It was a meeting. Ambrose liked to meet the people he did business with; we weren't an exception. We took the jeep, and I got the back seat; as it turns out, rock loses to paper. On the way over, Ray and I talked a little; we might have talked more, but Gina was pretty seriously fixated on driving - we were going down to the docks in the evening, and in Kingsport that means fog.
"Ambrose and his guys are a kind of cross between old religion and modern business. Don't poke at them about it, if you see it."
"So, like what, crucifixes and suits?"
"Suits, sometimes. Crucifixes, no. When I say old religion, I mean old. Like, ritual circles and sacred wells; I would be suprised if they had some clay idols and shit in the back." He turned then, quickly, to Gina "Promise me you won't ask about it."
She shot him a lopsided smile "Like hell. But I'll think twice before I do."
"Yeaaaah, that's as good as I'm gonna get, isn't it?", And he turned back to me. "Anyway, I've sold him things before. A little of this, little of that. He can give off this vibe like he wants to pick a fight if you waste his time, but as soon as it's actual business, he's cool enough. So let me talk, get us into business-mode as fast as possible."
I nodded, leaned back "So I should just be cool", leaned back a little harder "Yeah, I'm cool.", doing my best tough-guy head bob.
He watched me goofing around for a moment, and then "Ben. You look like you went a few rounds in the ring with someone twice your size not long ago, and you seriously don't give a shit. You're just entirely loose. If I were them, I wouldn't know what to think of you." I thought on that for a couple minutes, and caught Gina's eyes looking back at me in her mirror. Serious eyes. She nodded.
We pulled up to one of the innumerable 60s-issue warehouses that litter the docks; Gina held up the address. In almost perfect unison, we looked at the address in her hand,
then the one on the side of the warehouse, and opened our doors. The doorman was a linebacker of a guy that had pulled himself up off his chair by the door; he nodded at Ray and just said "Ia", like "Eee-ah", quickly, as if it were a greeting. Ray did the little chin-lift backwards nod, and the guy settled back down into his chair, and watched us go in.
Inside the warehouse was... well, a warehouse. Big shelves half-filled with crates and pallets of shrink-wrapped boxes, a forklift driving around, a big door open on the fog at the other end, and some grilled metal steps leading up to a balcony. We took the stairs - and the balcony turned out to be a lot wider than expected. Six or seven tables were up there; two with workers talking breaks, a few empty ones, and one right next to an office door where a heavyset man sat. I noticed that all the workers had long hair, bound back with leather ties; so did heavyset at the table. Ray led us back to him; he didn't get up.
"Ray. Sit."
With a quick "Thanks", Ray sat, and gestured at the other chairs for Gina and I. As he sat, he pulled a couple of pages out of his inside jacket pocket.
"What's this?" asked the big man, who I assumed must be Ambrose. Big, dull voice, a little indistinct. Sadly, his mumble wasn't nearly as good Brando's had been in the Godfather, I thought, and smirked. His eyes flicked over to me, up, down, back to Ray.
"Inventory, from last week. Just the pages for the rooms we can get keys for."
"I get to shop, hey? That the big idea?"
"That's the big idea."
A meaty hand swiped across the table, and Ambrose was reading the pages. He flicked them, one at a time, back towards Ray as he read, except twice. Two pages, he placed gingerly in front of him. He picked up a highlighter from a cup in the middle of the table with another quick gesture, and marked one line of the first page, three lines of the other. He flicked again, to pen, and scribbled some numbers next to each.
His hands were fast, and moved almost uncannily smoothly; it was like watching a magic trick. He plucked up the pages, folded them into a tight triangle, and put it in front of him, one heavy finger on it. Then he looked at me again. Looked at Gina. There hadn't been any change in his expression the whole time; there wasn't a change as he looked at us.
Droned out - "Are you believers? The ancient rite?"
Gina fielded that one "There are things we believe; some of it is ancient. I don't know how much is the same as you."
He looked at her, placid, and there was a moment of tension where I waited for one of them to ask another question about beliefs, or make another statement. It hung there, in the air. Then he nodded to her, a tiny motion.
"Call when you have it ready to drop off."
Out, then, and homeward, talking about the things he'd gone over with his highlighter. Home, and my first half-a-dose of Ianathos, and dreams.
