Chapter 30: Sex Toys
Time passed, and evening arrived.
David made his way toward the loading center, the walk taking him down through the narrowing streets that marked the transition zone between residential blocks and the lower city’s commercial edge.
The loading center itself was a squat, wide building, its corrugated metal siding streaked with rust in long vertical lines from years of rain runoff, and the entrance was marked by a single flickering overhead light that buzzed faintly every few seconds like it was on the verge of giving out entirely.
This was where deliveries usually came in — shipments filtering down from the upper side, some of it discarded junk not worth the trouble of properly disposing of up there, but occasionally something valuable slipped through, routed down through whatever connections the sender had.
He pushed through the door into a room lit with the same tired fluorescent hum as everywhere else in the lower city, a single counter running along the back wall, half a dozen people scattered in a loose line ahead of him.
He waited his turn, shifting his weight, glancing over the corkboard notices pinned near the entrance — faded flyers, handwritten numbers, nothing that held his attention for long.
When he finally reached the counter, a young girl stood behind it — small frame, glasses perched low on her nose, the kind of posture that suggested she’d been on her feet for most of her shift already, whilst a piece of gum working slowly between her teeth.
"Good evening," he said, sliding the receiving number across the counter. "I’m here to pick up a package."
She took the slip, glanced at it, and disappeared through a door behind the counter without another word.
Moments later, she returned carrying a small brown box.
As she read through the details on the label, she paused.
David noticed it.
Her gaze lifted to him, lingering a beat too long — sharp, almost unsettling, like she knew something he didn’t and was deciding whether it was worth saying out loud.
"What?" he asked.
She blinked, and whatever had been sitting behind her expression cleared instantly. Her gum popped once, a small, deliberate sound, and she let out a short chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Nothing," she said, sliding the box toward him across the counter. "Just — you didn’t give the vibe."
"... Hmm, and what "vibe" is that?"
"It’s nothing...seriously." Another chuckle, quieter this time, and she was already looking past him toward the next person in line.
"Here’s your package. Have a good night."
David did pause for a moment, already in slight suspense before he took it and turned to leave, pushing back out through the door into the cooling evening air, her words sitting a little strangely at the back of his mind even as the door swung shut behind him.
As he walked, he pulled out his phone, thumb swiping to bring up the address Mrs. Walbury had given him, the cracked screen catching the last of the evening light at an angle that made part of the text hard to read.
’So...Mrs. Walbury works at the gym... and then has a four-hour shift at a bar... so I just need to deliver this to her... and hope that I get a chance to build towards completing my mission...arh! My timer’s almost up.’
He grunted before he glanced down at the box tucked under his arm, adjusting his grip as he turned down a side street he recognized from the walk over.
’What the hell was wrong with that girl back there? And why is this thing so light?’
It bothered him more the longer he carried it — the box weighed almost nothing, like there was barely anything inside at all, and that alone didn’t sit right against how insistent Mrs. Walbury had been about the condition she’d attached to it.
Then he noticed it.
A small sticker pressed into the corner of the box, half-curled at the edge like it had been applied in a hurry, catching the orange wash of a streetlamp as he passed beneath it.
An "M," stylized in a way that left very little room for innocent interpretation — the shape of it deliberately suggestive, curved like a woman’s open legs.
He stopped walking.
His eyes narrowed.
’Wait... I know that symbol.’
’That’s the same one from those packages that I got Eva from... This is a sex toy...’
He exhaled slowly, the box suddenly feeling a lot heavier in his hands than its actual weight.
And then it all started to click into place — the girl’s look, the pause, the not-quite-comment about him not giving off the vibes she must have been expecting from whoever usually placed orders like this one.
’Okay. To be honest it is good to know that she didn’t take me to be a guy that spends his time with toys.’
He comforted himself as he stared at the symbol, immediately understanding why she’d asked him not to open the box.
However, the fact that the packaging company still placed the stamp of the porno despite the entire "privacy" packaging was truly diabolical.
A small, almost involuntary huff of a laugh escaped him — somewhere between disbelief and something he didn’t have a clean name for yet.
Mrs. Walbury. Composed, no-nonsense, always the picture of professional restraint at the gym — apparently had a whole other side to her life that had nothing to do with training regimens or protein intake. Instead, it seemed she liked to take in other things.
’Didn’t see that one coming , for reals.’
He came to a stop, glancing up to find he’d arrived —
THE CROOKS DEN
The bar’s sign glowing dull red against the darkening street, a couple of figures loitering near the entrance with drinks already in hand.
A thought surfaced, unbidden, curling at the edge of his amusement. ’Might actually be able to use this.’
He didn’t let the smile fully form, tucking it down before it could show, and stepped through the door with an easy, unhurried stride.
