Season 1, Episode 4 - The Microwave XVIII - "The Deal"
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Around ten minutes later, the van and trailing motorcycles entered the northern-most industrial area in Elizabeth Pond. They passed by huge warehouses, long trucks parked in rows, attached to various loading docks and bays. Lynn knew the Pond imported its food and raw materials from the outside world, but she wondered what – if anything – the Pond gave back.
Well, c'mon, they have to give something back. But why don't I know what it is? Come to think of it, I've been living in the Pond for the past two months and there's still a whole lot I don't know.
The van headed down patchwork side streets, the roads cracked and overgrown with moss and shrubbery. Vines covered the entire side of a dull red brick building they passed by; Lynn saw, through a window on its top floor, a man working away at a typewriter, smoke drifting from the cigar in his mouth.
I bet he knows about reality, Lynn supposed. And working on a Sunday, too! Nobody in Pennacook worked on Sundays.
Lynn supposed that’s because Pennacook could afford to, in contrast to this area of the district. As she passed by various factories and warehouses, she saw men in overalls sitting on empty loading docks, eating sandwiches and smoking cigarettes. On a nearby sidewalk she saw two workers in hardhats looking up at some scaffolding, speaking in a language she didn’t understand.
Maybe Spanish. I do know there's been refugees from South America coming here after all the revolutions. Having to leave home like that...and I thought going from Pennacook to Narragansett was tough. That was just a few railroad stations away. These guys had to go to a whole new country where they don't even speak the language!
Lynn found herself wondering why she was there and they were there, why she had a nice home and family to go back to, why this gangster deal was just a little side trip for her, why those men would probably be stuck working on the scaffolding for the rest of their lives.
The van sped past factories billowing black smoke, industrial workers on break milling around outside. Lynn saw strung-out homeless people sitting on grassy patches next to broken streetlights, their eyes looking at nowhere in particular. Kids ran down the street, laughing, not knowing any better.
And then they headed even deeper into the area, past the working factories and buildings full of life, poor as it may be, to the far edge of the Pond, their street destined to run into a dead end at the border wall. Here, long-dead factories still stood, home to squatters and aimless drifters. Along a particular row of brick tenement houses, decaying and barely standing, Lynn saw people in raggedly clothes examining a sign that said “FUTURE LOCATION OF DUNN ELECTRIC FACTORY DORMS”. At the top of the decaying building was a billboard somehow still standing upright; it must have actually been recently updated, for it displayed a picture of a smiling Mr. Stockham shaking hands with an equally-smiling man in a business suit whom Lynn supposed must have been Morris Dunn, the eponymous CEO of Dunn Corporation, one of New England’s most powerful companies.
JOBS. POWER. HAPPINESS.
Those were the three words below the two men on the billboard, posted for all the world to see. Lynn briefly wondered if that’s what life was really about, but she had more important things on her mind at the moment.
The van stopped in front of a decrepit warehouse, its crumbling parking lot empty, half of it overgrown. Lynn gulped and followed Babs out of the van. The motorcycles pulled up next to the van and stopped as well, and those of the Revere Gang brought to deal were assembled in full.
Babs looked over her gang. Lynn swallowed; Marty, Mallory, and Martinez looked excited, Samuel had that nervous, energetic air about him; Marie, her eyes hidden by her glasses, looked stoic, but not necessarily anxious about anything in particular.
“Alright, does everyone know the plan?” Babs asked. “You should, considering I went over it in detail already.”
Babs eyed Samuel. So did the rest of the gang.
“What?” Samuel asked.
“Do you know the plan?” Babs repeated.
Samuel nodded. “We go in, act all business-like, hand over the cash for the microwaves and other fun things, and get the heck out of there. And if there’s trouble, we give ‘em the one-two, take the microwaves, and get our money back!”
Babs nodded. “See? You guys oughta be more like Samuel. When he listens, he’s unstoppable.”
Samuel crossed his arms and nodded proudly.
Babs looked over the group again. “Remember, me, Mallory, Samuel, and Lynn here are Rddhi users, so let us lead the way if there’s a fight. The rest of you protect the goods. Marie, I know you're a user as well, but you hang around outside. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.”
Everyone nodded. Samuel cocked his Bren gun.
Babs eyed him blankly for a moment. “Sam, what the hell is that?”
Samuel looked at her enthusiastically. “It’s my Bren gun!”
“...don’t you think you could have chosen something a bit more practical?”
Samuel showcased the gun to the group. “But my uncle gave it to me for my birthday.”
Marie spoke in a deadpan voice. “Your uncle gave you a Bren gun for your birthday?”
Samuel nodded. “It’s a Murray family tradition. His uncle got him a Bren gun for his 16th, and now I got a Bren gun for my 16th. And once my nephew turns 16, I’ll give him a Bren gun.”
Babs looked around the group. “Does anybody have any other family traditions I should be aware of?”
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Marty raised his hand. “Grandpa Marty likes to barbecue on the Fourth of July.”
Babs pinched the bridge of her nose. “How many times do we have to discuss this, Marty? Barbecuing on the Fourth of July isn’t something unique to your family.”
“Babs, I respect your authority as our leader, but goddamn, let a man have his traditions. You ever have a Grandpa Marty-made burger? It’s life-changing.”
Babs took another look at the group. “...well, alright. Bren guns and the Fourth of July. Let’s go get ourselves some microwaves.”
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A tall, broad-shouldered man with a bushy beard opened a door to the parking lot from what must have once served as the administrative area of the warehouse. He wore a large suit to fit his large frame, his crisp appearance and dark look in his eyes standing in stark contrast to the blue letterman jackets and easy-going, arrogant grins of the Revere Gang.
“Barbara,” the man greeted, his voice even.
“Lumaj, helllooooooo!” Babs answered. “And how many times have I told you, feel free to call me Babs.”
“I like to keep things professional,” Lumaj said. His voice broke. “Since that’s how you wanted things to stay between us...”
Babs patted him on the back. “It’s alright, big fella. I just feel like that’s the most successful relationship we can have.”
“I even brought you flowers,” Lumaj mumbled, but he opened the door and let Babs and Lynn inside while the rest of the gang remained with the van for the time being. Lynn, a bag full of money hoisted around her shoulder, looked around; they stood in an office, long since abandoned. It was essentially empty, its filing cabinets stolen for scrap metal, its chairs and desk stolen since they were probably good chairs and a good desk. The window to the office was boarded up with planks of wood.
Lumaj led the two girls further into the warehouse, past the office, until they finally arrived in a cavernous, wide open space. Lynn could imagine the warehouse once being filled with freshly-delivered goods, full of workers at their jobs; now it was almost completely dark, and almost completely empty, with only some rows of crates scattered about. A few crates were stacked in the middle of the warehouse; a thin man sat on one of them, smoking a cigarette. He wore a gray business suit and surrounding him were half a dozen men in suits ranging from tan to black to gray. Lynn suspected they all had guns hidden within their suits.
The man saw Babs approach him and gave a nod. He then snapped his fingers. Lynn realized there were two men standing away from them all at a nearby loading dock, its connection to the outside currently blocked by a metal sheet. One of the men pressed a button on a control switch on the wall.
Suddenly, the lights on the warehouse flickered on one by one. The first light came on directly over the man on the crates, revealing a crooked smile, a large scar on his cheek, slicked-back black hair. Soon, the whole warehouse was bathed in an orange glow; despite the new sources of light, Lynn only felt more uneasy about the whole thing.
The man on the crate looked the two girls over. The girls and the man remained a decent length away from each other. “Babs, dear, are you breaking poor Lumaj’s heart again?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Babs said with a grin. “Lynn, this is Abdyl, your friendly neighborhood smuggler, and perhaps our closest friend among the Albanian branch of the European Mobster Consortium. Guess business was getting so bad for some reason that they all had to stick together.”
“We live in tough times,” Abdyl said, smiling. “Those Second Restorationists are good at what they do. They even took over the bar I grew up in down in Fore River. Fore River used to be all Eastern European, back in the day. Then our generation grew up, those well-off moved elsewhere, and those left behind got pushed to the corners by the incoming South Americans, who I’m sure will be pushed out someday too. Life’s like a cycle, no? Golden days, then you wonder where the time went. Too bad there isn’t a way to know you’re in the good times before you left them.”
“Um...okay. Nice to meet you.” Lynn didn’t expect to hear nostalgic sentimentality coming from the type of man her mother always warned her about. And Fore River...that was at the southeastern end of Narragansett, along the coast, and wasn’t exactly the richest part of the capital. Far from it.
“And Abdyl, this is Lynn, a girl in particular need of a microwave,” Babs continued. “I wanted to give her a glimpse at how the rest of us live. I wanted for her to see what’s really real.”
Abdyl laughed. “For someone who talks about getting paid this and getting fed that, you tend to theorize and philosophize quite a bit.”
Babs shrugged. “Can’t help myself sometimes.”
Abdyl stepped off the crate. “Microwaves are quite costly nowadays. You’re lucky I bought in bulk from the Restorationists before the military busted the smuggling ring here. Everything’s too disorganized now to bring in any more goods, so the only things selling here are the things already inside. And fortunately, my microwaves and I are already inside.”
“Still sticking around?” Babs asked.
“Until we sell the remaining product.” Abdyl thought about it. “Or maybe I’ll stick around a little while longer. Elizabeth Pond...it’s a nice little place you guys have here.”
Babs grinned. “You won’t get homesick?”
Abdyl chuckled. “How can I be homesick when my home no longer exists?”
Babs smiled softly. To Lynn, that small smile appeared genuine. “Maybe when your home no longer exists...that’s the most homesick you can get.”
Maybe this is what being real means, Lynn supposed at the sight of Babs’ face. It looked like a happy sort of melancholic, as if to say, home’s gone and it is what it is, I’ll keep going, but I’m still a little sad all the same.
“Ah, Babs, such a romantic,” Abdyl mocked. “Perhaps you really should have dated Lumaj.”
The big man went a little red while Babs laughed. “Maybe some day.”
Abdyl clapped his hands. “Alright, enough of these aimless conversations. Any deal I do with you takes an extra two hours because of these mundane talks. Let’s actually get to the action ahead of schedule for once.”
The look on his face turned serious. “You got the money?”
Babs nodded. She gestured at Lynn, who, a little shakily, unhoisted the bag and handed it over to Babs. Babs unzipped it and held it up for Abdyl and his men to see the money inside. She then placed it on the ground and kicked it over; the bag slid all the way to Abdyl’s shoes.
One of the mobsters picked up the bag and examined it inside.
“No firebombs inside,” the man said gruffly.
Abdyl nodded and grabbed a hundred dollar bill from the bag. He held it up to the light, examining it closely. “Look at that. President Pulaski has such a nice smile in this portrait. All these fine little details.” He placed the bill back in the bag. “It’s the real deal, alright.”
Abdyl nodded at the two men standing at the loading dock. One of them pressed another button on the control switch; the metal sheet slowly rumbled upwards, revealing Marty’s van, backed into the spot. The van just fit into place on the loading dock; Marty swung the doors open from the inside. While Marie remained hidden, watching from somewhere on the outside, the rest of the gang helped bring the remaining bags of money inside.
Well, Samuel didn’t. He claimed he had the important job of “looking tough” so he milled around on the loading dock, looking all menacing and such with his Bren gun.
Abdyl snapped his fingers. A few men started carrying over palettes of microwaves, wrapped tightly together with ropes. With help from Marty, they just managed to fit the palettes and their microwaves into the back of the van, but soon most of the microwaves were inside-
Further down along that same side of the warehouse, the door to the office section – where Lynn and Babs entered from - opened. Marie stepped inside, appearing calm and stoic, her glasses hiding her eyes.
She pointed to two huge doors to large loading docks, located on the other side of the warehouse.
“Um, sir, we have a problem,” she said flatly.