Still, he wouldn't put it past the CCZ thugs to try it.
Because of his hyper-alert senses Lewis tensed when Carrie stopped dead, slowing as well and checking for imminent danger before looking at her expression. But it wasn't wariness or fear from a potential attack he saw, but a sort of raw hunger for a food she craved as she stared at a vendor near the edge of this clump.
“Oh man,” the young woman said, eye wide. “They have avocados.”
Fat was Lewis's first thought. His second thought was more his mouth watering in an automatic response, as he imagined a turkey avocado sandwich so vividly he could practically taste it. He followed his companion's eyes to a basket of bright green, unripe avocados sitting beneath a shade canopy. Avocados of that color weren't actually all that appetizing until they'd had time to ripen, but he still had a strong urge to run over and peel one like an orange then bite into it.
“We've got to get some,” Carrie insisted.
Lewis couldn't agree more, but unfortunately he also couldn't agree. “We have no good way to refrigerate them, so depending on how long this trip lasts they'd probably be brown mush before we got home. The military still needs to make all its negotiations with Mexico for future trade deals and convoys, and we have no idea how long that could take. Besides, they'll probably cost a ton.”
“Then at least buy a few for us to eat,” the young woman nearly begged. “You have no idea how much I want, no, I need, to taste a fresh, ripe avocado in a proper salad, or guacamole on enchiladas.”
Gutierrez drifted back over from inspecting a display of tools and also looked at Lewis expectantly. After a brief hesitation Lewis sighed. “We can at least ask their price.”
The former soldier nodded and ambled over. “Quanto cuesta?” he asked the vendor, pointing at the basket.
The man rattled off a lengthy reply, likely items he was willing to trade for. Lewis only understood a little Spanish and didn't get most of that, but he noticed he didn't hear pesos mentioned. It looked as if his suspicions had been correct, and in spite of Rodriguez's assurance that the Mexican currency would work for universal bartering even the man's own people seemed to prefer direct trades over it.
Gutierrez abruptly cut into the spiel, sounding incredulous. “Por la cesta todo?” he demanded.
“Por uno,” the vendor replied calmly.
Lewis had spent enough time around his friend he definitely knew most of the swear words, which the former soldier spat out a few of before plunging into his own staccato burst of conversation. The man remained calm as he replied, and Gutierrez turned.
“The guy wants as much for each as you'd pay for twenty pounds of wheat, and he's not just pricing high so he can be bartered down to a more reasonable exchange.”
“Screw that,” Carrie said. “Hope he likes eating his own avocados.”
Lewis had a feeling that even at that price someone would buy. Judging by the fact that the basket wasn't completely full, it looked as if some might've already. But that someone wouldn't be him. “Well thank the man for his outrageous highway robbery and let's get back to shopping,” he told Gutierrez.
“Really say that?” his friend asked, amused. But judging by the fact that he didn't wait for a response, turning back to the vendor to speak briefly and politely, Lewis figured he was still being diplomatic.
“Who knows,” he told his friends as they walked away. “We might get lucky and they'll offer us guacamole at our welcome dinner tonight.”
“I bet you'll get some at the formal dinner, at least,” Gutierrez told Carrie. “A perk of rubbing elbows with the bigwigs.”
She made a face. “Yeah, nice to have at least some perk I guess.”
With a final nod at the vendor Lewis left the small cluster by the entrance and started across the expanse of mostly empty space towards where the Mexican government had their stands and tents. It would probably be good to talk to an appraiser about their goods first thing to establish a baseline, then go from there. And he also needed to see how much the food on offer was going to cost.
Whatever else they managed to buy, they had to fill up their truck and trailer with staples for the return trip. And medicine was an equally high priority, something Lewis didn't have to be told twice after his own bitter experience losing his father to a treatable illness. It was vital he manage to acquire those necessities with the trade goods they'd brought.
He just hoped their hosts were more reasonable about their prices than the avocado vendor had been.
* * * * *
As Raul followed after his friends he heard the vendor, who'd introduced himself as Paolo Sanchez, calling him back quietly.
He reluctantly returned, wondering if he was going to get another spiel. “What is it?” he asked, trying to keep his tone polite. If nothing else it was nice to finally be around people who spoke the language he'd grown up hearing in his home. It was a surprisingly good feeling.
Sanchez touched beneath his eye. “The girl with you. She was hurt by CCZ soldiers?”
After the insults the young woman had suffered from the guards at the entrance Raul was instantly defensive. “She was,” he agreed, more forcefully than necessary. “She fought against them on the front lines and was hit by an explosion.”
“I thought she had a noble story to tell.” The vendor looked a bit sheepish. “You know, there's a certain type of person that'll go on and on about all the ugliness in the world, and how it's all caused by people. I'm sure you've met someone like that.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Raul said hesitantly. Where was this going?
Sanchez shrugged. “Well, they don't seem interested in all the good things in the world that are also brought about by people. Seems like a depressing way to live your life.”
“Yeah,” Raul said again. “Even these days it's not all ugly.”
“Right.” The vendor rooted around in his basket and came out with an almost overripe avocado. He held it out. “Your friend really seemed to have her heart set on this.” He shrugged again. “It's a small, simple thing, to make someone happy.”
Raul accepted the gift, hit by that awkward feeling when someone's done something really nice for you and you don't have a way to pay them back, or even really express how much it means to you. Especially after all the uncharitable thoughts he'd had about the man and his prices. “Wow, thanks.”
“Don't mention it,” Sanchez said. He paused a moment, then grinned. “Seriously, don't. An act of kindness is one thing, but I don't want a bunch of people coming around expecting the same.”
Thankfully the vendor turned away to call to a passing group of US soldiers, easing the awkward farewell. Raul hurried to catch up to his friends, offering the ripe avocado to Carrie. “Here,” he said casually. “Turns out that vendor's a really nice guy.”
The next thing he knew he was getting hit square in the chest by 110lbs of overjoyed young woman. Carrie threw her arms around his neck and clung to him tightly, repeating “Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” in a breathless rush.
Raul stood stunned against the affectionate onslaught. It had been months since he'd had any sort of human contact beyond the occasional handshake or greeting hug from a friend. This felt nice. Very very nice. In fact, maybe a bit . . . too nice. It hadn't escaped his attention that the tight clothes Carrie wore revealed a stunning figure, and he now had confirmation that she felt as good as she looked.
He backed away, flushing in embarrassment. “You should be thanking him,” he protested.
The young woman let him go and stepped back, flushed as well. “Yeah I will, but I'd rather hug you.” Her flush deepened, as if she realized that could be taken more seriously than she'd probably meant it. She hastily snatched the fruit from his hand and reached for her belt, as if going for the knife she usually kept there. Then she remembered it was gone.
“Right, no weapons,” she muttered. She turned a pleading chocolate brown eye towards him and Lewis. “Can we go back to the truck now and eat this?”
<
br /> Raul couldn't help but notice that Lewis was stifling a grin. “I'm not that hungry for avocado,” he said. “Besides, I've got deals to make. Why don't you two head back while I take care of personal and family business?”
That was 100% true, but Raul wondered if his friend was also delighting in playing matchmaker. He thought he'd be annoyed, but surprisingly he wasn't.
“Okay see you later!” Carrie blurted, grabbing Raul's hand and tugging him back towards their camp. “Come on!”
He gamely followed, and noticed that even after he'd caught up and they were walking side by side that warm, soft hand stayed comfortably holding his. A quick glance at Carrie's face showed she seemed just fine with that. In fact, she was blushing slightly and biting her lower lip.
Whoa. This had suddenly jumped a lot farther than tossing banter back and forth. In fact, back before the Gulf burned this would be about the time when Raul started looking for openings to sneak a first kiss.
Was this what he wanted? That is, of course it was what a very loud and insistent part of him wanted. But the part that'd driven him away from Mary and that he'd nurtured all through the winter still shied away.
That didn't stop him from continuing to hold her hand.
* * * * *
The grain, beans, and other staples Mexico was offering in bulk were all dirt cheap.
Like shockingly inexpensive, as in Lewis had to ask the government merchants to repeat themselves to confirm he wasn't hearing things. As in it seemed unbelievable they were even breaking even at those prices, let alone making a profit.
Was this a form of charity, or a lure to cement loyal customers? If so he wasn't in any way, shape, or form complaining. It meant they'd be able to load the truck and trailer down with food the town desperately needed, and still have enough left over to almost cover a future trip.
Of course on the flip side medicine was obscenely costly, especially all the proper pharmaceuticals that were years old and in dubious condition. Mexico had a few pharmaceutical companies that had made it through the chaos intact, and with some effort were now back in production. But not much of what they supplied was available and the prices were even more outrageous.
At least with some work Lewis was able to find a few things like rubbing alcohol and non-prescription painkillers that the town might just be able to afford. He'd have to come back for them once he'd sold the trade goods they'd brought, when he knew what kind of capital he was working with.
On the sales side of things he also found good and bad news. Unfortunately the appraisers weren't nearly as generous with the valuables, especially precious metal coins, as he'd expected. The sale of Trev and Deb's ring would still be of great benefit to their family, but not as much as they'd likely hoped.
Although the appraisers made up for that with the prices they quoted for the firearms the town and a few individuals like Trev and Gutierrez had sent along, as well as the engine parts Lewis had scavenged and cleaned up. Those would fetch a seriously good price.
“What about ammunition?” he asked.
“Quantity, caliber, and make?” the appraiser replied. He'd sounded bored through most of the interview, but at this he perked up slightly.
“Make?” Lewis repeated. It was a stupid question, since of course he knew what the man meant, but he couldn't help himself.
The appraiser gave him a blank look. “The company that made the bullets, amigo.”
“Ah, right. That would be me.” Lewis pulled out the plastic baggies he'd brought with him. “I'm offering 2,000 rounds of reloaded ammunition, mostly in 9mm parabellum, 7.62x39mm, and 5.56x45mm,” he said, pointing to the appropriate bag of cartridges as he named them. He once again wished he had proper boxes and plastic holders for them, simply for presentation's sake.
The appraiser curled his lip in contempt. “Reloaded bullets are garbage.”
Lewis kept his expression neutral. Whether the man actually believed that or this was a negotiating tactic, he wasn't about to rise to the bait. “These aren't.”
“Well yes, you would say that.” The appraiser took one of the bags from him and sifted the bullets through the plastic, inspecting several individually with surprisingly intense scrutiny. “Well you didn't go overboard on the crimping,” he admitted grudgingly. “Did you cast your own bullets? What is the age and quality of the primers and smokeless powder used?”
In spite of the man's abrasive demeanor he seemed to know what he was talking about. Lewis was happy to quickly explain his reloading process; that would be the best way to guarantee the quality of his work.
Of course the appraiser wanted a demonstration, several rounds picked out at random to test fire. Lewis tried to insist that it should be at buyer's expense, but the man wouldn't budge on that point. If the reloaded cartridges had a high rate of misfire that could be more than an inconvenience, it could mean death, and it was up to Lewis to prove that they could be relied on. He wasn't a large and proven brand with high standards of quality, so his word alone meant nothing.
There was no helping it. Lewis glumly allowed himself to be led to a firing range outside of camp that was set up for that purpose, where he watched a dozen of his rounds get shot as he remembered the work that had gone into them. Not to mention the hassle of acquiring the materials.
At least there were no misfires, so he didn't have to argue that the malfunction could've been due to the gun and not the bullet. He'd had that argument prepared just in case, not only as a bargaining tool but as a sincere defense of his work, but thankfully it wasn't an issue.
Satisfied with the quality, the appraiser gave him some hastily drawn up paperwork to that effect that he could show to potential buyers. Then the man outright offered to simply buy up all the remaining 1,988 rounds, showing just how high the demand for ammunition was. The price he offered was flat out insulting, and he was aggressive about denigrating reloaded cartridges to keep the offer low.
Lewis was just as aggressive about being willing to walk away. Haggling was an art little seen in the US before the Gulf burned, but in the world of barter since then he'd picked up a few of the finer points. The most important being that gauging the other party's desperation to sell or buy was critical.
The appraiser wasn't all that desperate, since his motivation was profit and in the grand scheme of things a couple thousand rounds wasn't that much ammunition. Lewis wasn't able to talk him up much, but rather than outright refusing the offer he got an agreement to bench it while he looked for a better one.
That would also let him search out a supplier for smokeless powder, primers, and bullets or materials for making them, so he could see what his profit margin needed to be. Not the easiest thing to determine when everything was done by barter, even with pesos as the standard currency. But that was all part of the joy of seeing what a winter of hard work from him, Trev, Jane, and occasionally Mary and Jim, had earned them.
He desperately hoped the return on their efforts would be worth it. His future as a reloader, and hopefully eventually a maker of quality ammunition, depended on it.
Unfortunately the appraiser apologized that the Mexican government didn't have reloading supplies available for sale. But he did offer the names and locations of a few vendors who might, and agreed to ask around with the promise of a modest middleman's fee. Lewis gladly accepted the offer, since it would save him a ton of hassle.
With the good news about food prices and the value of the goods they'd brought, Lewis decided his next stop would be the livestock pens.
Another of the town's major priorities was acquiring more animals. There was some hope they could grow their sheep and goat herds, as well as their population of chicken and rabbits, with what they already had, so Lewis had specifically been instructed to look for cows and draft animals, oxen or horses. Those would be expensive, he was sure, but even a few could mean all the difference.
Aside from the availability of the livestock trailer, that was one of the reasons they'd jumped on the chanc
e to bring it instead of some other kind. It would do for hauling the food and any other trade goods they found, but if they got lucky it could also bring home a better future for the town.
In time.
Although the prospects weren't terrific. The livestock pens were sparsely populated by a few dozen animals, and there were a lot of people milling around. Still, it couldn't hurt to at least look and he might get lucky.
He noticed the turkey farmers, Frank and Nick Preston, setting up at the edge of the pens. They'd apparently got permission to drive their trailer right in, under the direction of a couple soldiers, and their arrival was drawing a lot of attention.
On his way over to say hi Lewis was intercepted by Carrie and Gutierrez, back from their snack. He noticed both looked a lot more cheerful than when he'd seen them last, and from the way they'd been holding hands last he'd seen them he had a feeling it wasn't just from enjoying fresh avocado. Good for them.
“What've you been up to?” Gutierrez asked as they fell into step beside him.
“Talking to the appraisers. The good news is food is dirt cheap, so we have a bit of leeway in purchasing other necessities. Maybe even a few luxuries. And firearms and ammo are both going for really good rates.”
“That's what I like to hear,” Gutierrez said, rubbing his hands together. It looked as if his and Trev's decision to send along firearms, as well as other defenders and volunteers who'd done the same, had turned out to be a good one.
That did beg the question of what Gutierrez planned to trade for. As far as Lewis knew his friend was providing for himself just fine and had all the necessities. Maybe he'd be one of the few people in town who took advantage of the opportunity to pick up some luxuries. Lewis had to admit the thought made him a bit jealous; hopefully when his reloading business picked up he'd be in a position to do the same for his loved ones.
Nuclear Winter | Book 2 | First Spring Page 26
