Rico's Business

The bus pulled away from the kerb.

Rico smiled, confused. He'd waited. The bus drew-up. The driver scratched. No-one got off. Rico spent the two dollars the night before - he'd not had so much money in one go since he got the full force of Bob in his gob and we all have, sometimes, the urge to make use of what is scarce lest it wither before we get to see its benefit.

He'd smiled, the driver ignored him. The only other sight on the bus was an old man in the back, smoking a pipe and reading a paper. An advert obscured most of the man's face, but you could tell by the ears. Or, more specifically, by the tufts of hair that grew from those ears.

Nothing happened. The bus pulled away from the kerb. A noise to his right made him look that way. and there, in the gutter, pressing down the dandelion leaves, was a package. It was an envelope with a metal fastening. Stumbling back into the shade of a palm he looked inside. He took it home.

Home was a bed in a house. Everything spoken was spoken in Spanish. Everything was broken, even his bed. He was lucky to have a bed. Lucky that the three other guys in the room got on. Well, enough. The house was notorius for some of the drifters that had passed-on through but, for now, the mix was stable. What Rico didn't have was any privacy. All his stuff fitted in the 2 boxes next to his bed and there was nothing in there worth stealing. But he didn't want the contents of this package somewhere so obvious, even though he knew noone would bother looking there to begin with. He took a knife and cut a slice into the matress, made some space in there amongst the fibers, and forced it in, far enough that it was safe. Making-up the sheets again, he sat down and thought.

There was enough stuff in there to get him a better place to stay. Enough to buy him clothes and chulos, ron and shoes and a shave. Problem was, she hadn't given him any instruction. He had not even been certain that it would be a package he was wating for when he went to the bus-stop. I mean, he'd had a pretty good idea, y'know? But he hadn't been certain. And that was how they did. They kept the information tight so that, if anything went wrong, there was very little he could say to incriminate anyone. Noone had asked him to collect a package, to be a stooge. No one had told him nada. But he couldn't just go around thinking the package was his now. From Heaven it came and to the Gods it must once again return. He must just wait now, for instruction. Problem was, he'd spent the two dollars she'd given him, smoked the smokes, had his fill. And here he was stuck indoors. He was hungry, he was bored and he had no money. But he couldn't go out on the panhandle tonight, the package was worth more than life itself. He just had to trust they'd know where to contact him. He settled down to sleep. The package dug into his shoulder every which way he turned. He closed his eyes and pictured her eyes.