Red Suitcase

The music promoter called in a panic, “Hey, can you do me a favor?… On your way to Newport, can you to pick something up for me..” “Ok,” I said, slowly. He texted me an address and phone number. I googled it. Not a safe area. I called the phone number. A woman answered. She was brief, confirming the address then hanging up. It was a simple door, of many, in the projects, with a dirt front area and some sketchy people shuffling around. She opened the door and handed me a red suitcase. Oh, great, I thought.. I’m COCAINE SUPPLIER for the festival .. It did seem light, though. I jumped in the car and drove up the street to an empty parking lot. Opening the trunk and laying it down, I unzipped the case. Nothing in it. At the festival, I got my lanyards and saw the promoter chatting backstage. “How’d it go?” he asked. “Ok,” I replied, “I have your red suitcase.” He laughed, “No, that’s yours.. You can put cables in it, and stuff..”