Cooper rolled his own window down and turned back towards Buck, “What happened? How’d you end up here?”
Buck looked more alert now, his green eyes looking much more like how Cooper remembered them from the restaurant, “Drove. Then, w-walked. Last bit.”
“Why’d you come here?”
“Ex-x-w-ife and my son. Livv-ed he-rre.”
“Lived,” Cooper asked, mustering sympathy.
Buck’s face tightened, “Yeah. P-l-ague got ‘em. Both. ‘Fore I got here. Got he-rre ye-ssterday and f-found out.”
Cooper’s eyes shot wide open, “Oh, Buck.” He recovered and offered him a hand on his shoulder as comfort, “I’m sorry.” Buck’s eyes misted and he slammed his fist into his chest. Using physical pain to hold back the emotion, Cooper observed. He’d seen men do this before; from kids inflicting self-mutilation in high school to bar fights as he got older.
“I’ll be a-lll-right,” he said defiantly.
“How is Luisa?” He asked about the kind waitress at the diner and hoping to change the subject to a better one.
“Dead,” Buck said flatly. Cooper blinked. It was hard for him to imagine her dead. She was a bundle of frenetic energy. Gone? He didn’t want to believe it.
“Plague,” it was less a question than a statement.
“No, g-got h-hit by a carr-r,” Buck corrected.
Cooper’s hand flew to his temple and rubbed it, “Seriously?”
Buck nodded and burped, “’Fraid so. Horrible. Coulda lived, but the h-hos-pp-ital was full up.”
Cooper’s fist slammed into an open palm, “Damn!” Buck stared at him with dulled, but open and sympathetic eyes.
The scratch of the emergency brake interrupted them.
“We’re here,” Dranko announced.
***********
They were in a parking lot for the town’s former main grocery store. The nondescript dusty white building was pockmarked in a few spots with bullet holes. The front glass doors had been replaced with plywood and sheet metal. The multitude of bullet holes framing the doorway made Cooper guess that they had been shot out. Must have been a struggle for control. Owner and employees versus Hodges’ group? I’ll have to find out. Two guards were stationed out in front of the doors. They wore body armor, police helmets, and carried M-16s. That they were also wearing sunglasses on a gray day told Cooper they were trying to create an intimidating presence, as well.
The parking lot was mostly empty, there were only about a dozen vehicles in one that could easily hold over fifty. The Jeep had barely stopped when a gaggle of kids swarmed around them, offering all manner of cheap goods to trade. Cheap wood carvings. Handfuls of cartridges. Fishing implements. Hand tools.
Their catcalls varied about their various offerings. But, there was only thing they were all chanting for: “Food!” The kids were all dirty, hungry, some already looking thinner than they should have been. Cooper wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Poor kids,” Angela lamented.
“Looks like kids in Mexico when Elena and I went there four years ago,” Cooper added.
Dranko scowled, “Stupid parents probably didn’t have a single preparation, either!”
Angela punched him in the shoulder, “C’mon! Their parents could be dead. Have a heart, will ya?”
Dranko looked like he hadn’t considered the possibility, “Good point. But, why don’t you stay with these kids and Buck. Cooper and me will take care of business. You can keep an eye on everything.” He wrenched the door open and stepped out, not waiting for an answer.
She glared back at Cooper, who flashed her a ‘go figure’ look and joined his friend outside. They had to physically push the kids back, worried that the buffeting could be a ruse to hide a pickpocketing attempt.
“We might have something for you when we come out. No food now,” Cooper said. The kids drifted away, as Cooper and Dranko marched toward the entrance.
“Whatcha here for,” one of the guards asked them when they walked up to the door.
“Trade. Mostly salt, but we’ll see what else there is,” Dranko responded.
“What do you have to trade with?” The other man asked, seeing no visible goods. I’m getting slow, I hadn’t even bothered to ask Dranko that!
“Precious metals,” he responded. Cooper concealed his surprise. I figured back at the Stott’s that you had some, but not on you!
“What?” Another guard exclaimed.
“Silver and gold,” Dranko said as evenly as if he was saying “Visa,” when asked about his method of payment in the days before the Plague.
“We don’t get that very much around here. Usually, that’s only used with the Man when someone is making a big deal.”
“Good to know, I’m guessing I’ll get some good deals then,” Dranko said.
“You just might. Barter deals are much harder to figure out. Anyone will take silver or gold these days. Much easier to work with,” the first guard stated.
The guards proceeded to explain the rules of the establishment: no violence, no stealing, no touching merchandise, tax collector must be present at the time of sale, tax collector will tell you the amount of tax, it varies with each transaction, get a written receipt from the collector, incline your head in the presence of the Sheriff, firearms must be left here, and so on. When they had turned over their firearms and secured Cooper’s and Dranko’s understanding and agreement to the rules, they opened the door and waved them in.
“We’re not planning to bother the Sheriff,” Dranko commented when they mentioned the rule about him.
The second guard laughed, “Oh. You got precious metal? The Sheriff will come bother with you. Be sure of that!” The way he said ‘bother’ made Cooper’s stomach tighten. His jaw clamped shut and his lips drew into a scowl when the guard’s cohort guffawed.
**********
They stepped into the former grocery store turned trading post and were greeted by dozens of pairs of eyes, sizing them up. The store was dimly lit, about every third panel of lights had been turned off. The back half of the store had been left completely dark. Rows of shelving had been removed and replaced with tables. An indoor flea market. The room had been subdivided into groups: foodstuffs up front, tools to the right, clothing on the left, and so on. Several armed men drifted through the room looking bored. Inattentive too, Cooper thought.
“Their boredom means this place must be calm,” he whispered to Dranko, who grunted to show he’d heard him.
The store buzzed with the chatter of a few dozen customers doing business with the dozen or so vendors. Within a few seconds of watching, a man bellowed, “That’s absurd,” and stormed off. Off to his right, Cooper saw a woman gesticulating wildly as she tried to convince a merchant to agree to her price. From the looks of it, it wasn’t working so well. Others talked too loudly. A man wailed and burst into tears. Another screamed, red-faced, at a seller. Several were conducting transactions as goods exchanged hands.
“This is chaos,” Dranko muttered.
Cooper laughed, “Nope. It’s education,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
Dranko looked at him as if he had just said something crazy, “What?”
“They’re figuring out how to bargain.”
“People know how to do that. Who hasn’t been to a flea market or a garage sale?”
He looked at Dranko, disappointed, “C’mon! You know better than that. Trying to figure out a deal on a used couch or a worn out toy is not the same as trying to get something you need to survive.”
Pausing, he cocked his head to the side, “Yeah. I got you. Stakes are higher. Stress is higher.”
“And, don’t forget that there’s not a commonly accepted currency anymore.”
That made Dranko laugh, “True. How do you know how much your eggs are worth relative to sewing thread?”
“Exactly. It’s a brave new world.”
“I guess we need to go and figure out how much salt we can get for your gold?”
Dranko looked taken aback for a moment, “How’d you know?”
“Magic. The magic of knowing your sorry ass for far too long,” Cooper said with a mischievous grin before walking off to the first vendor to find out if they had salt.
**********
Twenty minutes later, they had identified two sellers of salt and were finalizing the price with the better of the two. The vendor was a woman in her sixties; white hair with a fading blue tint job. Cooper wished they had Lily with them. He guessed she could have charmed this woman in a New York minute with her Kentucky accent and witticisms.
She tossed her head back, laughing, “Fifty pounds? You wanna clean me out?”
Cooper laughed himself, jostling Dranko with his shoulder, “Look at her! You ever heard of a merchant complaining about selling too much of her product?”
Dranko refused the levity, “Nope.” His face was serious, his shoulders tense. I need to teach him how to bargain! From a young age, Cooper’s father had taught him the basics of successful negotiations. “Rule number one, put the other guy at ease.” Cooper had heard his father say that a thousand times.
The woman, Marjorie, laughed with Cooper, despite Dranko, “I ain’t complaining. I just want to make sure that your trade goods give me something good to keep my trade going on.”
“What’s your price for fifty pounds of salt. In silver?” Dranko asked flatly. Cooper tried to hide his grimace.
“I bet you don’t do foreplay either,” Marjorie said, smirking. Cooper noted her deft attempt to hide her surprise when the word ‘silver’ escaped Dranko’s lips.
“I just don’t have time to waste,” Dranko replied, edginess creeping into his voice.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend’s brusque nature, but we are in a bit of a hurry today,” Cooper added.
“Let’s see. Fifty pounds. Silver. Five ounces,” she said, her voice turning sharp.
Cooper burst out laughing, “Five? You’d be doing well to get an ounce.”
A sly smile crept onto Marjorie’s face as she recognized the bargaining process had begun. “An ounce? You must be new in town, eh? I have two twenty-five pound bags. You want fifty pounds all at once? You obviously need it and I’m a kind hearted woman so I can let it go for four ounces.”
“Let’s go see if the other guy is more reasonable,” Dranko said, beginning to move away. Cooper grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Hold on, Dranko. I’m sure Marjorie will come round. Right?”
Marjorie folded her arms and looked nonplussed, “I’m always reasonable, but I won’t give it away. I made that mistake in my early twenties and ended up with three kids and not a one of their daddies done me right.” She laughed at her own joke. Dranko stopped, but only turned halfway back toward facing her.
The back and forth continued for another few minutes as they dickered. Finally, they agreed to pay three ounces of silver, including the taxes, for the salt. Dranko fished the silver out from a pocket inside his jacket, handed it to her, and Marjorie began writing out their receipt.
The receipt had been pocketed and the salt put up onto her table for Cooper and Dranko when a group of men approached. Cooper saw them first and tapped Dranko’s foot and directed his attention to them with his eyes.
A short man, listing to the stocky side, emerged at the front of the group of five men. He had black hair, likely dyed, given his age. It was kept short and greased back. He was in his fifties, with dark brown eyes.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said with a firm, commanding voice. “I’m Sheriff Hodges.” He extended his hand and promptly attempted to crush Cooper’s hand. Cooper pressed back to show him he could, but didn’t go so far as to invite a contest.
“Good afternoon, Sheriff. I’m CJ and this is my good friend, Paul Dranko.” The two men quickly shook hands, as well.
“You paying in silver, I see.”
“Yes, we are. Is that a problem?” Cooper responded.
Hodges shook his head, “Of course not. In fact, we need more metal to come into circulation. Bartering for everything is very cumbersome.”
“Glad we could be of assistance.”
“Indeed. You new in town? I haven’t seen you before.”
“We just came in, staying at my property just outside of town,” Dranko weighed, mustering politeness.
“Most excellent. We need more upstanding folks who can pay their bills in town.” He rubbed his hands together while talking. “Dranko? Yes, I remember your name from the tax rolls.”
“You must have a good memory,” Cooper added.
“Well, Dranko’s an unusual name. We were keeping eyes on the empty properties, keeping them secure until the owners arrived or we would declare them abandoned and award them to those families in need for a place to live. We have a number of refugees, you know?” Cooper watched Hodges sizing them up as he talked.
“I’m glad you remembered me,” Dranko said, unsure of where Hodges was heading. Cooper knew. Here comes the tax warning.
“Thank you. I should let you know, there are levies that all who live in the area pay. For the costs of our collective security, I’m sure you can understand. The outlying areas consume more resources to patrol and there might be an issue with the work we’ve done the last few weeks keeping your place secure, as well.” By the time he had finished, Hodges’ smile was as greasy as his hair. His delivery was polished, and reminded Cooper of a very successful used car salesman.
Dranko stepped forward, “That’s complete…”
Cooper grunted, and used his arm to bar his friend and interrupt him, “We’ll certainly do our part for our collective security, but we will not need any special measures. We can defend our area. And, while we appreciate the efforts you’ve made thus far to keep it safe, we did have to deal with an interloper when we arrived. So, clearly there were some unfortunate gaps in the security, despite your good efforts. Which we appreciate. I’m sure you are a fair man and you’ll keep that in mind in considering the costs of any past efforts by the town.” Cooper returned the same wide, insincere smile he had received.
Hodges met Cooper’s eyes and the two men stared at each other for a long moment. Cooper saw a resolute and cunning man. Determined. He looked directly at Hodges, his eyes steeled to show him he wasn’t a man to be reckoned with lightly.
“Of course,” Hodges said. “I’d be remiss in not introducing you to my son. He’s essential to the good operation of our small town.” A younger man stepped forward.
“I’m Junior Hodges, Undersheriff for Estacada.” He stood a few inches above his father, with light brown hair, and bright blue eyes. His smile looked more like a snarl. Not as polished as his father. The men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
“It was a pleasure to meet you fine men, and again, welcome to our fair town. A team of my men will visit you in the next few days to do an assessment and explain our levy procedures.”
Cooper nodded, “Understood. Let me thank you for having such an orderly town, Sheriff.” He heard the nearly inaudible choke from Dranko on his left.
They hefted the bags of salt and exited the market, showing their receipt to the door guards on their way out. When they were out of earshot, Dranko asked.
“CJ? Where’d you come up with that?”
“My middle name is James. So, it was true, but also not flatly telling him I’m Cooper Adams!”
Dranko laughed, “Nice!”
They deposited the heavy bags of salt into the Jeep’s cargo area and pulled out of the parking lot.
**********
The loud rasp from Buck Floy’s snoring in the back seat competed with the engine’s growl as they drove back towards the Stott’s.
“How’d you have silver on hand?” Cooper asked Dranko as they rumbled down the road.
A wide grin crossed Dranko’s face, “That’s easy. If you think things might come unglued at some point, you gotta prepare that the currency won’t work anymore.”
“W
ere you betting against America, you SOB?” He was only half joking.
Dranko gave him a sharp smirk, “Nope. Just betting on probabilities. I knew something was going to happen that would upend things. Gold and silver are hard currencies. They outlast paper money every time.”
“I was just thinking about that yesterday,” Angela joined the conversation.
“What,” Cooper asked.
“My 401k. I spent so much energy and worry building that thing up. Now, I wonder if it’s worth a penny.”
Dranko burst out laughing. Angela punched him in the shoulder from the backseat.
“Don’t be an ass!”
He fought to restrain himself, “I’m sorry.” He regained his breath, “I just always said that they shouldn’t have been called 401k’s.” He paused.
“What should they have been called?” Angela asked, exasperated.
“401Cs. For 401 Craps. It was gambling pure and simple and you were destined to come up a loser. Even without the Brushfire Plague, it was a rigged system from jump street.”
Angela’s face drooped, the corners of her mouth downturned, “I guess you were right.”
“So, E. F. Hutton, what was your investment strategy?”
Dranko inclined his head towards Cooper, “That was easy. The four B’s. Beans, bullets, band aids, and bullion.” The mock smug look and tone as he delivered his response made Cooper and Angela laugh and slap him on the shoulder.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, made it up the long driveway to the Stott’s, and manhandled Buck Floy into the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
They gathered around the kitchen table. Cooper and Dranko relayed how they had bargained for the salt and of their conversation with Hodges about the levy. As they talked, Miles’ face flushed until he exploded.
“He’s pushing way too hard! People can’t take it,” he fumed.
Brushfire Plague: Reckoning Page 19