A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

Recap: Shortly before opening, Ferina’s Bay Street boyfriend Paul drops by for a kiss, and a kind word about the coffee shop. He wants in, or at least a hand in taking the business to the next level. But Daddy’s really running the show, and despite Ferina’s opinions on how the shop should be managed, he’s slowly edging its tastes towards the area’s well to do.

And now, we continue with the Vanilla Thrilla.

JUSTIN: (singing under his breath) You had to be a big shot, didn’t ya….

FERINA: You want to be subtle? Fill the syrups subtle.

JUSTIN: Had to open up your mouth….

As Justin goes about it, the world outside catches Ferina’s eye. Nothing in particular though, just a place to stare while hopes and regrets turn over each other in her mind. The day’s first customer eventually breaks the spell.

FERINA: Morning!

West Sumatra, Indonesia - Two Weeks Earlier

In the loading bay of Merrati International, a private courier service, baggage clerk GUNTER, 38, stacks boxes on a flatbed trolley. His work shirt is soaked through with signs of either a long day or a hard one, but his face gives nothing away, soldiering on. He grabs a microwave sized box. A moment later, a reaction…

Across the warehouse, PRAMANA, a hulking angel with heavy lidded eyes, minds the logistics of the day, clipboard in hand. He raises a coffee cup to his mouth long enough to sense the fruity musk of Mandheling.

GUNTER (off screen): Prama!

Pramana returns the cup atop a shrink-wrapped palette of boxes. He could roll his eyes but why bother. He walks.

PRAMANA: What?

GUNTER: Something.

PRAMANA: I love how you get to the point.

Gunter smiles, but doesn’t speak again until the supervisor he calls Prama gets to within whispering range.

GUNTER: How do you feel about woodchucks?

PRAMANA: Delicious, now what is it?

Gunter taps his foot against the box sitting by his side. It’s addressed to a Canadian location, detailed in thick black letters.

GUNTER: How much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood-

PRAMANA: You mean beaver. Where’s it going?

GUNTER: CN Towerland by the looks of it. Toronto. To a little somewhere that just happens to serve….coffee.

Pramana almost smiles.

PRAMANA: No kidding.

GUNTER: Kopi Luwak.

PRAMANA: Hmm. No shit.

Pramana steps toward the loaded cart with official looking poise, keeping up appearances for any other heads that happen to be wandering their way. Even lions have the sense to lie low.

PRAMANA: Check the weight. How much free space?

GUNTER: Plenty. It’s barely three kilos weight in 1.2 cubic feet of box. 14.75 by 8.89 by 15.2. Probably bubbled like a madman.

PRAMANA: (to himself) Perfect.

GUNTER: Hey Prama, you sure about the beaver?

PRAMANA: It’s on the five cent coin.

He approaches Gunter, his voice lowered.

PRAMANA: Load the shipment as usual, with this one where you can see it. Before you shuttle back I’ll radio in to speak to… (checking his clipboard)

GUNTER: Dian. He’s a moron.

PRAMANA: He’s a workhorse to your sewer rodent. Shut-up. When he leaves you pack our shipment…yes I’m talking slowly for a reason…pack our shipment in the beaver box. Distribute it as evenly as possible within the coffee bags. Repack it, well.

GUNTER: I have the tape already.

PRAMANA: (ignoring him) I’ll draw up the invoice and mailing for Tuti. She’ll handle it from Toronto. She’s been looking for a way to go Prada. This may be it, though why I’m telling you I can’t really say. It’s more me talking aloud for my own verification.

GUNTER: I’m thinking it’s more a go-team thing.

Pramana steps forward, as close as possible without drawing suspicion.

PRAMANA: Third cousin of some regional bigwig or not, don’t get too perky about your role in all of this. You found a box. Zippidee-woo-woo. Staying power for any of us depends on common sense, not doing cartwheels and screaming dope is king. You want to be the happy packer, be it, but this business is about low key and low key rewards. Keep it that way or I’ll break you in two. I’ll contact you tonight.

Pramana’s on the move, back to the legitimate business of the day. He floats a salute to a mechanic in passing before vanishing into the shadows. Gunter though, is stewing. For an already squat man, he doesn’t appreciate having been cut down to size.

(To be continued….)