Gifts

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Just Old Al
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Gifts

Post by Just Old Al »

No, we haven't gone away. Got 2 novels in process, 2 on the back burner, and more RL than i care to deal with.

However, inspiration pops up in the oddest places...so a small anecdote from RE.



A business like Richer Engineering receives and dispatches many parcels in an average day – and today was no exception.

The dispatch truck backed to the dock and Smokey and John were there to meet it. The outgoing shipment was on the shelf and they waited with loading equipment to receive the incoming items.

“Got a good load for you today – got a pallet jack? Two pallets – one a crate and one loaded with packages.” The driver, a bluff, jovial man said. As he did he went to the shelf and began to scan the incoming packages to receive them into the system.

As he did John and Smokey, more than familiar with the routine, began their work. Armed with a hydraulic pallet lift the pulled out their shipment and began to sort it. With that clear the driver loaded the fresh packages, waved, slid down the door and was off to his next pickup.

“So, what did we get, eh? Give’r!” John joked, as he examined the packages.

“Got the transmission for that Classic – here’s hopin’ it fits better’n the last one. That dayum thing was a mess. Rest of it looks like the usual…what’s this? Got a personal for Al from…Boston. Let’s dig that’un out ‘n get it to him.”

With a packing knife Smokey slashed away the shrink wrap on the second pallet and began to sort through the boxes. Sorting them to their various destinations he worked his way down until the item for Al was received.

It was an old box – no doubt of that. On the exterior half-effaced writing was seen on the sides, and a little study proved the lettering to be Cyrillic. The tape holding the bottom closed was old as well and scuffed from the moves the box had taken in its existence.

The tape on the top was different – the old tape had been slit and the package opened, and then the box taped closed again. Also affixed to the top was a shipping label, secured with the same packing tape. The shipping address was Richer Engineering, as expected, with the addition “St-Maj Richer – Personal” but the source address was odd.

It read:

Vladimir
878 Massachusetts Ave, Cambridge, MA 02139

“Oh, HAYULL.” Smokey was not pleased.

“What’s up?” John was confused, both at the odd-looking package and at his colleague’s reaction.

“Ah’ll tell y’all whut’s wrong – lookit the name on this.” Smokey’s accent, like Greg’s, invariably presented during stressful moments – and this was certainly one.

“Vladimir? Isn’t that the gent Al took the Chaika from?”

“Hayull yes. An’ somehow I don’ think this here’s the keys and th’ owner’s manual to go with it.”

Both stared at the package, and then John nudged Smokey and said, “Well, pick it up.”

“Pick it up? Whay in hayll should AH pick it up? YOU pick it up!”

John was unrepentant. “Age before beauty, eh? I’m younger and have more to live for.”

“Hayull, No! YOU do it.”

“Match you.” A quick game of rock, paper scissors ensued and John grumblingly picked up the box, then froze.

“Whut?”

Immobile, John whispered, “It’s TICKING…”

Both men froze. Slowly Smokey reached toward his pocket and slid out his phone. Continuing to move slowly he punched and swiped, then held it to his ear.

“Uh, Wing? Kin y’all come down here t’ the shipping dock ‘n give us a hand? We got us a situation…”


Wing stared at the package, which had been gently deposited on the shipping table by the door.

“Now, you two chuckleheads take it from the top. What, exactly, is the issue here?”

Smokey spoke. “Well, Wing, this here package is from Vladimir…in Boston…and it’s tickin’. Considering Vladimir ‘n Al…got history…we kinda didn’t think disturbin’ it’d be a good idea.”

Wing snorted. “This came in as part of a regular shipment delivery and was shipped by standard means across the country and you guys are afraid to talk around it? THINK.”

The statement was not lost on the elderly mechanics. They both straightened sheepishly and grinned. Smokey, however, was not letting go. “Wing, it may not be shock-sensitive, but it IS tickin’…an’ Al and Vladimir don’t have much of a love affair goin’ on even though they made friends.”
Wing snorted again. “Fine.”

Approaching the box she breathed in deeply, then again.

“Cardboard, tape, metals, machine oil, glass, rubber…nothing particularly hazardous. I’ll take it up to him.”

Both mechanics looked relieved. Wing scooped up the box and walked off.

Smokey looked annoyed at himself. “Panickin’ pair both of us.” he said.

John disagreed. “Panicked we may be, wrong…not so much. Crazy stuff happens around here, and let’s face it…weird stuff collects around Al, eh?”

Smokey thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sure ‘nuff. So, what else we got here?” With that, they returned to work.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Gifts

Post by Just Old Al »

Aaaaand... Part 2.

Up in Al’s office, the package sat on his small conference table. Both Al and Wing eyed it, one curiously and the other suspiciously.

“Have you heard from Vladimir since you wandered into his place?”

“No, not a word other than the occasion reminder that he was going to come and steal the Chaika back. I’d respond in kind, and that was all. This…is unprecedented.”

After a moment Wing nudged Al. “Open it.”

Sighing, Al reached into his desk for the elven knife he kept there and carefully slit the tape on the top of the package. Flipping the flaps open he was greeted by a musty smell and a sheet of typewriter paper, folded in half.

Taking it out and unfolding it, they read:


Allan Armandovich, greetings!

I hope this letter finds you well. I so enjoyed our little visit when you were in Boston, and as I said my door is open for you any time you return – doubly so if you bring that thoroughly dangerous personal assistant of yours, Safyr. Such a beautiful, dangerous woman…but I digress.

As you well know I have decorated my restaurant with memorabilia from my homeland, especially that from its previous government and not the current oligarchy. I still have many friends there, and on occasion I receive shipments of new items for the walls and counters.

In my last shipment I received an item which was unusable as it was for needing attention to operate properly, but was too charming an item to simply languish on a shelf in the storeroom. With that I send it to you, old enemy, to remind you of me and the times we saw.

Regards to you and that delightful assistant of yours – Vladimir.

Below all of that was Vladimir’s signature, strong and powerful as the man himself.

Ari broke the silence. “So, open it.”

Al reached into the box, removing layer after layer of packaging until a small wooden center box was revealed. Removing that he used his knife as a prybar and removed the lid, then a layer of excelsior.

Image

Cradled in more excelsior was a clock, ticking quietly away. Its case was a round metal casting painted in Soviet Navy tan, and its bezel as chrome, held in place with chromed slotted screws.

The face truly betrayed its origins, with the number 12 on the 12-hour clockface replaced with a red star. Below that was a picture of a cruising submarine, then a stylized Cyrillic V. At the very bottom below the Cyrillic-influenced numbers were the small Russian words ‘Made in USSR’.

The whole clock breathed heavy, solid reliability even as it sat there in its crate.

“What is it?” Ari asked, looking at the beautiful timepiece.

“That, meduck, is a Soviet Navy clock from the Vostok factory. Every unit of the Soviet Navy had one of those in its wheelhouse and elsewhere for over 70 years. They’re amazing pieces of work – jeweled mechanisms enclosed in a heavy cast bowl with a waterproof cover.”

Al removed the clock from the box and set it on the table. Taking the key from the box as well he inserted it into the latch on the right side and turned, opening the front. The ticking got considerably louder as the face swung away. Al pointed to the back, to a yielding rubbery surface surrounding the bezel.

“See this? Sealing gasket that rendered the clock to all intents waterproof. Not submersible – or at least not for long – but any random deluge of seawater wouldn’t penetrate and ruin it. Properly maintained and wound once a week these clocks are nearly perpetual – tough and eminently functional.”

“Seems like V. really has forgiven you for stealing his car.” Ari kidded, referring to the Chaika sleeping peacefully in the garage at Alexander.

Removing another piece of paper from the bottom of the box Al read it, chuckled and handed it to Ari. “Oh, somehow I doubt that…”

The paper read:

Please hang the clock where you have my car garaged. It will make it so much easier to repossess them both. –V.


Ari laughed and handed the paper back. “Are you going to?”

Al, endlessly amused, set the paper back in the box. “Oh, no. This is going on my wall here – I do enjoy a key-wound clock. Vladimir…can wait, especially if he thinks he is going to repossess the Chaika any time soon. I will confess, though, I feel far happier having him as a friend – or at least friendly enemy – than I do as we were before. At my age, there is little amusing about having to-the-knife enemies.”

“True enough.” Ari reached out and touched the gleaming metal of the clock bezel.
Last edited by Just Old Al on Wed Oct 23, 2019 3:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Sgt. Howard
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Re: Gifts

Post by Sgt. Howard »

Fine bit of craftsmanship there, Warhorse-
Rule 17 of the Bombay Golf Course- "You shall play the ball where the monkey drops it,"
I speak fluent Limrick-
the Old Sgt.
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Dave
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Re: Gifts

Post by Dave »

Indeed so!

Is the clock actually from the Volga factory? The ones I see in eBay with that stylized Cyrillic "V" are described as being "Vostok". Volga does seem to have made clocks and watched but I don't see any Navy clocks of that sort.
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Just Old Al
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Re: Gifts

Post by Just Old Al »

Dave wrote: Wed Oct 23, 2019 3:03 pm Indeed so!

Is the clock actually from the Volga factory? The ones I see in eBay with that stylized Cyrillic "V" are described as being "Vostok". Volga does seem to have made clocks and watched but I don't see any Navy clocks of that sort.
No, Vostok is absolutely correct. I buggered it up. Editing now... :)

Scribbled that at waytoodamnlate o'clock and messed it up. oops.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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Just Old Al
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Re: Gifts

Post by Just Old Al »

With a firm nudge from Dave in a PM I find I need to tell the story of the story, so to speak.

The Mistress Of The Manor drags me out antiquing on a regular basis. I for one don;t particularly mind as antique shops as they are are rife with fine tools and usable engineering bits for very short money in most cases. On this particular instance I saw the clock, walked away, and we went on to the next shop down the road a bit.

I talked th my lady and told her of it. She asked "Does it work?" I responded, "Yes, does." Her take: Why the hell did I walk away?

So, we went back after it. :) For a very short sum of money it was mine.

Got it home and looked at it - and a sorry looking thing it was. The glass was cloudy, the paint stained and it just looked terrible. I began to regret my purchase till I got out the cleaner and paper towels and gave it a tidy-up.

Well, that helped. Turned out to be pristine under layers and layers of grunge. The glass was perfect, the face and hands perfect and the heavy case cleaned up flawlessly.

Funny thing is - I had the above written before I got home. My imp sat on my shoulder and yelled "Russian clock. RUSSIAN clock. DID I MENTION RUSSIAN?!?!? Who does AL know who's a Russian, eh?"

Sometimes I really hate the little bugger....

Scribbled this down and then decided you all might have a bit of fun with it.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
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