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The Provenance

By J.M. Norwood

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Three fire response trucks wheeled to the warehouse district and careened toward the end of the street, sirens blaring. Even from the speedway five standard distances away, thick billows of smoke could be seen rising into the morning sky. Because the weather was dry and warm, the flames quickly leaped up with the slightest breeze. Within five minutes, four more engines reached the scene.
The C.E.O. edged and jerked his car around the sluggish traffic and dipped onto the gravel shoulder. Now breezing past the gridlock, he pulled onto the exit, sped the six distances down the two-lane road and curved the car into the warehouse district. He barely pulled to a stop seconds before his two companions jumped out and dashed to the barricade. The C.E.O. caught up with them minutes later and stared at the fire, his mouth agape at the destruction unfolding before them. The first companion motioned to the second companion. He pointed with his other hand towards the captain’s squad car as foam and water sprayed out in a manmade rainstorm over the warehouse.
Two hours later, the C.E.O., Alan DeLisle, paced, anxiously waiting for the captain’s signal as his two companions, Don Perry and Cadiz Setlock – top engineers at his company – studied the burned building with worried expressions. Alan DeLisle stared saucer-eyed at his property. Black smudges blotted out half of the logo painted above the front doors; “ –Cr ” the sign now read. White firefighting foam covered the grass and the concrete walkway around the building. The foam also shrouded a few parked cars on the premises; the foam would shortly dry into a gritty, indelible paste. The few bystanders who had been watching the fire from down the street now dispersed.
The captain stepped from around the farthest fire truck and motioned to Alan DeLisle; he and his two engineers ran to the captain, and they had a lengthy conversation about the fire and its probable cause. Alan DeLisle insisted on seeing the damage for himself; the captain led the way, and the three men followed him inside. Utter destruction met their eyes. Soaked, waist-high dunes of cardboard and paper formed hunched walls; Alan DeLisle stood stone-faced and then he heaved a sigh. Setlock and Perry walked on down the main aisle of the warehouse, sloshing past the wet, soot-covered boxes until they reached the far wall of the warehouse. The containers there, color-coded with what used to be yellow cards, were mostly destroyed. Don Perry was the first to spot, in the far corner, the boxes they were worried about the most.
The two engineers ran towards the boxes. Only a lone, wooden container tucked away in the corner appeared undamaged; they both strode over to see about it. Don Perry looked around to find something to open the box with… he spotted a crowbar. He went to pick it up, but it was still quite warm to the touch from the fire. He pulled off his jacket, wrapped it around the crowbar handle and brought it back. Cadiz Setlock watched as he fit the crowbar under the top of the wooden box and jimmied it open. With a loud crash, the top fell to the floor.
“What’re you boys doing over there?”
“Just looking around, Mr. DeLisle,” Perry called back as he kept his eyes pinned on the open container. Alan DeLisle ran as fast as he could to see about the opened box.
“Well this is just something!” Alan DeLisle ignored the wet soot on the floor and fell to his knees. He gazed into the opened container as if he had discovered a trove of jewels. He was ready to believe in miracles again until he noticed a blue sticker on the bottom inside corner of the wooden top – FIRE SEALED, it boasted. “I can’t believe these were saved!” He gently rummaged through the contents with shining eyes. “Go ask the captain if he and his men can lift this thing out of here. We have to get it back to headquarters,” he ordered without looking up.
“I know this is your property, but because this has been deemed as arson, I don’t imagine they’ll let anything get removed off the premises until their reports are filed with the fire chief,” Perry advised. Alan DeLisle cursed.
“I’m not thinking about that right now. Let’s get a move on.”
“Says you,” Perry shrugged. He and Cadiz Setlock scurried off to speak with the captain.
Alan DeLisle was now left alone with his prize box, amazed into silence as he foraged through the contents. At length, he gathered the contents into small piles, placing them carefully on the dry box top and practically singing as he worked. As he organized the last of the contents of the remaining box, Don Perry and Cadiz Setlock returned with news.
“The captain says nothing doing unless the chief personally shows up, sir. And barring that, you’ll have to wait until after the festival for the paperwork to go through,” Perry reported. Alan DeLisle cursed again.
“Then personally call him! I’m not leaving without this box,” the C.E.O. said in a tight, quiet voice. He placed the reorganized items back into the box as his two employees gaped at him. “Well?!”
Setlock and Perry turned and went back outside to find the captain again. They explained their strange predicament to him. With a bemused laugh, the captain shook his head, pulled his mobile out and punched the chief’s code into the keypad.

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