Dual Story Telling pt2

[der meister 3,246]

               The man in the booth at the back of The Jump House called himself Mr. Johnson, but I could tell right away that was an assumed name. Everything about him was cloaked in shadow, from his visage to his choice of words. Ryuji Sakamoto either didn't notice or didn't care, and appeared pleased that this Mr. Johnson did not recognize him. I think, looking back, that Sakamoto was simply bored and wanted to spice up his routine by taking some chances away from the ice. What he found was anything but boring, especially considering the near-constant mortal peril that came next.

              

               When we approached Mr. Johnson, he grinned a Cheshire grin, the dim light reflecting a sickly yellow off his teeth. He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, and my first thought was either drugs or money, because what else would a shady character in the back of a dive bar keep in an unmarked envelope?

              

               Sakamoto grabbed the envelope off the table before I could stop him and cracked open the seal. "My English reading still ain't great, man," he said a moment later, handing me the paper. "Wassit say?"

              

               I turned the page so that the dismal light would illuminate the scrawled words, and read aloud. "A local business requires someone to deliver a product to one of their customers in Puyallup. Flat fee to be paid by customer on delivery."

              

               "A delivery job?" Sakamoto asked, clearly perplexed. Turning his attention toward Mr. Johnson, he continued, "Is it just a one-time thing, man?"

Mr. Johnson smiled. "That depends on how good you do, kid."

 

               So this is how I found myself delivering a reflective metallic briefcase from what can only be described as a barely-refurbished crack house outside of Redmond to a highly-secure laboratory in Puyallup, alongside an elite athlete who is one of the top scoring defensemen in the VHL this season with 30 points in 33 games. An athlete who has made over 20 million dollars in his career so far. Doing odd jobs, almost certainly delivering narcotics, from a crack house to a lab. Perhaps, I reflected, it wouldn't be so bad, at least if it weren't for the armed guards at both ends of the delivery, guards who looked the sort to shoot first, shoot second, shoot third, and then ask questions later.

 

               "Ryuji," I began, shortly after he received an envelope stuffed with money - if I were to guess, I'd say easily north of a grand – "this seems like an incredibly dangerous thing to do. I hope you're not considering making this a habit." I realized when I finished that this was the first time I'd ever given him direct advice, or something similar. I cringed internally, hoping that I had not jeopardized our friendship, or my position as an embedded reporter.

 

               "Relax, dude," Sakamoto replied with a toothy grin, "it's boring just being a hockey player all the time. Back in Japan, I got used to living a double life, you know? So this is more, like, my comfort zone, I guess."

 

               A double life? I know he has made allusions toward some hidden mysteries in his teenage past, but this is the most forthcoming he's been so far. I make a mental note to inquire further, once things have settled.

 

The Lab in Puyallup