"You see that crack on the edge right?" Javier grabs the tools, bottles, and a wrinkled ledger out from the plastic box as he asks in an informative tone.
"I was about to ask if that's some kind of defection before you piss off without a whiff." He places them on the counter while letting out a snort.
"Depends on how you look at it." Stretching his bony arms with fingers locked together. And the joints pop like firecrackers simultaneously. The saggy skin hangs under his elbow making the already protruding ulna bones more outlandish. "I was about to call it a really, really solid dupe....." Uncle narrowed his arms and extended further to the limit before letting go of his locked fingers, his hands lump down.
"A dupe of what?" There was a visible pause before he slid the ledger across the counter.
"Item 155. Take a load yourself." Curiosity piqued, and I turned open the plain brown cover that's as fragile as if all the wrinkles on it threatens to shred. The first page is a short manifesto declaring all the following information is reserved for the Leonidas enterprise.....
This isn’t a ledger.
I skipped a handful of pages and a short description of an oil painting caught my eye. A picture of a woman in a blue gown turning her head with a string of mistletoe hanging down along her brown hair.
'Item 107: 'Reservoir woman'
Author: Unknown
Reserved price: 10,000-15,500 EUR
Category: Art
Description: Size 4 Oil painting from the late 1930s. Released from a private collection. By the will of the former owner, the person's name will remain disclosed.'
I whistle two high notes as I turn a couple more pages. Uncle, on the other hand, had been giving more than a few glances at the dagger as he rested his chin on palm.
'Item 133: A set of polish steel gauntlet. Late 15th century.
Reserved price: 250,000-700,000 EUR
Category: Antique.
Description: Piece of a full armor, worn by Stephan Báthory, the famous Polish monarch from the late 15th century. The former owner and whereabouts shall remain disclosed due to company policy.'
Next to the description is a picture of a gold-trimmed set of fine craftsmanship. Restored and shining under the concentrated light.
"Did those hyenas in tuxedo send you this?" I ask while tabbing the catalog of the biggest under-the-table auction house on this side of the hemisphere. To it, Javier curls back the palm holding his cheek, and shrugs.
"You do know I've been in this business before you were born right?" I throw my right hand back past my ear.
"Congrats, you earned yourself a head-start at the lung cancer marathon along with the most unconvincing explanation." Javier flips his slim and unattended middle finger upright like a rusty nail.
"....An acquaintance got lucky and scored a fat bag while making some friends with those hyenas you talked about. It got him invited but the pendejo knew shit about the items on the auction, so he came to me asking this and that for two hours. In the end, he got so frustrated at the 'reserved price' concept and fuck off without the catalog." I count to ten mentally as I stare at him.
"So you kept it."
"What gave you the idea?"
"What about the..”
"He vanished, never seen in Faust again."
That's uncanny as ever. I let out a sign unconsciously and skip 7 pages to where item 155 at.
'Item 155: A short blade of Tang dynasty. Possibly 7th century.
Reserved price:
2,800,000-5,000,000 EUR
Category: Antique.
Full size: 55cm. Blade(40 cm). Grip(15cm)
Width: 3 cm
Thickness: 75 mm
Notes: Straight blade. Golden locket on the sheath and the handle for decorative purposes. Mahogany wooden grip, sheath. Jade pendant attachment to the grip.
Description: The only Tang zhang dao known in the present day, this exquisite item has over hundred-years of history. Certified by the experts of Leonidas enterprise, the blade is a hybrid of ancient Wootz steel from south India and top-notch Damascus steel. The forging method and materials are both long lost in history and irreducible, all the more adds value to the item. The former owner shall remain anonymous due to the person's wish.'
Next to the long panel is an image of the said item which brings a surreal creep up my spine. It's almost identical to the one in my arm's reach. Except for a couple of small specks here and there as I press my palm on the edge of the crumbled page, flattening the wrinkle.
The most noticeable difference is also the most objective, the one on the catalog seems longer.
Then, its blade had the same pure white edge on one side, but as it calves tin to the spine. It turned gray, thousands of disorganized banding patterns on its surface. They swirl and ripple as if indolent-moving lava. The black of patterns, the white of its gaps between, and the dark metal color of itself conveyed an entrancing hue. Like silver without sun to reflect its glint.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The color of the grip was also much lighter than the ebony one of Qin Yan's, this one got a layer on top of the brown mahogany wood almost like a peeling red paint giving it a distinctive antique feel.
Lastly is the appendant, honestly if it weren't for the description I would've overlooked it for how insignificant it looks in the image. At the end of the grip ties a short red string, which leads to a small round, round piece of jade with short scribble carved on it.
Looking somewhat familiar.......
I tilt the book upside down to see it properly and as the lines start to make sense I knew why it looks familiar. I just saw it last night on a kraft envelope, the Chinese word everyone in the city recognized.
Jesus fucking Christ...
I close the book and push it back to uncle.
I turn my gaze on the blade again, the idea that I've been running around with 3 million dollars in my pocket first sets in and to say I'm caught off guard is an understatement.
As moronic as it is, I've never thought too much about these kinda things though in an occupation that worships profit.
I can feed myself, got a roof over my head most of the time. I can go on my day without the fear of an empty wallet (except today). Bills for the booze and inhaler have been stacking up but not to a concerning level.......
It's like one of those fucking wet dreams when I'm sleeping in the central library finally came true but I don't know what to make of it.
What did old hitch say again?
'Money can buy you all the unimportant things in the world.' Whatever the hell it was supposed to mean is starting to make sense........
"Kid." Javier snapped his fingers inches away from my nose, and with a pair of plastic gloves on, it sounded more like a crack. "Whatever's inside is jumping to conclusions again." I blinked twice, shook the thoughts off my head, and lean back on the counter.
"Right...And all those chemicals are to test if it's legit?" I tilt my head at the row of bottles by the basket. Uncle pulls the plastic gloves tight and hums in response.
"The one on the it has a text book example rippling patterns from true Damascus steel, or some called it ancient wootz." He explaines, while tabbing the catalog with his middle finger. "While this one over here...." He curls back the middle finger and shoots his index finger at the one next to us.
"Doesn't." Uncle lets out a hoarse laugh and scratches his cheek and the side of his neck harshly.
"It does, callejero. See that chip?"
He extended both of his arms across the counter and held the unsheathed dagger with heed, a hand on the pommel, the other close to the triangular tip. He places it inside the basket, letting the wooden grip lean on the side and the tip on the bottom making the blade itself slanted towards the light above me. The pure, dazzling white glares loudly under with a tiny gray dot by the edge.
"Don't know where you got it from. Don't want to either. But the former owner put a lot of effort into it. The color and texture of coating are honest to the lord of old testament, impeccable."Javier's mouth clicks as half of his face nestles together, I instantly move out of the trajectory of his spit before he does.
"Perfect, if it weren't for the slip anyone would think it's high carbon or some kind of pure steel." With his thumb clutching the palm of his hand he said, eyelids narrowed but eyes glints with excitement. "But that defected part. It showed the exact same look like the one on catalog. Layer after layer, stacked together..." I think I just saw Javier smirk at something else than others suffering or a politician getting convicted if I’m not delusional.
"You're awfully cheerful today." Javier shrugs as he drags a side of his crow's feet along his lips.
"Must've been the weather."
As if you've stepped out of the shop today.
"So you think there's some cover-up done? Coating like uh...black oxide?" As I lean back close on the basket Uncle grabs one of the unlabeled white bottles and twists the lid open.
"Hmph, to get through channels unnoticed." He meticulously scoops a dropper out of the bottle without touching the wall. The transparent liquid with a yellow hue ripples at the bottom. With the dropper held vertically, he dashes it by the edge of the bottle, before bringing it to the other bottle. This one's unlabeled as well but the sealed blue plastic mouth and brown bottle gave it an ominous vibe. Just before he sticks the dropper into the retractable seam on the lid, he tilt his head up at me.
"For the record. This could rust the piece, create toxic fumes, and kill us both immediately, or slow and painfully. So hold your breaths and take a step back. Vale? Vale."
"Wait. Hold on....." Before I could finish the sentence, the dropper had sucked up drops of the transparent liquid. Tilting its tip at the ceiling, his underhand circled back at his neck with his bony arm pressing hard on his mouth and nostril. And he raised his brow while gazing me.
How the hell did he live till the age of having grandchildren?
I swear in my head while mimicking his action. The rough fabric of my jacket sleeve smelled of gun powder, a rotten sour, and that god-awful stench of bidis, brewing all of them up, clinging on the cloth, and now making me eyebrows furrow.
Uncle's hands are surprisingly precise throughout all these years. Meticulously moving the dropper across the table to couple of centimeters above the blade in plastic box. I press my left hand on the counter and lean on to see he's aiming at the spine of the 'dao'.
With his body tilting forward and head slightly bent down, he squeezes the bulb rubber between his thumb and index finger. And a quiet glisten, four consistent ripples fall on the knife's thickest part close to the grip and the brass collar.
Two things happened simultaneously at that moment.
First, the drops of liquid make no sound while in contact with the metal, but whiff of smoke erupts and my heart skipped a beat.
Second, Javier brought the dropper back inside the first bottle before whiff of smoke materialized. His left hand violently clutches the handle of the box on the other side and drags it towards him. Layers of see-through plastic sheets connected to the handle were pulled out from the interlayer of the wall, they slide by the groove on the edge before the sheets fully unfolded.
With a clock, the handles locked together forming a closed cabin. Uncle pulls the handles one more time to make sure it's sealed before letting go. Gasping puffs and blows, he waves his hand above the full basket.
I count another five seconds before doing the same. Of all the demises I can think of, 'death by chemical accident' is sitting close to the bottom.
"Could you give the heads up, a little earlier than when the rebars are falling down on top of my head!" Controlling my anger and putting up a smile at this scenario made my voice crack but he got the message. And to the message, he responded in another goddamn shrug.
"Relaxed, callejero. If I'm committing suicide I would do it alone with whiskey. The smoke you saw was a natural reaction." His nose twitched and grey eyes wandered for a second before continuing.
"And there's no smell of pig shit…. Eh, we're good." I almost choke on he's demeanor as he brings the loose pack of bidis back as fluently as ever, lighting it up and purposely puffing a chunk at the closed plastic box. A nasty color between grey and white pours itself on the surface and lingers around the see-through layers but not a trace of it slips in. Javier smiles triumphantly and takes another drag.
I've known him for almost a decade by now, and if it weren't for that I would've taken a swing at his bloated nose. But despite looking like a downtrodden old geezer, if uncle's alright with something, then there's nothing to worry about.
I wait till the smoke clears out and lean back on the counter, tilting forward to see the results.
It still shines stunningly under the light as always with a cold glint running by the edge. The chemical liquid slides down its shelf from the spine to the tip, and small whisks of smoke occasionally materialize and disappear. But the metal itself remains unaffected.
"Was that supposed to peel off the coating you mentioned?" I asked while observing closely at the metal closely, but so far no changes occurred.
"It's supposed to tell me what kind of coating it is." I raised my head to give him a look. I know none in this field but the idea sounded science fiction-like.
"So what now?"
"Now, we wait...." He muttered, sitting right back down on the stool with cigarette in mouth. Eyes narrowing till it's about to shut. And just before he did, a series of tedium bell tolling from a case clock at the back of the store brought him right back up. It rang seven times.
"On a second thought, you can fuck off now. I'm going to close early today, come back tomorrow and it should be done. Me muero de hambre......"