The Trade by JT Kalnay

and unseen apartment building
in Battery Park City. Jay Calloway was not having many of the
typical move-to-New-York nightmares. Everything he owned fit in his
truck, there was no trailer to be unhitched and hijacked at a
corner by street punks. His apartment was in a secure building with
underground parking so all his stuff wasn't stolen from his truck
while he went up to find the manager to let him in. He didn't get
lost in the Bronx or end up in Harlem or wrecked on Times Square.
He found his company selected, company furnished, and company
stocked apartment with ease.
    Too much ease. Later he would remember that
it had all seemed too perfect, and that he hadn't noticed.

    Outside the apartment building, two weary men
in a dark blue car pulled up beside two other tired men and a
fatigued lady sitting in a dusty grey car.
    "Good work guys,” she said. "He's in. He's
alright. The next squad is in position for the night, take tomorrow
off.”
    "Thanks boss,” the men mumbled, too weary to
be happy.

    "Hi mom,” Jay Calloway said into the
telephone. He had the Reds-Pirates game on ESPN and could hear the
local broadcast from his father's radio over the phone. He turned
down the sound on the tube to listen to Marty and Joe on WLW
through the phone.
    "What's the matter honey?" his mother
asked.
    "Nothing. I just wanted to let you know I got
here okay. No problems.”
    "That's nice honey. We were a little
worried,” she replied.
    Jay knew his mother well enough to know she
had indeed been worried. But Jay doubted the 'we'. He doubted his
father worried at all. The stiff handshake twelve hours earlier and
the stiffer upper lip revealed no sense of loss in the old man.
    "You'll be back,” was all he'd said, and then
he'd clapped him very manly-like and very fatherly-like on the
shoulders.
    Chris Sabo stole second base on the
television and the cheer came through on the radio. "Is there
anything else?" Mrs. Calloway asked.
    "No. I'll check in later in the week,” Jay
replied. "Good-bye,” he said.
    "Good-bye.”
    He heard the line go dead. On the TV Sabo was
thrown out trying to steal third. Jay sat watching the game in
silence until the Pirates pulled 5 runs ahead with one inning to
go. Jay padded off to the small bedroom and fell onto the bed. He
was fully clothed in his road-dirty outfit and high top driving
shoes. He fell asleep almost instantly.

    In a small room down the hall, two men
talked.
    "Did the phone equipment work?"
    "Yes.”
    “ That’s kinda cool how our
TV plays what his TV plays.”
    “ Yeah it is.”
    "Good. He's asleep now. You take the first
shift.”

    On the first morning in his new apartment in
Battery Park City, Jay awoke tired and confused. His feet had
swollen in his shoes and his scruffy face was rough and oily from
the road. It took several long minutes laying in his new bed to
figure out where he was and why he was there. Through foggy eyes it
came back to him. It was Tuesday morning, he was in New York, and
he would start work at MacKenzie Lazarus in six days. He was going
to settle in and explore and get established before starting work.
Finally Jay had his frame of reference established and the
momentary morning panic that he so often felt came under
control.
    Jay rose and showered and dressed and ate.
While eating his cold cereal and watching the morning news on CNN
he made his plans for the day.
    "I'm going to find the doctor, the dentist,
the dry cleaner, the drugstore, and the grocery store on the list
Bill Beck gave me,” Jay said. “And then there just might be some
time for some Centipede or Galaga.” He'd never been one to talk to
himself but he was quickly picking up that peculiar habit of
lonely, single New Yorkers. He made several calls for directions
and pulled on his sweater. He stepped out into the dark shadows
between the tall buildings that were crowded into his neighborhood
on the South West tip of Manhattan. Traders, athletes, television
personalities, and all types of