On all fours, Antwan crawled partway under the shed. The sound of the mud slurping at Antwan’s knees made Ice-Kool want to giggle. Since he was in costume, he figured it wouldn’t make the best impression if he did, so he stayed silent, breathing out heavily through his nostrils. His cold breath crystalized the humid Florida air.
“I hid it under here,” came Antwan’s muffled voice from beneath the rickety structure, “’cause I figured no one but animals would want to crawl under here anyway.”
“Mmm. Good thinking.”
Ice-Kool looked around at the farm, old outbuildings crumbling from time and humidity. He could see how the orchard used to be a lot bigger, but that other trees and scrub had encroached over the years, and now only a small grove of oranges looked regularly kept.
When he brought his attention back to Antwan, the muscle-bound farmer was standing up from the mud, not bothering to do anything about the muck dripping off his overalls. Ice-Kool figured he must be used to that. Getting dirty was part of the job.
“So what have you got there?” Ice-Kool nodded at burlapped bundle.
“Well, see, I’m not really sure. Some kinda… well, see for yourself.”
When the rough sacking fell away, Ice-Kool had no idea what he was looking at — and no idea what to say.