Dranko looked like he hadn’t considered the possibility, “Good point. But, why don’t you stay with these kids and Buck. Cooper and me will take care of business. You can keep an eye on everything.” He wrenched the door open and stepped out, not waiting for an answer.
She glared back at Cooper, who flashed her a ‘go figure’ look and joined his friend outside. They had to physically push the kids back, worried that the buffeting could be a ruse to hide a pickpocketing attempt.
“We might have something for you when we come out. No food now,” Cooper said. The kids drifted away, as Cooper and Dranko marched toward the entrance.
“Whatcha here for,” one of the guards asked them when they walked up to the door.
“Trade. Mostly salt, but we’ll see what else there is,” Dranko responded.
“What do you have to trade with?” The other man asked, seeing no visible goods. I’m getting slow, I hadn’t even bothered to ask Dranko that!
“Precious metals,” he responded. Cooper concealed his surprise. I figured back at the Stott’s that you had some, but not on you!
“What?” Another guard exclaimed.
“Silver and gold,” Dranko said as evenly as if he was saying “Visa,” when asked about his method of payment in the days before the Plague.
“We don’t get that very much around here. Usually, that’s only used with the Man when someone is making a big deal.”
“Good to know, I’m guessing I’ll get some good deals then,” Dranko said.
“You just might. Barter deals are much harder to figure out. Anyone will take silver or gold these days. Much easier to work with,” the first guard stated.
The guards proceeded to explain the rules of the establishment: no violence, no stealing, no touching merchandise, tax collector must be present at the time of sale, tax collector will tell you the amount of tax, it varies with each transaction, get a written receipt from the collector, incline your head in the presence of the Sheriff, firearms must be left here, and so on. When they had turned over their firearms and secured Cooper’s and Dranko’s understanding and agreement to the rules, they opened the door and waved them in.
“We’re not planning to bother the Sheriff,” Dranko commented when they mentioned the rule about him.
The second guard laughed, “Oh. You got precious metal? The Sheriff will come bother with you. Be sure of that!” The way he said ‘bother’ made Cooper’s stomach tighten. His jaw clamped shut and his lips drew into a scowl when the guard’s cohort guffawed.
They stepped into the former grocery store turned trading post and were greeted by dozens of pairs of eyes, sizing them up. The store was dimly lit, about every third panel of lights had been turned off. The back half of the store had been left completely dark. Rows of shelving had been removed and replaced with tables. An indoor flea market. The room had been subdivided into groups: foodstuffs up front, tools to the right, clothing on the left, and so on. Several armed men drifted through the room looking bored. Inattentive too, Cooper thought.
“Their boredom means this place must be calm,” he whispered to Dranko, who grunted to show he’d heard him.
The store buzzed with the chatter of a few dozen customers doing business with the dozen or so vendors. Within a few seconds of watching, a man bellowed, “That’s absurd,” and stormed off. Off to his right, Cooper saw a woman gesticulating wildly as she tried to convince a merchant to agree to her price. From the looks of it, it wasn’t working so well. Others talked too loudly. A man wailed and burst into tears. Another screamed, red-faced, at a seller. Several were conducting transactions as goods exchanged hands.
“This is chaos,” Dranko muttered.
Cooper laughed, “Nope. It’s education,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder.
Dranko looked at him as if he had just said something crazy, “What?”
“They’re figuring out how to bargain.”
“People know how to do that. Who hasn’t been to a flea market or a garage sale?”
He looked at Dranko, disappointed, “C’mon! You know better than that. Trying to figure out a deal on a used couch or a worn out toy is not the same as trying to get something you need to survive.”
Pausing, he cocked his head to the side, “Yeah. I got you. Stakes are higher. Stress is higher.”
“And, don’t forget that there’s not a commonly accepted currency anymore.”
That made Dranko laugh, “True. How do you know how much your eggs are worth relative to sewing thread?”
“Exactly. It’s a brave new world.”
“I guess we need to go and figure out how much salt we can get for your gold?”
Dranko looked taken aback for a moment, “How’d you know?”
“Magic. The magic of knowing your sorry ass for far too long,” Cooper said with a mischievous grin before walking off to the first vendor to find out if they had salt.
Twenty minutes later, they had identified two sellers of salt and were finalizing the price with the better of the two. The vendor was a woman in her sixties; white hair with a fading blue tint job. Cooper wished they had Lily with them. He guessed she could have charmed this woman in a New York minute with her Kentucky accent and witticisms.
She tossed her head back, laughing, “Fifty pounds? You wanna clean me out?”
Cooper laughed himself, jostling Dranko with his shoulder, “Look at her! You ever heard of a merchant complaining about selling too much of her product?”
Dranko refused the levity, “Nope.” His face was serious, his shoulders tense. I need to teach him how to bargain! From a young age, Cooper’s father had taught him the basics of successful negotiations. “Rule number one, put the other guy at ease.” Cooper had heard his father say that a thousand times.
The woman, Marjorie, laughed with Cooper, despite Dranko, “I ain’t complaining. I just want to make sure that your trade goods give me something good to keep my trade going on.”
“What’s your price for fifty pounds of salt. In silver?” Dranko asked flatly. Cooper tried to hide his grimace.
“I bet you don’t do foreplay either,” Marjorie said, smirking. Cooper noted her deft attempt to hide her surprise when the word ‘silver’ escaped Dranko’s lips.
“I just don’t have time to waste,” Dranko replied, edginess creeping into his voice.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend’s brusque nature, but we are in a bit of a hurry today,” Cooper added.
“Let’s see. Fifty pounds. Silver. Five ounces,” she said, her voice turning sharp.
Cooper burst out laughing, “Five? You’d be doing well to get an ounce.”
A sly smile crept onto Marjorie’s face as she recognized the bargaining process had begun. “An ounce? You must be new in town, eh? I have two twenty-five pound bags. You want fifty pounds all at once? You obviously need it and I’m a kind hearted woman so I can let it go for four ounces.”
“Let’s go see if the other guy is more reasonable,” Dranko said, beginning to move away. Cooper grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Hold on, Dranko. I’m sure Marjorie will come round. Right?”
Marjorie folded her arms and looked nonplussed, “I’m always reasonable, but I won’t give it away. I made that mistake in my early twenties and ended up with three kids and not a one of their daddies done me right.” She laughed at her own joke. Dranko stopped, but only turned halfway back toward facing her.
The back and forth continued for another few minutes as they dickered. Finally, they agreed to pay three ounces of silver, including the taxes, for the salt. Dranko fished the silver out from a pocket inside his jacket, handed it to her, and Marjorie began writing out their receipt.