Leda and the Swan

                                    

                                          
                  
                          
When Tully McKiernan got to the front of the line he was covered in a thin layer of sweat. It wasn't particularly hot in the airport, and he was worried that the customs agent would think he was nervous and he'd have to wait while they searched his bags and brought in experts to look at his passport. He had the kind of face that made customs agents think he was hiding something, and the sweat could only make it worse.
                          
"What brings you to Boise?" The man asked, looking over his paperwork.
                          
"Business." He said. "I have a flight back to Paris tomorrow evening."
                          
"Mm-hm." The customs agent read his employment docs. "It says here you work for Pharma DAN, are you carrying any drugs with you now?"
                          
"No," he said, "I don't actually transport the products myself, we use shipping companies for that."
                          
"Prison or military?" The man asked. Tully was confused for a second. "Your shipment, is it for the prison or the base?"
                          
"Prison." Tully said. Apparently it was the right answer because the man scanned his passport and told him to enjoy his stay.
                          
He took the elevated train to the Hyatt Regency and checked into a small room with two full beds and an old fashioned television. He popped a sativa lozenge into his mouth and undressed while it dissolved on his tongue. He was in the shower when it took effect and he laughed, suddenly feeling like a giant in the small shower-stall. He was going to rest for awhile before he called Smitts, but he noticed his small-screen was lit blue when he was drying off. He picked it up. "Where are you Tully? I'll come get you."
                          
"I just got in a second ago, I'm still recovering from the flight."
                          
"You at the Hyatt by the airport? I'm halfway there as we speak. I want to show you some new stuff, but we gotta be out of the warehouse by six."
                          
"Whaddya got?"
                          
"Just wait in the lobby for me, I'm almost there."
                          
Smitts had his Brasileiro electric modified to run faster than the speed limit and Tully was uncomfortable with how fast they were going. The sativa lozenge was still in his system and it seemed to him that the little transport was on the verge of flipping. Smitts laughed at Tully's flinching when they changed lanes. "Are you high or something?" He asked.
                          
"I'm not used to these little-assed cars." Tully said. "In France people still drive full-size."
                          
"Don't worry, I've never had an accident and my small-screen is German. It's the best driver on the market. How do you feel about memorabilia?"
                          
"Like what?"
                          
"We just got a bunch of old rock posters from the nineteen nineties and some from the sixties." Tully shrugged. "We got a claw-foot bathtub from the nineteenth century. It'd be hard to transport, but it's got to be worth a fortune."
                          
"You're making me nervous Smitts, I'm here to buy the Twombly. That's it. I'd be very interested to see what else you have, but I want to get the Twombly safely out of the country first."
                          
"You're the one who told me you had to wait until tomorrow to do the Twombly deal." The car had made it to the parking lot of the warehouse. "In the mean time I want to show you some beautiful things."
                          
"Bathtubs?" Tully asked.
                          
"How do you feel about Warhols?" Smitts got out of the car grinning at Tully. He knew he would want to see Warhols. Smitts led him past the guard desk and down some metal stairs into a dry, cavernous space, filled with giant metal shipping containers that could be loaded onto a boat, train or big-rig truck with equal ease and efficiency. They went into an office at the back of the warehouse and Smitts unlocked a metal cabinet. The Warhols were in a drawer, unframed. It was a collection of six of the flower prints that looked like neon popcorn.