THE COURIER

He looked like trash, dirty and smelly in the worst kind of way. The kind of trash with nappy blonde dreadlocks and white skin so dirty, his forearms had taken on a grimy brown tint—and that smell; lord, what an awful smell that billowed from his pores. The young paralegal was convinced that he had gone from his box under the bridge to his courier position with little time in between. Her nose flexed as she instinctively pulled her Hermès purse in front of her waist, pressing the elevator button for a second time as if it would lower the car to the lobby any faster.

“Man, you wouldn’t believe the traffic out there today. It’s like a taxicab derby when you’re weaving through the sea of yellow.” The dirty courier removed his bicycle helmet, casually tossing it under his arm. “You take those cabs in to work on the daily yourself?”

The green legal aid simply grimaced at the man, turning her attention to the small LED screen above the doors that now flashed the words GROUND. The elevator doors parted with a ping, prompting the dirty man to stretch out his arm and welcome the young woman to enter the elevator first. She obliged without acknowledgment, shuffling into the elevator and taking the far-left corner, combing her bangs with her palm as she utilized the reflection cast by the steel paneling.

“So, you from around here? What’s your story? I’d gander a guess that you’re on a legal team. I bet you’re going up to the penthouse suite.” The courier smiled innocently, oblivious to the level of discomfort of the young woman.

“I’d very much appreciate it if you didn’t ask me anything.”

“Oh, my apologies, fair lady, where are my manners? The names Koi, Koi Armand.” He executed a childlike bow for the lady, adjusting his dreadlocks as he stood upright. “And you are?”

“Very uncomfortable, I asked you already, could you –”

The elevator jerked abruptly, screeching from the canopy as the duo braced for impact, grabbing the long handles mounted to the walls. In a matter of seconds, the elevator came to a violent halt, and the two stood in silence, gathering their bearings before they could speak.

“Vishna. I thought today was it for me for a second.” The man smiled towards the heavens, shaking his palms in thanks, rejoicing in his predicament. “Are you okay, fair lady?”

“No, I’m not okay, okay?” She feverishly patted her bangs flat with both hands and then moved on to adjusting her business skirt and jacket. “What in the actual hell? This cannot be happening right now.”

“Aw, fair lady, but it is.” He smiled, turning to the lady, arms still wide with his palms towards the heavens. “Tis but a hiccup in this journey we call life.”

“Can you please stop with the Old English crap? The fake accent is creepy, and I don’t need it at the moment, thank you.” She feverishly pressed her thumb to the help button, throwing an annoyed look at the courier, who crossed his hands at his waist, smiling like a toddler, his head bouncing to a tune he hummed underneath his breath.

“Ya know, those help buttons don’t work half the time. Nope, they’re not a priority of the Otis Elevator Company, so long as the trouble signal reaches the security team in the basement.”

“How would you know any of that to be true?” She stopped pressing the button, her thumb instead holding it down as she addressed the man, attorney-like in her cross-examination.

“Well, I’ve been riding these steel babies for a long time now. It’s all about the funds: Money, money. Yup, they’ll cut corners anywhere they can, so long as they don't incur a lawsuit.”

“And what would you know about the legalities that go into such a situation? You’re a bike messenger.”

“Courier, my fair lady. And I know a thing or two about the legal system. I was an attorney myself in a former chapter; that is to say, when I was still young in my journey.” He smiled at the lady, squatting down to the ground as he drew his legs into a lotus position, his dirty toes resting on his inner- thighs through the open sandals.

“Doing what, chasing buses?” She resigned herself to leaning on the wall, tapping the crown of her head on the paneling as she reluctantly entertained the man.

“Nope. Ran my own firm I did. My brother and I, Donny Fresco.”

She looked at the man inquisitively. “Donovan William Fresco? You expect me to believe that you helped start the most powerful firm in Chicago?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything. I’m merely having a conversation with a fellow human.” He continued his pose, his eyes closed as he smiled while speaking, breathing in slowly, and continuing his meditation. “I wouldn’t get bent out of shape; my kid brother is as understanding as anyone.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Donny. You have an eight-thirty with him, I’d imagine.”

She looked at the man curiously, her head tilted as she addressed him. “Who are you? Are you following me? How do you know where I’m going?”

“Thirty-third floor, penthouse suite. You hit the button a good thirty-three times when the elevator stopped. Add in the time of day, a suit, and that flashy purse. You get the picture.”

A ping from the bell sounded, and the elevator door slid open as the young woman stood awe-struck, staring at the man as he remained in his pose, a smile still fixed on his face.

“Best of luck in your interview.” He shouted as she stepped from the elevator, looking back at the man whilst walking into the lobby, passing the large sign that read: Armand and Fresco Criminal Defense Team.