JACK OF DIAMONDS

CHAPTER 20: (part 1) WHEN YOU’RE DEALING WITH A KNAVE…

i

“Why are there no fuckin’ lights out this way?” Reggie asked, the single beam of the torch he was carrying barely able to light a path through the warehouse. There was a threatening darkness eating at the edge of the light. “Is it too much to think they might get electricity out here sometime this century?” He shot the beam upward, trying to see into the rafters. The light was too weak, and was soon lost in the shadows.

“We got lights,” Shetty said softly, “just not everywhere we need 'em.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Not everywhere we need 'em?”

He stopped to shine the torch at Shetty, who moved the light away from his face with a gentle hand. He seemed to straighten his back as he looked Reggie in the face, as if, somehow, he’d become taller. He smiled into the light, his rotted teeth somehow more hideous in the light.

“We got all the light we need at the drop.”

“At the drop? Is that what they’re calling it these days? The drop? Sounds like something from a penny dreadful,” Reggie half-laughed, turning the torch back to the small pathway between the various crates and wares. He looked up at the height of the crates again, judging the distance between the top-most crate and the rafters where he thought it’d be easy for someone to hide.

That might be three feet.

“What’s wrong with calling it the drop?" Shetty asked. "And no, that’s not what they’re calling, it’s what I’m calling it,” he added, a note of pride in his voice.

“You? Why?” Reggie asked, turning his head away from the rafters and looking down at Shetty; he started walking again.

“Because there’s so many different groups here—Jews, Russians, us—I didn’t want any mix-ups. So, I’m calling the place where we do the exchange, the drop, in that, you drop one thing off, while they pick up something different. It makes sense. The drop. There’s no mixing things up when it’s as plain as that.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about lights, instead of what to call it,” Reggie pointed out. He looked up at the rafters again. There were small widows he could barley see, all of them coated in dirt he imagined--allowing no more than a reflection of where they were. There were a few that looked open, and others that were missing panes of glass he’d assumed were broken. It felt strange looking at everything as the potential for a possible ambush. It reminded him of the War and when they’d come across a small village. The first thing he did was look to the highest point for possible snipers.

“I told ye, we got lights. As long as the boys can see, everything should be fine.”

There was a faint glow up ahead and Reggie pointed the torch at it.

“Is that it, then? The drop?”

“Right as rain, Reggie,” Shetty said with a grin.

“And where are the boys hiding?”

“I told you. I’ve got them up high—just like you said—so that way, they can see everything.”

“See everything? They won’t be able to see anything if they’re too high up. That must be at least thirty feet."

"It's twenty-seven."

"I can barely see the drop, and we’re almost on it.”

“You're overthinking it, Reg. They can see fine.”

“I hope so.”

“I went up and looked at every one of 'em myself.”

“I was supposed to be home by now,” he said, looking up at the rafters again.

“We’ll get you home fine in the morning. Just tell the missus there was a mishap on the line. She’ll never know any different.”

“I don’t like lying to her, Shetty. By all means, feel free to lie to your missus, but I’m not about to start lying to mine.”

“Geez, Reg, you don’t have to lie if you don’t want to; you can tell her the truth as far as that goes. It’s up to you.”

Reggie could see the drop was lit by a dozen kerosene lamps sitting on crates of guns marked with the Birmingham Small Arms stamp. He paused and looked at the crates, counting. He looked at Shetty, giving a low whistle. Any sensible man would've had a bar handy so the costumer could look into a random crate. But then, the guns weren't part of the deal, were they?

“So these are them?”

“The guns? Yeah,” Shetty said with a slow shake of his head. “It would’ve been nice knowin’ about 'em goin’ in, don’tcha think?” he said, sitting on a crate and looking up at Reggie. "I mean, the deal ain't even about the guns. This is a holding area. They're waiting for the tide. They had to wait for the frieghter. My question remains this: What're they thinking having a meet here? No wonder they lost the war."

“What’s done is done, Shetty,” Reggie said, turning the torch off and sitting on another crate. “Let’s just hope it all goes off without a hitch. I don't like this any more than you do.”

“What about our Mick friend? Has Charlie heard anything about 'em since he come to see him?”

“Charlie didn’t know what the fucker was talking about, so for once in his life, he didn’t have to lie about anything.”

“And you think the fuckin’ git bought it?”

“I hope so--for our sakes.”