by Ron Hess
* * *
I pulled up to the office at 8:00 o’clock. Ashley’s car was not in its space. Now what? She was supposed to be at work at seven. Thank goodness the employees knew how to keep the place running. Briefcase in hand, I walked onto the main floor. Everybody seemed to be in place. There had been laughter and some talk as I walked through the door, but that decreased to almost nothing as I walked around the various cases. The place became a tomb with watchful eyes. I could almost hear the slap of mail into the cases slow down. This was no good. People should be allowed some latitude.
I walked over by Martha’s case. There was a tight-lipped expression on her face.
“Martha, tell everyone they have my permission to talk. This place is a morgue.”
She stopped sorting mail. “And if Miss Fancy Pants threatens us?”
“Come see me and we’ll have a talk.”
Her expression became a little more pleasant. “By the way, sir. I moved the grievance about her doing union work to step three.”
Crap! The day was getting off to a bad start. I simply nodded and I’m sure my shoulders dropped an inch, but there was no help for it. Maybe Ashley or I would be out of here in a few weeks, and life in this station would fall back to normal for these good people. I sincerely hoped so. I moved on toward my office. Just as I was hanging my jacket on its hook, my office phone rang. I hesitated to answer it, wishing I had an answering machine to screen my calls. On the third ring, I picked it up.
“Bronski.”
I began breathing harder. I suspected it was because he wasn’t yelling as much these days. When the Boss starts a conversation by being quiet, something is afoot.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s everything?”
“Uh . . .not too good. Ashley didn’t come in at seven o’clock as she was supposed to.”
There was a second or two of silence. I began to suspect I was about to ruin what had been a good day for the Boss.
“Maybe she’s sick?”
“I don’t think so, Boss. She was gone yesterday afternoon also.”
“Well, did you try calling her?” I could hear his exasperation.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
The words had just left my mouth, when Ashley came bursting through the door.
“Bronski! Did you give permission . . .”
She stopped when she saw the smile on my face.
“Oh, here she is! She just came through the door.”
I held the phone out to her. “The Boss wants to talk to you.”
Her expression changed from a glare to a smile. But her eyes told the story and so help me I shivered. I hung up after she picked up the phone in her office with what I hoped was a loud click, but not before I heard the beginnings of southern charm starting to ooze.
“Ah’m . . .so sorry, sir, that . . .”
I’m sure I would have gagged if I had stayed on the line. No doubt, I would hear from the Boss about being so mean to such a sweet girl. Did the Boss know about Ashley’s background? If he did, why did he bring her up to Alaska from Florida? My thoughts were still trying to unravel all this when she burst through the door, again.
“Bronski, did you really give permission to the people to talk?”
“Yes, I did, Ashley. Production may suffer a tad, but the morale is important too. People have to enjoy their jobs, Ashley. And people here were not enjoying their jobs. Thanks to Sam Goodnight, some of those employees with seniority won’t have to work overtime. They were just about to enjoy their jobs again when you put out the gag order.”
She sniffed. “I did it for the good of the service.”
I shook my head. “Ashley, I don’t think you know what that means. You just use that term to control people. Now unless you have something that needs to be said concerning the main floor, get out of my office.”
And so help me. She held up that picture again. I snickered. “What’s with the picture you keep holding up, Ashley?”
She said not a word, just turned and left my office. She was one sly broad, but sooner or later, she would screw up and that’s when I would turn the tables on her. In a quiet voice, for the tape, I said what day and what time it was and what was on the picture she held up in an attempt to blackmail me.
The rest of the day went well. I stayed until the last person left and then searched the place. If anyone was there, they were well hidden. Since no one was around, I got a ladder and retrieved the tape recorder from behind the heat register.
I listened to it for about an hour. Most of the stuff was ordinary admin stuff. It reflected how good a supervisor Ashley could be. I was about to turn it off when she answered the phone at what I guessed was late in the afternoon. The phone records at the telephone company might verify when, I reasoned. I listened and began to smile.
“This is Ashley,” she said.
There was a moment’s silence, then, “You’re sure the stuff is in it?” There was a moment’s silence. Then, “Okay, I’ll look for the shipment to come in a day or so.”
Then the tape went silent again, except for the shuffling of paper and the chair scraping from time to time. I called Postal Inspector Crouch and left word on his machine for him to call ASAP to my cell phone only. I hoped he would check in with his machine before the next day.
* * *
I was dreaming about Jeanette when the phone rang. I looked at the bedside clock. It read 11:00 p.m. Who in hell calls this time of night? I asked myself. Better not be a crank, or they would get an earful. I picked up the phone, which brought blessed relief from its noisy ring.
“What?” I muttered, as quietly as I could.
“Bronski, it’s John Crouch.”
“Yeah?” I was a little bit testy.
“My God, were you in bed? My, but you country boys do all right.”
“Some country boys go to work at an early hour, too . . .John.”
He laughed. “Okay, Bronski, what’s on your mind?”
I forced myself awake and described the day’s events, including all the reasons that I thought our girl Ashley was up to something that something being that she was transporting drugs big time. I explained that since the Boss thought I was crazy for even suspecting that sweet thing, I had to alert the postal inspectors myself.
“So what would you like for me to do, Leo?”
“Put cameras throughout the building,” I said, and then held my breath. We were talking money here. I knew his next question would be just where the money was going to come from. Approval would have to be given by the top dogs.
“Cameras, huh?” he said. “I don’t know, I’d have to get approval from all sorts of people. You’re asking a lot, Bronski.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then I threw the last ball I had.
“Well, it was just a thought. Besides, I doubt you could get them installed without anybody knowing about it. I mean this isn’t a big place like Anchorage, where nobody knows what’s going on, you know. I bet Ashley would know in a heartbeat, not to mention the chief of police, who I suspect plays a small part in all this. I know him. He was a SEAL in Vietnam and is still good at sneaking around.”
I heard a yawn on the other end. Was it from being sleepy or was it to show indifference? I waited for the response.
“He was a SEAL?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s interesting. SEALS usually have a higher code.”
“It depends on whether you have a disabled kid that needs a lot of money for medical problems,” I answered.
There was another yawn.
“I’ll get back to you, Leo.” There was a click on the other end of the line.
Yeah, sure you will, I thought. But he had called me Leo. Usually, it was Bronski this and Bronski that. None of the intimate stuff, like using a person’s first name. I hung up the phone and sat up on the edge of the bed. Earlier in my life I would have pulled out a smoke, but alas, that was history. My eyes strayed to the drawer where I now kept the bottle of
Jack Daniel’s. I’d only had one shot that day; I could have another without calling myself a drunk. I poured a shot and, sipping it, I sat back on the bed and ruminated about how I had gotten tied up in a drug operation when I was supposed to be working a murder. I was no closer to solving that than the first day I walked onto the scene. Who had murdered Gloria? What was the motive? According to the papers, she had no enemies.
I drank the last sip and turned out the lights. Tomorrow was coming.
* * *
Six o’clock the next morning found me walking into the Eat More. It was getting to be a regular habit. Usually I was content with a bowl of cereal and then off to work. But since Jeanette and I were apart, I missed the human companionship of sleepyheads grousing about the weather or the high tides or whatever the day’s concern might be.
Naturally, I headed toward where Emily sat. We said our good-mornings and then set to putting our breakfast down our respective hatches. After a few minutes, I sat back for a moment and regarded Emily. Whether by happenstance or not, she too stopped and looked back at me.
“Yesss?”
“What do you think of Sam?”
Her face turned red. “He’s . . .he’s very nice. Don’t ask me anything more.”
“Sorry, you’re right, none of my business,” I said, and went back to eating.
Her fork dangled in mid-air. “It’s just that everything has been so perfect so far that I’m afraid to breathe. Maybe he will disappear.”
She looked so vulnerable that I dared not laugh or even smile, but I had seen the look on that boy’s face, no way was he going to disappear.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Emily. I think he’s a keeper.”
She nodded, as if she already knew that to be true, and we resumed eating.
“Uh . . .Emily,” I said between bites, “Sam must not know about our post office drug problems, or maybe I should say the “arrangement” we have between us. I like him. He’s a nice guy, but until we come to a close on this, he is not to know, okay?”
I looked straight into her eyes and hoped she had not told him.
She nodded. “I have not told him.”
“I don’t really think he has anything to do with the drug ring, but the fewer people involved, the better. Sound reasonable?”
She nodded again. I went on. “And I also realize I shouldn’t be seen with you out in public anymore. Especially in this restaurant. Not with the police chief eating here.”
“Sorry,” I said, “but that’s the way it has to be.”
I gave her the previous day’s events: the tape recording and me trying without much success, to get the postal inspectors involved. I was just finishing with my story when a smile came over her face. It didn’t take much thought to guess who was walking up behind me.
“Hello, sir,” he said as he sat down. Of course, he was not looking at me, but at Emily and, so help me, her face turned red.
“Young man,” I began, putting a stern look on my face, “You may call me Leo.”
He turned to me. “Yes, sir, er . . .Leo.”
I smiled and wiped the last of the egg off my face. “Well, good people, I have to go to work. Emily, I hope you got all you needed for that interview?”
She smiled and nodded. Perhaps now she wouldn’t have to explain to Sam what she was doing with another man. I had the idea he would soon consider her his property and not to be trifled with, especially by some old guy like me. Damn it, Leo, I told myself, you might be a slightly older guy, but you can still go on moose hunts. After all, you are not as old as that poor man who’s had a stroke and whose only thrill is to sit on top of a bluff and look out over the ocean.
* * *
I pulled up to the rear of the post office and noted Ashley’s car was already there. I guessed she must have been tearing the place apart looking for a particular package. The place was quiet when I walked in the back door. There were only the sounds of shuffling mail. I took the long way to my office, pausing to say a good morning here and there. When I came by Martha’s case and gave what I hoped was a cheery greeting, she looked back at me like I was lower than low.
“Miss Dictator says we can’t talk at all,” she muttered.
I just nodded and walked on. Ashley, I thought, why can’t you leave it alone? By the time I got to my office, I suspect puffs of steam were collecting around my ears. I slammed the door, removed my jacket, and sat for a full minute counting to ten. I was getting tired of her little game, but I had to go with it a while longer. The troops had to be kept as happy as possible, and I could only assume she was trying to turn them against me. Finally, my hand lifted the phone and my fingers punched Ashley’s number.
“Yes,” she said in the sweetest way possible.
“Come to my office, right now.”
“But, I . . .”
“Ashley, are you on the phone with someone?”
“No.”
“Then, Ashley, come to my office!”
I hung up the phone before she could start in with the reasons why not.
I waited. Five minutes went by. Still no Ashley. Very well, I thought, very well.
I lifted the phone. Only this time I got on the loud speakers.
“We are going to have a stand-up meeting in five minutes,” I said, and went on to say that I wanted everyone to attend.
My office door burst open. It was Ashley, with a snarl on her face. She had enough tact to close the door before she spoke.
“All right, Bronski, what the hell is going on?”
“Ashley, I’ll make it short. You countermanded my orders about the people talking.”
“I did it for the needs of the service.”
“No, you didn’t. You did it for control. You know it, I know it.”
She smiled and took the by now infamous picture out of her pocket.
I shook my head. “Ashley, if you want to show that picture with your boobs hanging out, that you’re holding up, to the people, go right ahead.”
So help me, her face paled. As my maternal Irish grandfather would have said, “And what a grand and glorious sight it was too!” While she was speechless, I got up from my desk, went to the office door, and held it open while she walked through it.
It was a short and sweet stand-up meeting. I simply told the employees there had been a mix-up with management, but now things were straightened out. They would be allowed to carry on normal conversation as always. I took a quick peek at Ashley and saw she was standing there looking straight ahead with a red face. Was she angry? I certainly hoped so.
“Anybody have a question? Again, normal conversation is okay.”
Nobody said a word. I did see some smiles, and that made me hope that I was back in their good graces again.
“Okay, everybody back to work.”
Everyone went back to his or her stations, chattering away. I sighed. Knowing human nature, they would probably push it for a while with excess talk, but eventually the talk would slow to a normal level. Without looking at anybody, I strode back to the office and closed the door. I had just gotten seated when Ashley came charging in and slammed the door, which must have made a good impression on the employees.
“Ashley, next time you come through that door, you will knock. Is that understood?”
God, but I hated these control games.
She stood there, fury on her face. “I’m in control here, Bronski, or have you forgotten that little native wife of yours?”
My shoulders slumped and I hoped I put on a good act. “No, Ashley, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. Now, you got away with it this time, but don’t try it again. Understood?”
My chin on my chest, I nodded, and felt the comforting vibration of my pocket recorder.
Chapter 28
I rolled over to look at the clock. Hell, it was 7:00 o’clock. A little later than I thought. I turned back and fluffed my pillow. Then it came to me: it was Saturday. I didn’t have to be at work. Today was Ashley’s day, and I
hoped she meant what she said about being to work on time. Maybe my little rebellion the day before had something to do with her acting a little more like a proper supervisor, i.e. one that obeyed her boss.
It had been nice, walking out of the post office at quitting time with just a hint of a spring to my walk. I even went easy on the guy working on a big van’s engine in the rear parking lot.
“You know you’re going to have to move that truck by Monday, don’t you?” I had asked the driver.
The poor guy had leaned back from the engine’s hole, showing the fresh grease and oil all down the front of his coveralls.
“Yes, sir, I’ll have it out of here by Monday, for sure,” he said, wiping his hands with an even dirtier rag.
“Well, if you’re not gone by Monday, I’ll have to have you towed . . .at your expense, of course. This is federal property.”
With that admonition, I had hopped back into the Jeep and copied down the license number and the name of the company, Moot Point Shipping, from the side of the van. Some two-bit outfit, I thought. Probably never see them again.
But like I said to Jeanette that evening, I had some sympathy for the little guy in business, trying to make it out there against ever increasing competition from big box stores and companies. “Yes, I agree,” my love had said, and then, “Moot Point Shipping . . . Moot Point Shipping . . .seems to me I’ve heard that name somewhere before.” We had wished each other a pleasant weekend, exchanged I-love-you’s, and rung off.
I turned over and wondered what to do with my Saturday. Then came the blessed smell of pancakes. I loved pancakes almost as much as granola cereal. No more bed for me, no sir! It was get-up time.
I had to admire Mrs. Mordant. She might be nosy at times, but her jolly attitude could not be denied. Every day was the same for her, and there was no letup in her care of the old man. She had not put him in a nursing home but, instead, had kept care of him herself. The cleaning and feeding went on and on, and I wondered if she ever had time for herself. Since I had become almost a family member, she no longer fed the old man in his room, but brought him out to the kitchen.