thought. Just have to get there and hand this off. Tapping his jacket pocket, he winced slightly. Was it his imagination, or was his chest a little sore?
The Drop
Carter exited the freeway at the truck stop and guided the rental car past the gas pumps, around the restaurant to the huge backlot where rows of semis were parked. He looked at the clock on the car’s center panel. It was 1:30 am. Or was it 1:40? It was hard to see the numbers. He couldn’t remember the exact time he was supposed to be there, and he didn’t know where he had put the paper with his scribbled instructions.
Struggling to focus, he slowly drove to the very back part of the lot. There it was, exactly where the voice had told him it would be. A cargo van, in the back corner, nearly hidden behind several shipping containers. Inching the car forward to face the van head-on, he could see outlined figures in the dark recesses, but no one sitting in the driver or passenger seat.
Time seemed to slow for Carter and with effort, he opened the car door. It seemed to take more energy than he thought it should just to swing his leg out. Putting one foot on the ground, he heaved his body up, cracking his head on the door opening. Stumbling, he held his head with one hand and staggered towards the van.
Reaching into his jacket pocket with his other hand, he drew out the pen. Banging on the blacked-out windows of the van, he rasped, “Here…here.”
Why wasn’t anyone coming out to get it?
Silence.
Carter breathed heavily. His head rang, and his vision swam. He turned and leaned against the van. Minutes passed.
The crack of the van door opening jolted him out of his delirium and he lurched forward, trying to turn and see who was emerging. Swaying, he held the pen out, trying to speak, but no sound came out of his throat, every breath now a rattle. He felt himself collapsing to the ground, first his knees and then his torso hitting the hard surface. The final impact of his head hitting caused his outstretched hand to open, the precious cargo falling to the ground.
Lying sideways, he heard, more than saw, the footsteps of someone slowly approaching. Gradually his vision focused on a pair of dark boots as they stepped in front of him, crunching the pen underneath.
“No,” Carter wheezed, and he tried to focus, to say that he had made it. That he had delivered the pen.
Above him, the figure bent down towards him, and Carter saw the blurred image of a hazmat suit. As he lost consciousness, he realized that he would not be able to feed his children, for instead of the pen, he was the package.