Risk

The Opportunity

After the morning deliveries were completed, lunch was a vendor veggie dog in Nathan Phillips Square, looking up at the space ship which had landed there in 1965. Since that time, City Hall had been run by aliens; whether worse or better than by the humans previously, no one could decide. Some day, people said, the saucer would rise up into the sky fully loaded, and return to the planet Politicia.

The regular crowd of seagulls crowded around George’s concrete flowerbox seat. “How ‘bout a little of the bun, guv’nor?” “Just a few crumbs for a starving gull.” “Make sure it hasn’t touched the hot sauce—I’ve been burned before.” “Don’t worry about these guys, I can take ‘em.” “Hey, offa me, Beak Boy!” “You want a piece of me?” “I’m gonna pluck you clean, Butterball!”

Two gulls chased each other across the sidewalk, both madly flapping wings, and going “Aaiiik! Aaiik! Aieek!” George tossed the crowd a piece of his bun, torn up into small pieces. There was a mad skirmish for share of the bounty.

“There, that’s all you’re getting. You guys are getting fat. What a morning, lads! Beautiful day for riding, nothing but light parcels today. Man, what a great job this is! What other job would let me dress like this, work outdoors, feel the wind in my hair?”

He was only half-way through his meal and so far sans mustard spills, when a bike skidded to a stop in front of him.

“Yo, G.G. What’s up, my man?” said Chet. He was wearing his black helmet with the skull and cross bones, khaki green shorts with a million pockets and a Pokemon t-shirt. His eyes were hiding behind sunglasses, just like all the couriers, but even just the scabby, scarred look of his lips and nose and the dull, open-mouthed smile showed up his lack of intellectual prowess, George figured.

“My rent,” said George.

“I heard that. Whatcha doin’ here?”

“Not much, Chet. Just chillin’ with the gulls.”

“And havin’ a little lunch.”

“Yep. You eaten?”

“Oh, yeah. I get hungry real early, man.”

They both nodded and Chet leaned on the front of his handlebars. He finally got to the point.

“So, listen, man. Me and some of the other guys have been pullin’ a few extra deliveries on the side for extra dough, and I was wondering if you’d be down with summa that.”

“Sure, I can always use more work for the slow periods. This isn’t off the dispatcher?”

“No, this is a, whaddayacallit, private party. We get a package and an address along with a hundred cash, no questions asked.”

“A hundred cash? Sounds like you guys are running drugs, Chet.”

“I don’t ask no questions, man. It’s just a package to me, you know. It could be anything. I take the money, I make the drop. Simple.”

“It doesn’t sound simple to me. Sounds like 5-10 years, possession with the intent to traffic in narcotics.”

“Yeah, well, I just thought you should know. The extra bread is really nice, man. Think about it, why don’tcha?”

George said nothing.

“Yeah, well, are you going to the bar tonight?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, then. See you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Take it easy, G.G.”