Chapter 13 - Two Cigars for Jack

In the backseat of Jack’s car was a pile of junk mail. Some of it was opened and some was not. Jack had to collect his mail on the drive into his apartment complex and ended up tossing most of the junk mail in the backseat. Underneath the mountain of differently sized and colored envelops was a small, rectangular package that Jack had forgotten about for a while, but kept it’s presence barely alive somewhere in his head.
When Jack originally agreed to deliver the package he was in need of some quick cash and a dude from international shipping hooked him up with this side job. There were always a variety of side jobs available to those who were interested. Most involved doing something that looked like ordinary shipping or package sorting work, but in reality were various schemes aimed at stealing the contents of a fraction of the packages that flowed through the sorting facility everyday. The most common scheme involved printing a duplicate label for the package targeted for redirection, but with a different destination address. The package would then be delivered from the sorting facility legitimately and without question, but not to its rightful owner. The risky piece of the whole scheme was the act of concealing the phony label prior to its application. The security team was only interested in keeping firearms or other metal weapons out of the work area and only performed a metal detection screen when employees arrived for work. They did not usually have to hand search the employees’ pockets or lunch bags, so it was a relatively easy task to sneak the bogus labels into the sorting facility. Furthermore, if a supervisor did find one or two extra labels on a sorter, it would not be that uncommon and typically would not be a cause for alarm. But if the sorter had several more labels all with the same destination address or something like that, the supervisor could bring the whole scheme crashing down. Still, the redirect was considered low-risk.
Jack had pulled a few redirects over the years. Mostly for items like televisions and other high-valued electronic equipment. He never felt quite right about it, but figured he was only screwing over some large faceless corporate tyrant who would have the insurance plan ready to cover a few missing televisions anyway. But redirects only paid about ten percent of what the item was worth, sometimes even less and Jack was in need of some big bucks at the time. His acquaintance from international shipping was known as Big Jim because his supervisor’s name was Jim too, but the supervisor was called Mr. Jim.
Big Jim caught up with Jack in the employee parking lot after a long shift one night and asked if he was going to make the poker game next week. This was the well known code phrase for “how much money do you need?” Jack was a little nervous about taking a big job, so he tested the waters with the coded reply, “how many people are playing?” Which was meant to ask two things, what would the level of risk be and how much cash would be available to score.
“You’re looking at about a five person table, two cigars per person.” said Big Jim.
Jack couldn’t believe it. Cigars were rarely mentioned in side job negotiations and Jack had a moment to consider if Big Jim was simply inviting him to a real poker game next week and forgot to remember the whole idea of having a code phrase dialogue. But considering how rare the usage of the word “cigar” was and the unflinching look in Big Jim’s eyes, Jack knew it was what it meant.
A real cigar is something to be enjoyed in a peaceful and laid-back setting. A fine smoke can help facilitate a deep and meaningful conversation between friends or it can gently stimulate a sense of thought provoking relaxation. A real cigar, given the time and ability to partake in one, was an event to be cherished and highly valued.
A cigar’s meaning in side-job negotiations essentially translated to an extremely valuable amount of cash. Its rarity was such that the risk involved in the operation would make Jack’s stomach turn for weeks. But the prospect of potential reward made Jack accept the risk. With five people involved there was a big chance that someone would screw the pooch or otherwise say something which would likely get them all caught. But he felt that he needed the money and this would set him up quite nicely.
“I’m free next week, where’s the game?” Jack eventually replied.
“Poonam’s at 7pm. See you there.” said Big Jim.
Jack watched Big Jim turn toward his truck and leave, and Jack’s stomach began making subsonic vibrations. It was his conscience. His damned conscience made him ill every time.