The weasel put the SUV in park and scanned the desert landscape for any sign of his contact. He was in high spirits and anxious to deliver the good news. While he waited, he took the butterfly knife out of his pocket. He had recently learned a new trick, known as the cascade, and began to practice it while he waited. The trick involved snapping the closed knife into the air with a flick of the wrist and allowing gravity to separate the two handles, so that it opened in mid-air. He then had to catch the knife by the handle as it descended. He had not yet mastered the technique, and, as a result, now had bandages on the thumb and index finger of his right hand, which further hindered his progress.
Alone in the car, he took a deep breath, flipped the closed knife into the air in front of him, and watched as the handles separated, exposing the blade within. As he prepared to catch the now-open knife, a loud horn blared immediately behind his vehicle. He jumped, startled, and a girlish screech escaped his lips as the blade impaled the sliver of leather seat between his legs, missing his manhood by mere inches.
The greasy, little man appeared at his window, nearly bent over with laughter. He gazed in at the knife now protruding from the car’s upholstery. “Que onda, güey,” he said, still laughing. “You know, if you’re trying to kill yourself, there are easier ways to go about it.”
The weasel pulled the knife loose and examined the small gash that it left behind in the leather.
The greasy man smacked the car door to draw his attention back to the matter at hand. “What have you got for me?” he asked, glancing around.
“I’ve done it,” the weasel said with all the bravado he could muster, given the inauspicious start to their meeting.
The little man raised his eyebrows. “Really? About fucking time, what took you so long?”
“Do you have any idea what I had to go through to…?
But his companion waved him off. “Never mind, I get it,” he said, in a tone that suggested he had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue the matter further.
“They’re ready to come out of hiding. They’re on the move. We just need to establish a rendezvous point for the delivery.”
The greasy, little man nodded. “Good, when?”
“Should be this weekend, Saturday maybe.”
He nodded again and began to turn back to his own vehicle.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” the weasel asked, grabbing the man’s wrist and holding him in place.
The man glared first at his own wrist and then into the eyes of the man holding it. The weasel released him at once.
“When do I get what was promised?” he demanded.
“When you deliver, of course,” the greasy, little man snapped.
The weasel looked for a moment as though he might argue the point, but then thought better of it and nodded stiffly.
“We’ll be in touch,” he said, then turned on his heel and walked back to his own car.