The Man from Poipet - Chapter One

I got home late in the afternoon. There was a package on my front doorstep, away just enough from to the side so it couldn’t be seen from the sidewalk. Nondescript brown wrapping, taped up tight and slightly squarer than a shoebox, there was a bar code on the top next to a name that I didn’t recognize, certainly no one who has lived at the house over the last forty years.  

The address on the package was off. I live at 151 55^th Avenue, but the address on the package was 1515 5^th Avenue, across the park. It looks like a simple mistake on the addresser’s part. Attention to detail is not important anymore. It used to be. 

An Internet search finds me two pages of the name on the package, James A. Rodgers. Scrolling down, I find the address and a James Allen Rodgers, 29, and a phone number. I read the number out loud, my finger depressing and smudging the computer monitor while dialing the number. The voice on the other end was that of a woman; she sounded pretty. I told her about the package and the addressing snafu, and asked her about the addressee.

“Oh yes!” she said after I explained to her why I was calling. “James is my brother. I had to wait around all day for that package. I just now got off the phone with the delivery company. I called them when the package didn’t show up, but they assured me that it had already been delivered. But I didn’t get it, so I was confused. So, then it really was delivered. Case solved!” she giggled cutely into the receiver.  "We can come by pick it up really anytime that is convenient for you, or you could leave it with your wife if you won’t be there.”

I told her I wasn’t married. I didn’t have an awful lot to say to her on the phone, and I didn’t get much of a chance; she talked a lot, about a lot of things. We hung up without fixed a time to meet, but I said they could come over either early tonight or at this time tomorrow afternoon.      

The phone rang less than a half hour later, from a different phone number. They were in his car and wanted to know if it was a good time to drop by the house. I told them it was and gave a quick description of the exterior.

“Look for an old yellow house with a three-quarter enclosed front porch,” I said while walking out onto it. “You really can’t miss it.”

They pulled up somewhat later than it would have taken them if they’d been in the car, ready to go, and in front of their house. I thought it odd, almost like they didn’t want to appear too eager to pick up whatever it was that was in the package.  I hadn’t asked. It wasn’t any of my business. The car was a Ferrari 308, park halfway across the parking space in front of the house and the driveway. They wouldn’t be long.

She was pretty, with long golden blond hair, and wearing a tight white shirt and a tight blue skirt. He had short brown hair parted on the side. He looked like he was going boating, dock siders with no socks, shorts, and a collared shirt. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight. They didn’t look a whole lot like each other.

“Hi! I’m Jan Rodgers and this is my brother, Jim,” she said, extending her hand to mine, and we shook a half a shake down, our hands hanging there a few awkward seconds too long.   

Not wanting to appear rude just standing there fingering his sister’s palm, I pulled away and extended my hand to the brother. His hands were calloused, like his sister’s, but what was more interesting than that was the circular bruise on the apex of his elbow. I’d seen bruises identical to these before. I fought the impulse to look over at his sister’s elbows, but I reflexively glanced over, but only briefly. He’d been looking at me, his slightly perplexed look dissolving into a practiced smile.

“Jim Rodgers,” he greeted me. “I…we really want to thank you for taking the time to both call us, and taking the time to meet us,” he gestured with his hand from his sister to himself and back again.

“No, it’s nothing,” I replied. “If this is the biggest inconvenience that I have all week, then it’ll be a good week.”

I looked at Jan, my eyes raking across her chest, to her right elbow, past to the 308, and back to her eyes. She blushed, but did she blush because she thought I was checking her out or because I saw the circular bruising around the elbow, same as her brother?

These people are not who they appear; I played along.

“Nice car.”

“The Magnum P.I.,” he replied, his eyes widening then narrowing. “All flash and sucking gas. It’s Jan’s.”

“I’d give you a ride, but I’d have to stick you in the trunk," Jen quipped. “You wouldn’t fit, but I would. I’m pretty flexible.” There was no blush response.

“Maybe next time…I wouldn’t stick you in the trunk the first time we met. But I’ll take a rain check.”