Pass The Parcel

Don sat at his kitchen table. The fluorescent lighting did nothing to soften the menacing look on his menacing face. ‘The equation is simple. You owe me a great deal of money. You take the parcel, follow the instructions and deliver it. Then you don’t owe me any money.’

It was a most unremarkable looking parcel; roughly the size of a shoe box, wrapped in brown paper with a strand of gold ribbon around it. I had gone into debt after a couple of horses hadn’t met my lofty expectations. I wouldn’t say it was a “great deal” of money that I owed him, but it was more than I had. If I’d had any money I wouldn’t have been dealing with Don in the first place. He did make this seem an easy out, however where Don was involved outs were never easy. He had a finger in multiple pies and illegal bookmaking was the least of them. ‘And if I choose not to accept this mission?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘Then’ Don answered quietly, ‘you would still owe me money.’ He leant down under the table past the side of his chair. He abruptly swung up a tyre iron and slammed in onto the table. ‘And I would need to find another method with which to extract it.’ It was hard to tell fact from fiction when it came to stories about Don but if half of the rumours of his brutality were true I had better play my cards carefully. Maybe if I knew what was in the box. I picked it up. It wasn’t heavy. ‘Don’t shake it’ he intoned.

‘What’s in it?’ I asked.

‘Nothing that concerns you’ he replied coldly.

‘Why don’t you just mail it?’

‘You ask a lot of questions for a man in your position. The wrong questions.’ He gave me a steely glare. ‘The question you want to ask me is where are you to take it.’

‘So where would you have me take it?’ I complied.

'Over on Franklin street there’s a red brick block of flats where the balconies are all painted green...’

‘Do you have a street number?’ I interjected.

‘Are you colourblind?’ Don asked.

‘No’

‘Then you’ll work it out.’ He started drumming his fingers on the tyre iron. ‘It has a security door. Buzz number four and someone will give you your next set of directions.’

‘So you’re not going to tell me where I’m taking this?’ I asked, looking at the parcel I was holding.

‘Keep asking questions and you’ll get a reputation for wanting to know things’ Don replied belligerently. He looked at me, then at his front door. ‘Fast game’s a good game. Off you go.’

Having established that “no” wasn’t an option, I took the package and headed out the door. As I jumped into my car I could feel an overwhelming temptation to open the package. The ribbon was a sticking point though; I knew I wouldn’t be able to retie it without its recipient noticing. As I pulled my car out onto the road I thought I saw a car pull out from the kerb behind me. Coincidence perhaps. I tried turning a couple of corners only for the car to follow me. My desire to open the package was displaced by a greater urge to throw it out the window. I may well have done so had it not been for the image of Don and his tyre iron burnt onto my retinas. I took the scenic route to Franklin street but the shadow still seemed to be with me. Even in the dim streetlights it wasn’t hard to find the block of flats. I pulled over as close as I could and the car I thought had been tailing me kept on heading down the street. Must be getting paranoid in my old age. I got out of the car and carried the box to the doorway of the building. I pressed the buzzer for unit four. No response. I tried again. Still no answer. Good I thought. I’ll just take this back to Don and get on with my life. Just as I started to swivel back towards my car a silhouette formed in the doorway. A very large silhouette. The door opened and a set of shoulders approximately one and a half axe handles wide squeezed through. The shoulders carried a large, unkempt head bearing a face that even a mother would baulk at. ‘Give me the box’ he said gruffly.

‘Good evening to you’ I said but he ignored my glibness and rough hands ripped the box from my grasp. He removed the ribbon from the package, lifted the lid ever so narrowly and took a peek inside. A slight smirk twisted its way across his face. Nature abhors a vacuum and there was a definite emptiness to this conversation. ‘I thought I’d been followed on my way here’ I blurted.

‘Sounds like a you problem’ he replied hoarsely.

‘So what next?’ I asked.

He jammed the lid firmly back onto the box. ‘Do you know Phil Musgrave?’

‘Yeah I know Dopey Phil’ I replied.

‘I wouldn’t let him hear you call him that if I was you’ he said gravely. ‘It’s a present for him. Take it to his house.’ He gave me a stern look. ‘And don’t open it. It’s a surprise.’

Now this was concerning news. Don and Phil were competitors and I was fearful that the surprise might be a nasty one, potentially of the explosive kind. I couldn’t risk opening it here so I did as I was bid and took the parcel back to my car. I started the engine and rolled off. I wasn’t game enough to open the parcel lest I set something off but felt compelled to take it to its destination in case it really was a present of a more legitimate nature. I could feel my stomach knot. I thought I’d chart a course of action on the way but Musgrave’s house arrived before a plan had. I pulled up at the kerb and reached for the present when a familiar car came screaming towards me, now with blue and red lights flashing. ‘Get away from the package and step out of the vehicle’ an officer commanded. I complied. Seemed my evening kept finding ways to get worse. I was cuffed and unceremoniously bundled into the back seat of the police vehicle. They took me back to the station.

An hour later I was sitting in a small brightly lit room with inky fingers and a pair of inquisitors across from me. The first officer pressed record on a video camera pointed at the table between us. ‘This is Inspector Gordon and I am Inspector McCarthy. Now, perhaps you would like to tell me what this is?’ he asked, proffering the parcel. Playing dumb for the benefit of the constabulary came naturally to me but in this instance I really didn’t know. Hoping that they’d checked for explosives I tentatively opened the package. Inside, buried in a sea of packing peanuts was a small, rather tacky looking porcelain cat.

‘It’s a porcelain cat’ I deadpanned, slightly relieved.

'I can see it’s a porcelain cat’ said McCarthy peevishly. ‘What I want to know is why you were carting it around on a tour of the town’s criminal fraternity’.

I had to admit this was an excellent question, one which I had no intention of answering. I was about to begin obfuscating when there was a knock on the door and a uniformed officer poked her head in. ‘A lawyer has arrived.’

McCarthy and Gordon were shocked because solicitors rarely made an appearance this late in the evening. I was shocked because I hadn’t bothered calling one. A neatly suited man bounded into the room. ‘Darryl Higgins at your service’ he said, grabbing my hand and shaking it. He turned to the inspectors. ‘Is there somewhere I can speak privately with my client?’.

Gordon switched off the recording equipment. ‘Here’s as good as anywhere. We’ll give you a few minutes, call out when you’re done.’

‘Very good’ replied Higgins, closing the door behind the inspectors as they absented themselves from the room. He turned back to me. ‘So, what have you told them?’

‘Precisely nothing’ I replied. ‘Didn’t get a chance.’

‘Excellent!’

‘May I ask what you’re doing here?’

‘Making sure you don’t add to what you’ve told them’

‘Who sent you?’ I asked.

‘Don Pateman.’

Any relief I’d been feeling at having legal representation was rapidly dissipating. ‘Is he upset?’

‘Why would he be upset?’ Higgins asked.

‘Well, I failed to make the delivery’ I said nervously.

Higgins looked at me with slight bemusement. ‘But you did make the delivery.’

My turn to be confused. I looked at the package on the table. ‘What’s that then?’

‘Some crappy cat’ he responded quizzically. It dawned on him then that I wasn’t in on the deal. He gave a little laugh. ‘The ribbon. It contained the codes to some Swiss bank account.’

‘Then why the subterfuge?’

‘To make sure the police followed you. Now tell me the truth, did you break any road rules tonight?’

‘Road rules?’

‘Road rules. You know, speeding, failing to indicate, that kind of thing?’

I had a little think about it. ‘No.’

‘Good’ Higgins replied crisply. He opened the door of the interrogation room and called out to the inspectors. They moseyed their way in. Higgins leant over the table and dug out the porcelain cat between thumb and forefinger. He turned to the inspectors ‘Now gentlemen. Other than perhaps crimes against good taste, do you actually have a charge against my client?’ The inspectors looked at each other and realised they had nothing. ‘Well then’ said Higgins, ‘we’ll be on our way.’