Fictional story of the beginning of the cuke industry in our state (based on real rumors))))

Fictional story of the beginning of the cukes industry in our state (based on real rumors))))

"What's the hell!" hissed puzzled officer in charge. He gave an angry look around not knowing how else to take the situation under control. "They are..  sea cucumbers, Sir!" - Brad said hoarsely. He was biting his beard and did not know what else to say. " They are not cucumbers!!" squeaked a woman from crowd. Her husband pulled her sleeve to quiet his wife, but she stomped her foot stubbornly. Her face got red, she giggled suddenly " They are alive!"

Recently the cukes were lying still in plastic buckets  in the old pickup truck. Buckets have filled all the space. There were sheets of plywood to cover on the top. The "cukes" buyer appeared from nowhere and was waiting for them in Tacoma. Brad and Moose have picked those "worms" from the early morning near Anacortes where they kept their old rusty dive boat. They did it quick in a few dives within half of the day. The truck was loaded heavily and they were driving it slowly all the way in the right lane. Old Ford pulled it's burden hard, they had expected to get to place in three hours. Traffic was okey yet they have decided to take exit 143 to go on Pacific. The farmers road fits better for the speed.

Boom!!! On the very first crossroad right under their bumper dashed sporty car full of Latin guys with one behind the wheel. They did not look back and ran on yellow. Bred managed to hit the pedal with his both heavy boots. Disks and drums screeched and puffed out rusty dust and black stinky smoke. The whole body moved aside slowly like half dead behemoth on medical stretchers with drunk paramedics. Brad and Moose smelt smoke and they've got the feeling of the end of their quiet life. Others breaks and rubbers were squeaking and whistling now around. The noises and panic were growing  stirring disturbances and uneasiness, and then everything had stopped. Bunch of cars from four sides were staying still now, and the crowd was crawling out of their bodies.
Luckily Ford has stopped on the slope too, and it looked like it's dead now. Our guys were seating still and tight in their disbelief. Through the rear glass-less window opening they felt a steady movements.. Silent wet shapeless marine creatures stirred a stream from under plywood, from the fallen pails. The chilly masses of slick cukes were flowing slowly over strong divers necks, dropping on old holey floor of the cabin. The beasts were going through the holes, smacking on asphalt, getting resilient and then jumping and rolling in all directions around solid grounds. The truck stayed still but the flow continued. People get quiet, amazed and mute. Brad Villers and Moose get lost in time. People walked from their cars for closer look, the crowd get thicker. Men were stretching their necks forward for better view, checking it on the right and on the left. Women were staying behind their men, avoiding the wonder creatures on the road, shrieking occasionally. Nobody was interested to touch the unearthly things. No one was asking any questions so far. The cukes were still coming.
Soon the sirens were wailing and the cops hats showed up. The crowd was split by the commanding energy of police officers, but while they came to the opening around Brad's truck, they temporarily got mute and silent too....

Later on, when Brad and Moose get their pay money from Korean vendor for the product, the money they never had on their hands before, they forget the whole story on the road immediately. They forget about the damned sporty car, about their awkward explanations before the officers on the crossroad, about the ticket. They forget even about lengthy humiliation they experienced crawling around, picking their priceless ugly dirty pieces of the harvest, bending all the way under cars, kneeling around someones tires, listening to smart-asses jokes produced by the male members of by now relaxed mob, females curious questions and giggling. They forget about the disgust they felt touching those flaccid things the things became.
Everything is far behind now! They love those damned ones! The old pickup was flying over the same highway on it's way back. The engine was producing and roaring like a fresh Ferrari. The pockets were staffed, the mind was light, the road was a well laid red carpet. Our friends have found their lantern, and there was jenie in the face of that well smoked Korean old man, they had the product in demand and their whole future was bright from now on.