Reunion in LA (4)

The moment his fingers touched the cold metal surface, memories unfolded before his eyes.

He pulled his hand away and opened his eyes, but he couldn't move. His heart pounded like it would burst.

This... this is the real deal!

His hands shook as he examined the gleaming robot arm again, unable to believe it.

Terminator 2, released in 1991. Directed by James Cameron, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. One of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠greatest sci-fi films ever.

And this was a prop actually used in that movie. A T-800 endoskeleton arm. Made by a Hollywood studio for Terminator 2. An authentic production piece.

He carefully lifted the robot arm. Heavier than expected—real metal.

Checking the joints, he flexed the fingers; they still moved fluidly. The chrome plating was chipped in places from age, but that only proved it wasn't a resin replica.

This was here all along?

He couldn't wrap his head around it. When he'd heard Raymond was a veteran Hollywood set designer, he'd hoped for something special. Staff often took props as souvenirs back in the '80s and '90s. But a Terminator 2 prop? Unreal.

"Whoa... how much is this worth?"

No exact figure came to mind, but it was a prop from a historic blockbuster that grossed over $500 million worldwide—and still beloved. This had to be valuable.

Not cheap, that's for sure.

No, it'd be pricey. Tens of thousands at least. He needed an expert appraisal. Luckily, Bill or Leonard could connect him with someone.

Just in case, he set the arm down and scanned the area again. Nothing else special—just this one.

Even this alone is incredible.

He draped a light cloth over the arm and placed it carefully by the entrance with the other selected items. Final candidates locked in.

Final buy list from here:

Eight items total. Estimated value $7,200 to $9,450—excluding the arm, of course.

A jackpot.

The arm alone could fetch more than all this from the right collector or dealer.

But it wasn't over. Time to negotiate the purchase.

He left the warehouse and headed to Raymond's house next door. Tyrone and his crew were boxing stuff in the living room.

"Seen everything?"

"Yeah. Found a few good pieces."

"Really? We couldn't tell. Like what?"

"Couple nice paintings, silverware, sculpture... vintage cameras too. Oh, and some unique movie props in the warehouse corner—did you check those?"

"Movie props?"

Tyrone tilted his head at that.

"Thought it was just furniture and paintings. Guess there's more. Old man's a hoarder, piling up all this junk..."

They hadn't dug into the back boxes. Heart racing, he asked carefully,

"Some look like actual film props. Mind if I take those too?"

"Nah, take what you want. We grabbed what we could use. Rest was trash anyway."

Tyrone shrugged nonchalantly. Glancing at the items by the door, he asked,

"So, what's your offer on that lot?"

Negotiation time. Too low disrespected their help; too high hurt him. Bill's advice echoed:

'With estate cleaners, offer fair—around 30% of value. They're no experts, but they know the game. It's trash otherwise.'

Solid advice. And Marcus's referral meant playing straight.

Excluding the arm: $7,200–9,450. He considered including it but noped out—too niche, value uncertain, might take time to sell.

"How about $3,000 for the whole pile?"

Tyrone blinked, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm..."

Silence stretched. Heart pounding—was it too low?

"Honestly, it looked like nothing to us. If you're offering that, must be some gems. Damn."

He shrugged.

"We don't know junk from treasure anyway. Family said toss it all. If not for you, it'd be landfill."

"So..."

"Deal. Beats cleaning for nothing. Side cash is nice, and you scored something. Win-win. Haha."

He exhaled in relief.

"Thanks."

"One condition."

"Yeah?"

Tyrone pointed at the pile.

"You haul it yourself. No manpower, and liability if something breaks."

"No problem. I'll handle it."

"Done."

Handshake sealed it.

Jackpot secured: $7,000+ profit minimum, plus the pricey prop. All for $3,000.

"Cash okay? Back at the truck—gimme a sec."

He grabbed the cash—kept handy for flea market steals. Counted out $3,000 precisely and handed it over.

"Thanks. Take your time."

"Can I load now?"

"Go for it."

Two hours later, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠everything was truck-bound. Paintings blanket-wrapped for frame safety. Silver box taped tight. Sculpture, cameras bubble-wrapped and boxed. Robot arm extra-cushioned.

Loaded carefully, roped secure. Sweaty but satisfied.

"All set."

He told Tyrone, who offered a hand.

"Good work. Solid deal."

"Thanks—huge help."

"Say hi to Marcus."

"Will do."

Handshake. Engine on. Waves exchanged as he pulled out.

My gut was right. Jackpot!

Min $4,000 profit, max $6,000+. Biggest solo score yet—Terminator prop included.

But not done. Time to sell.