Targaryen Musings

Tanzanian Pebodies TM Prompt #5 Story

Tanzanian Peabodies

Prompt ▼

Story for The North Remembers, Travel Marvel #5 "Coffee is illegal and you have to single handly smuggle it into the country."

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The North Remembers  (13+) Part of GoT #2126573 by Creeper Of The Realm

Word Count: 986


The best coffee beans in the world are Tanzanian Peabody. No joke. Grown in the shade at Mt. Kilimanjaro. Of course, this fool wanted those beans. Who was I to tell him no? I love a good adventure.

All I know about coffee is that they’re made from beans. Ah, but Peabody beans – they’re special. They’re round. See normal beans have a flat side. Peabodies don’t. It’s supposed to make the bean lighter and aromatic. I couldn’t care less. I got paid good money to smuggle these beans into the tiny little country of Grosenwitz. See Grosenwitz, is snuggled up against Switzerland and France and this stupid country, believe it or not, has outlawed coffee.

So of course, coffee has to be smuggled in.

My journey started two weeks ago. The dictator’s nephew, Finn, paid me handsomely to bring him back some of these peabodies from Mt. Kilimanjaro. Mind you, this is the dictator’s nephew. How is he supposed to hide these coffee beans from his uncle?

The first part of the journey was pretty easy. I went down to Mt. Kilimanjaro, negotiated a good price and got twenty pounds of coffee beans. I figured I could disguise that easily. I paid for my beans and dressed them like medical supplies.

In a nutshell, I took the train up from Tanzania through Nigeria to Egypt. Then I hoped a barge and got a ride through the Suez canal. I got on a boat that took me to Marseille. And traveling through France wasn’t that hard. I rented a Peugeot 380 and took off for the Alps.

The small little town of Groisy, France was the next town over to the border crossing and I was getting tired. I rented a room and stayed overnight taking my big fat luggage bag up to my room to safeguard my coffee.

At eight a.m., I dragged myself out of bed and ordered room service. I wasn’t about to leave the peabodies by themselves now. In less than five minutes there was a knock on my door.

I opened it.

“Room service.” The lady had long black hair, dazzling blue eyes and wore a dark blue shirt with a matching skirt. She held a metal tray with a cup of coffee, creamer, a pastry or two and a bowl of granola.

I gestured for her to come in. “Put the tray on the table.”

She did as I asked and began sniffing the air. I stopped digging around my wallet for a tip and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

“You have peabodies in this room,” she announced.

“Come again?”

She sniffed again, turned around and pointed to my luggage next to the bed. “In there.”

“How do you know I have peabodies?”

“Peabodies are very distinctive. I know my coffee. You must have a couple of pounds of them.”

“Well, I do.”

She waved her finger. “Tisk. Tisk. You’re not going to smuggle them into Grosenwitz like that are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The guards can smell those peabodies up close and personal.”

I frowned and crossed my arms. “Well, I got an order from…”

“Let me guess - the Dictator’s nephew?”

“Yeah, how do you know?”

“He’s always trying to smuggle coffee into the country. Thinks his uncle is crazy. Well, he is - he’s a dictator.” She paused, “Anyway, the crossing guards at Seville are gonna’ catch those peabodies. The smell is going to give them away.”

I walked over to my luggage and pulled out the cans marked medical supplies. She just shook her head. “What kind of smuggler are you? You can’t fool those guards. Believe me.” She put her hands on her hips.

I pursed my lips. “So now what?”

“You have to disguise the smell.”

“With what?”

“Perfume?” She suggested. “And honestly, I wouldn’t use this border crossing. I’d go to Miztypoo.”

“Miztypoo is two hundred kilometers from here!”

“I know, but no one tries to smuggle coffee beans through Miztypoo,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because no one goes out of their way to travel 200 kilometers to the next border crossing.” She smiled. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Bonnie.”

“Bonnie, why don’t you take the rest of the day off and go to Miztypoo with me?”

She arched an eyebrow, thought about it, and crossed her arms. “How much are you paying me?”

“What’s a day’s wages?”

“200 Euro.”

“I’ll give you 300 Euro.”

“You can afford that?”

“Barely,” I admitted. “I get the rest of my payoff when I deliver the goods.”

“All right. Sounds like fun.”

“Meet me in the parking lot in about twenty minutes. I’ve got the blue Peugot.”

“Okay.” She sauntered out of the room.

I ate my breakfast and got dressed. Nothing fancy. Casual slacks and a polo shirt. I wolfed down my food and was out the door. Bonnie was waiting for me by the car.

“We need to stop by my apartment first.”

“Oh?”

“Perfume. Trust me.”

I nodded and we stopped by her apartment. After that next 195 kilometers was hell. We climbed up a mountain switchback after switchback after switchback. My stomach hated me. No wonder why no traveled 200 kilometers out of their way to smuggle coffee in at the Miztypoo crossing.

Finally, we approached the border. Bonnie spritzed herself with her perfume and looked at me. “Just in case.”

“Okay.” We drove up to the crossing and the guards came out.

“Papers?”

Bonnie and I offered them passports and smiles.

“What’s your business in Grosenwitz?” the guard asked.

“We’re going to see my aunt for the day.”

The guard handed our passports back and waved us on by. “Have a great day.”

I drove through and Bonnie smiled. “See I told you we’d get in. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Clyde.” I grinned. I think Bonnie and I might have a future together.