The Hustle

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delia_icon.gif smedley_icon.gif

Scene Title The Hustle
Synopsis Smedley comes into the Apothecary in search of some cash that Delia isn't quite willing to part with.
Date April 3, 2011

The Old Apothecary


It’s not at all the sort of place that Wes Smedley would go to willingly. He stands on the opposite side of the street from the Old Apothecary, with it’s windows packed with items that, even from this distant, have his mouth twisted in an insecure frown.

The weather has him in his leather jacket, worn open over a dark blue and faded t-shirt proclaiming him to be either an alumnus or fan of the Jackrabbits at South Dakota State. Equally worn out jeans and a pair of slightly pointed boots finish off the look. With a soft sigh, Smedley adjusts his grip on the leather satchel slung over his shoulder, leans forward to gauge a break in traffic, and starts across the pavement.

A bell jingles when he steps in from the relatively sunny street into the darkened building. He pauses on the inside of the glass storefront to let his eyes adjust - and wince at the various items on display for sale. Maybe that’s why they keep it so dark - so they don’t have to look at the various pickled things in jars. That’s not to say everything in the store is a sight for sore eyes, but the haphazard disorganization of even the finer jewelry and accouterments make the place look like more of an antique store or pawn shop than anything else.

It’s her first official day on the job. First day that she’s been trusted to be alone in the shop while the owner and his dog are out someplace, possibly gleaning a little sun on pallid flesh or scouting a trove of found treasure. It’s New York City, there’s treasure all over the place.

Though most of the store is still dusty and the smell is of herb and old parchment, she’s got a rag and bucket of hot soapy water and is using it to carefully clean the items on the shelves one by one. Perhaps it’s the best way to familiarize herself with the contents of the store. The jingle of the bell gives her pause and from her place on the floor, she can see the old cowboy boots treading heavily across the floor and up to the sales counter. Slowly, she raises to a stand and replaces the little curio back in its place. She didn’t finish dusting that shelf but…

“Can I help you?” Sounding very professional and helpful, even though she looks not the part; dressed in faded and worn jeans, a raggy t-shirt layered overtop a long sleeved lace shirt. Her own boots are an interesting take on Doc Martens, hand painted in black, white, and gold. “Oh…” recognition comes quickly when she slides behind the counter. “Uhm.. hi.”

In his particular line of work, Smedley sees a fair number of people. But in Delia is a strange case, in that she’s the first (and hopefully only) comatose person he’s ever smuggled over any distance. Recognition isn’t immediate - it isn’t until the young woman realizes who he is that he reflexively does the same. He blinks, looking from Delia’s hair to the shelf in front of her before bringing his free hand up to scratch at his neck. His gaze wanders along the shelf, then across the floor of the shop to land on an ivory statue of an elephant, which becomes The Most Important Thing to Look At all of a sudden.

“Good t’see y’on your feet,” he mumbles before carefully swinging the satchel from his shoulder and resting it on the counter. “Y’can tell that boyfriend uh’yours that bike’s a fine machine. Never got to thank ‘im properly for it.”

“Oh…” Delia emits quietly, trying to keep a cordial smile on her face. “Nick isn’t my boyfriend but if I ever see him again, I’ll tell him that you like it.” Automatically making the assumption that he’s talking about the motorcycle the young Englishman is in possession of, rather than anything the giant Australian man might have given up to ferry her to the mainland.

Following his gaze, she actually walks over to the statue and lifts it with both hands, bringing it to the counter. “A really good statue, made with real ivory… something you can’t actually get anymore. Not like this.” Perhaps because it’s illegal to sell. Her hands run over the smooth texture of the creature, pausing at its back as she looks up at Smedley. “You’re looking to buy it? Maybe for a friend or to decorate your place? It’s one of those pieces that looks great practically anywhere. The only thing that could top it is… that urn over there.”

He doesn’t look at the urn, or even lift his eyes to meet Delia’s face when she comes to the counter with the elephant. Some idle part of his brain tries to remember what the young man’s name had been - Nick doesn’t seem to fit. Nick was there, yes, but…Nick hadn’t been the man’s name. But he doesn’t ask for a clarification, and the confusion on his face fades as she describes the possibilities.

“Oh, no,” Smedley says, almost a little too quickly and without even glancing toward the urn. He looks up, his gray-blue eyes lifting as far as a ringlet of hair near her ear before they wander to the array of locked-up herbs behind the counter. “I ain’t lookin’ t’buy. Not today, anyway.” He pats the satchel gingerly, as if whatever was inside would wake up angrily if he disturbed its quiet rest. “Got something y’might be able t’take off my hands.” But rather than open the satchel, he simply gives it the slightest push toward Delia and takes a single step away from the counter.

“Oh— “ is said in the way that might precede shit, as in oh shit. Forcing the smile to her face, she pulls the satchel a little closer and flips open the flap to reach inside. Immediately her hands come back out again and she peeks rather than pulls. A curious set to her eyebrows has her looking from the leather bag’s contents to the smuggler and back again. “Seriously? Is this..”

Carefully this time, she reaches into the bag and pulls out the oddity. At first glance it seems to be a skull of some kind, though bony ridges and spines might place it on an animal that doesn’t actually exist. A dragon. “Wow.. this uhm…” she swallows and keeps her eyes on the black and white object with horns and teeth. “How much are you looking for?” First question out of her mouth, it’s said with a casual disinterest but with the quick way that she posed the question, it’s easy to glean that there’s more there than her tone would indicate.

Like the fact that a shop like this would be able to make a pretty penny on a bit of cryptozology like that.

A faint smile sneaks onto Smedley’s face at Delia’s reaction, even if his outward attention is more focused on the item than the woman who may end up purchasing it. But unlike her, he doesn’t speak quickly. Instead, he purses his lips and takes a deep breath as he slips his thumbs into his belt.

This is something he’s comfortable with. And so, with the ease of a man surveying a hole in a fence to puzzle out how to best fix it, he rolls his tongue over his teeth behind his lips. “Well, now, I got a bit invested in it, but I know a place like this attracts the right kind’uh…clientele to make a bit on somethin’ like that.” What Delia doesn’t need to know is how long Smedley thought about even taking the thing in trade from a man who swore he’d have the money for transport once he got where he needed to be. But better to come out with something and find someone who thinks it’s worth cold hard cash than leave empty-handed.

“And I got a feelin’ it won’t be you benefitin’ from that part-tic-cue-lar transaction,” he adds, one eyebrow climbing a bit higher than the other.

“No but none of what you’re saying is actually a number I can work with,” the redhead says casually as she pushes the statue toward the center of the counter and angles it to get a better look. She’s not as adept in negotiations and deals as her house mate is, even her boss is better considering he’s been able to keep this place open for so long. The firm set to her jaw and the lift of her chin signal that from her end, the game isn’t going to start. “Now, how much are you looking for?”

She smiles a little and folds her arms over her chest. Delia is much thinner than when Smedley last saw her, perhaps due to being unconscious for so long. Her choice of clothing doesn’t do much to fill her out, even with the layers. “If you want me to start, I’ll say five bucks.” It’s an insult, really, given the nature of the piece but she’s still very new to the enter game of barter.

Smedley chuckles, shaking his head and stepping closer to the counter again. “We both know you’re gonna sell that bit’uh cow-bone and hot glue for at least a grand,” he says, bringing his eyes to Delia’s brow. Tension builds in his jaw at the shift, but he does his best to hide it with a widening smile and a tight grip on the edge of the counter. “So how about we start at nine-hundred. Your boss makes a little profit, and I get a small return on my investment.

“Everybody wins.”

Delia actually chokes when the number eases out of Smedley’s lips, it comes out as a snort and then a loud cough. One might think that she actually took a drink down the wrong pipe. Ducking under the counter, she pulls up a styrofoam cup and pours herself some lukewarm coffee from a carafe on the shelf near the velvet curtain. “I can’t do nine hundred,” she says honestly. “I don’t even know how much these things are worth… I’m supposed to be buying stuff but you’re talking a thousand dollars when I’m selling little apple heads for like three bucks apiece. There’s a bit of difference there.”

She shrugs one shoulder and holds up the carafe as though to offer a bit to Smedley. “Tell you what… Why don’t we do a sort of consignment deal? You leave it here with your price tag on it and we take ten percent when it’s sold?”

His brows furrow with the proposal, his fingers drumming on the countertop. “This ain’t no apple-head, Ruby,” he says pointedly before nodding toward the caged monkey skeleton. “S’more along th’lines of your little friend there.”

Smedley pushes himself up from the counter and folds his arms across his chest, presumably deep in thought relevant to the deal. “Don’t know if that’ll work for me,” he muses. “But you can name a reasonable price that’s closer t’mine than a five-spot, and maybe I’ll see what you’ve got that I might take in trade.”

“Yeah and the little friend isn’t for sale, there’s no price on it for me to go by.” Delia sounds a little bit exasperated at her situation, a worried glance passed between the statue, the monkey, and the smuggler himself, not actually looking at his face but stopping at his throat. “The best I can do is give you a card and you can call my boss, I mean, I’d hate to not get it… but I don’t know what he’d want to pay for it. Nine hundred is a lot of money, more money than I’ve seen in almost a year.”

That and she’s not even sure the register has that amount in it.

“So make me an offer,” Smedley says with a shrug and a squint as he watches her. “And if it don’t suit me, we’ll see what we can do to make it suit me.” He steps away from the counter then, moving to a case of jewelry. Jewelry - especially gold - can always been melted down to its materials and sold based on the market value. Weird skulls that some nutjob had in his mother’s basement to cover the costs of his illegal dealings - not so much.

Smedley clasps his hands behind him as he surveys the contents of the case, but it’s clear he isn’t browsing for aesthetic or taste. Instead, he’s looking at the value of the items, regardless of what their small white price-tags may proclaim.

“Nooooo way Jose,” Delia opts for the safer rather than sorrier route when it comes to handling that amount of cash. She’s a dollar menu girl, after all. “I’m not going to get chewed out by my boss for spending a grand on something that I don’t even know the value to. Tell you what, why don’t you come back tomorrow, after I’ve done a little research on it? I can come up with a better price then, maybe even get an okay.”

Eying the statue, she shakes her head a little and places her cup down on the counter in order to fold her arms over her chest. “If you’re pressuring me for a price right now, I’ll give you fifty. Anything more than that, you’re going to have to come back and deal with the boss.”

He really hadn’t wanted to have the thing in his apartment another night. Selling it as soon as possible was the goal the moment he got the cursed thing, if only to make up for the cost. But fifty isn’t much better than five, and Smedley communicates this with a sour expression thrown Delia’s way with a slight turning of his head.

“You want t’keep it here, so your boss can have a look?” The question comes as he straightens, his eyes still on the case in front of him. “‘Cause I can do that, provided a little insurance. I’m willin’ to deal, Ruby, but I’ve got t’look out for my own interests too. Gas ain’t cheap.” Neither are bullets, but Smedley thankfully goes through more of the former than the latter.

Swallowing hard, Delia’s eyes roam to the pieces that the cowboy is eying and she moves toward the back shelf where a few books sit. On the top is an iPad, the one piece of modern technology in the antiquated shop. Pulling up her web browser, she takes a look into a few websites before furrowing her brow a little. “H-hey! A-are you trying to hustle me or rob from my boss?!”

The small device is held out for his perusal, on the screen is an exact replica of the skull statue he brought in and a nice price tag of three hundred and fifty dollars. The iPad is left on the counter as she moves not even a foot away to pack the skull up again for him. “I’ll give you one hundred for it and not a penny more. It’s used so we’d get like one fifty at the most.”

His eyes widen slightly as he studies the screen, and for a moment, there’s a flash of innocence across his face. But he doesn’t apologize. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?” he almost barks as he rejoins her at the main counter. “Fine. One hundred. Just take the damned thing, okay?” He reaches out to stop her from putting it back in the satchel and to retrieve the leather bag, no matter what fumbling may occur. It’s not going back in there, if he has anything to say about it.

And from the look on his face, he’d like to give someone an earful. Or show them where they can put their weird dragon skull-thing.


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