The First Counsel

* * *

A half hour later, I'm sitting on the same wooden bench, studying the crowd. It doesn't take long to spot the pattern. Family in, family out. Family in, family out. Still, throughout the constant flux of people, one thing remains: "Popcooorn . . . Popcooorn!" Over and over, the refrain is grating. "Popcoooorn . . . Popcoooo--"

"I'll take one," a deep voice says. I look up, but he's facing the other direction--a tall man in dark jeans and a bright red polo shirt. Handing the kid a dollar, he grabs a box of popcorn. Without another word, he readjusts his sunglasses and heads to a bench on the opposite side of the promenade. I'm not sure what it is--maybe it's the fact he's alone; maybe it's my own paranoia--but something tells me to watch him. Yet, just as I'm about to get my first good look at him, someone steps in front of me, blocking my view.

"Popcoooorn!" the kid announces, holding his red-and-white box in front of my face.

"Out of the way!" I shout.

He couldn't care less. "Popcoooorn!" he continues. "Peeeee Vaaaaughn!"

I do a quick double take. "What'd you just say?"

"Popcoooorn . . . !"

As he steps aside, I look across the promenade. The man in the red shirt is gone. Turning back to the kid, I ask, "Was that--?"

He holds out his last red-and-white-striped box. "Popcoooorn . . . Pop--"

"I'll take it." One dollar later, the kid's moved on, and I'm alone on the bench. I'm tempted to check over my shoulder, but it's more important to appear calm. As casually as possible, I open the box. Inside, there's barely any popcorn--just a handwritten note taped inside. I have to angle the box just right to read it. "Four P's Pub. Three blocks north. Next to the Uptown."

Closing the box, I can't fight my instinct. I check to see who's watching. As far as I can tell, no one's there. A quick survey of the promenade shows everything's normal. Family in, family out. Family in, family out. As the parade of smiles marches on, I walk back toward Connecticut and pass the popcorn cart. "Popcoooorn . . . !" Fully restocked, the kid doesn't give me a second look. Instead, he heads back into the crowd. And I head three blocks up the street.