Doug closed the door to the car, not giving one.
***
Hux arrived late at work, but that was all right. Jack Sullivan never reprimanded him as hoist drivers were a more fluid lot in their duties and Hux gave the orders to a degree on the docks. Bindery foreman Debra Johnson could blow all she wanted about his practices and hours. She wasn’t his superior, no matter if Debra walked like she sported a bigger cock than him. He loved thwarting the “crypt keeper” as some called Debra behind her back. The withered old woman, ever full of piss and vinegar, loathed Hux and still bashed into him at times, no matter what his loyalties.
His habits didn’t make everyone so happy. Certainly, this made many angry and plant gossips like Mary Ann Statler whisper at what secret Hux must have over Sullivan. He never missed a chance to wave this talebearer, for Mary Ann couldn’t keep a secret if her sixties Bouffant hair do depended on it.
Many joked about Hux having dirty pictures or some damning knowledge of the boss, but most knew the score. Hux knew that even the older ladies in the plant like Lena Alsdorf understood Hux was a drug connection. Though near to sixty-five, Lena comprehended that if the scum of the plant went to Hux for a fix or a dime bag, then the boss just may know that as well. She stared down her nose through thick glasses on the other hoist drivers like Brian Miller and Jimmy Mans who looked the other way at Hux’s activities.
After a spin around the bindery floor on his hoist, past the perfect binders and saddle stitchers yielded up no info about the delivery from Cicero, Hux headed to the pressroom. He stopped by the end of the presses where gigantic rolls of paper fed spinning rolls, advancing the material to plates and ink. The roll tenders and joggers that were part of his inner circle also knew nothing.
Earl Gamblin, forty years in the plant and head pressman down the line, sent Hux a distasteful glance, but never told him to leave the line.
He talked to Gopher, an aging man with buckteeth.
“No word on the street, Goph?” Hux asked him, waving at Tonya Harmon, noted herpy girl of the pressroom.
Bloodshot eyes stared back at Hux as Gopher replied, “Not a scratch, Hux. I’ll tell you if I hear something juicy.”
Flummoxed, Hux waved off Tonya, who was probably on the way to ask him for a toot. He returned to roving the bindery floor, noting the panty lines of the new girls trained by Paula Gowran on the perfect binder. Paula was another of the aging gals, had been married a few times and lost a few husbands to cancer or booze. Hux thought she was married to a cop but wasn’t sure.
He heard Mary Ann Statler walk up to Paula and say, “I heard that Andrea Ennis never showed up for work again.”
Paula replied, “That a wonder, Mary Ann?”
“Well, with the company she keeps, no.”
A greasy headed man named David Blakely eyed Paula’s trainee as Hux passed by. David struggled to keep the dip in his lip in place, spitting some into a soda bottle. When he saw Hux, David put his head down. Hux never stopped to make fun of the socially inept man. There would be plenty of other days for that.
Hux’s chin rose at big Andrew White who worked the end of the binder. The green eyed, surly farm boy nodded back, but said nothing to Hux. They’d had a run in years ago, but Andrew was not afraid of Hux, his biker pals or anyone else. This didn’t stem from White’s brother being the Sheriff. Hux understood one didn’t mess with a man like White, who’d survived a raid from the BATF unscathed, hunted with Ted Nugent and served in the first Gulf War. Andrew knew the score and never bothered him. He was a good guy, but creepy all the same. He carried a ton of bitterness about a demotion years ago, but Hux stayed out of plant politics like that.
“Hey man,” Hux said to Andrew. “You have a spare nitrix for my projectile knife launcher?”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get one out of my locker at break.”
“Cool. That thing works like a beauty.”
Eyes on his work, Andrew said, “Thanks.”
“Pretty amazing the way ya rigged it up under the headlight on my ride.”
Andrew was quiet for a bit and said, “It isn’t too tough to do.”
Hux left him alone. He didn’t know if White brooded or not, but he certainly wore the face of a man who did.
When he stepped outside for a smoke, he nodded at Kenny Snow, the man who ran the docks, who stood in deep conversation with Annette Moyer, a computer analyst from up front. He figured there must be trouble with the main network as he saw Minh from IT scrambling around earlier. Hux watched Moyer’s tear drop shaped ass as she walked away and wondered how they were lucky enough to get an egghead like Minh in their midst? The small man never spoke to Hux, but his eyes told a tale, one of disgust when he did make contact.
The signal for his cell phone kicked in. After a drag on the smoke, he flipped open his phone.
“Yessir,” he said, reading the caller I.D. “Cannot find out a damned thing about things just yet.”
The voice on the other end couldn’t hide its feelings. “Really, Mr. Huxtable, that’s not what I wanted to hear.”
Cold and mean, Hux felt spiders run down his back at the voice. “Do you know for sure they left Chicago?”
After a brief silence, the voice replied, “They left yesterday afternoon just before rush hour. There’s always radio silence on a delivery. Talking with you is highly abnormal, but we need to know what happened.”
“From what I see, they never got here,” Hux said earnestly, waving at Scott Grady, the personal assistant to the head of the pre-press department. Scott regularly bought speed from Hux. “Scanner and internet in the hoist driver’s office is on the fritz, but earlier it had no reports on a bust or any such thing hereabouts. Maybe they headed off on you.”
“Unlikely,” the voice said icily. “Rick doesn’t have the balls for that.”
“Well, maybe they’ll turn up.”
“Maybe I need to send two new operatives to check for myself.”
Hux’ jaw tightened at this, knowing that two goons from Cicero would make sure they harassed him bad before leaving. Not wanting to endure that, he was not about to take it…and that meant killing whoever they sent down to town. Hux didn’t fear that action, not after what happened to him last night, but he figured a ball would start rolling he never wanted to get in the path of.
“Free country, sir. I can’t make them appear outta thin air.”
“They have a global positioning device in the car unknown to them,” the voice informed him. “I know they are in Livingston County, but the exact locale is muddy. My operatives will be there after noon and have a check around. You may not even know they are there. I’ll be sending Mr. Roberts, though, and he adores you.”
The line went dead and Hux felt like smashing his phone to pieces. Roberts. Great. Hux met him once on a trip to Cicero with the gang. Roberts was worse than a killer. The time he’d done wasn’t for murder or suffocations, but for pedophilia. Hux would rather never see him again.
On the way into the plant he over heard Wilma Rynning, a funny middle-aged lady, say, “And they say Reverend Wingler is going ballistic over his daughter.”
A tall, thick woman with bleach blonde hair and sagging breasts named Alice Sanka replied, “Now he’s concerned? He should’ve been worried about the company she kept for years.”
Soon, the rattle of the machines drowned out their words, but never calmed Hux’s nerves. He figured the creature killed Micki and only worried over his own self. He eyed the big breasts of Della Rodgers as she walked by. Though a bigger gal than he liked, he would’ve taken the op if it came his way. But Hux heard she was knocked up and unsure of the father. He was glad it wasn’t his.
Hux smirked at the banners along the high walls of the plant. Black and white hands clasped together promoting diversity and teamwork. The letters were so big, he often thought of a movie where the trigger words in ads really said OBEY and CONFORM. If this was true in the factory, so far, it wasn’t working so well. Everyone looked out for themselves a
nd had a difficult time swallowing the teamwork pill due to the blatant favoritism and hypocrisy of management.
Deep inside, he felt the pain from the beast. The uneasy feeling never left him, nor did the personal shame of what happened to him…or the ultimate in his mind…that he came as the monster thrashed into him.
***
Andrew White never carried a cell phone, as he said it was about like having a tag in his ear. However, a message came down at break to call his brother Doug from the office in the bindery.
“Yeah, Doug?” Andrew said into the black-corded phone in the small office area. “What’s up?” After Doug relayed information about Dinsdale, Andrea, and Genesis, Andrew frowned. “Figures. Dinsdale died that way, huh? Funny as hell, really. Ah well. Forget that.”
Doug asked him, “Anything happen by your place last night?”
“No, I…” Andrew’s voice trailed off. “Crap. Ya know, it did. I never told the boy or Lynne, but something dug up Buddy’s grave and chewed up the body. I covered it back up. I figured it was coyotes or a wolf.”
“Huh,” Doug said and fell silent for a few moments. “Well, I see we have a pattern. Better keep the kids and yourself indoors, brother. I don’t know what is going on just yet. Keep your ears open.”
“Will do.”
“And get a damn cell phone.”
Andrew laughed as he hung up.
The stout woman in the office pulled the phone back and snapped, “Personal calls to the office are getting tiresome, Andrew.”
Andrew glared at Carol Brant, short, homely and rude, and found it not so hard to believe her hubby was an alcoholic. “Doesn’t bother ya’all to order pizza on the line.” He exited the office and shook his head.
A few of the dayshift women passed him by. Paula Gowran stopped and playfully slapped Andrew on the left arm. “The little troll woman givin’ you some trouble?”
Andrew watched Mary Ann Statler walk past and made sure the gossip didn’t hear him as he whispered to Paula, “Carol is in there still pissed she got passed over as an extra in LORD OF THE RINGS. I hear they press her face in dough up at the bakery to make Orc cookies for Halloween.”
Paula burst out laughing, winked and bustled on toward the smoke shed near the lunchroom.
Andrew beheld the high wall by the upper office, toward Jack Sullivan’s office. Under his windows hung the banners promoting diversity, teamwork and safety. Down the aisle, far above their heads were a series of American flags installed after 9/11. Typical of Ambrose Brothers Fuck Up A Wet Dream Teamwork, they were displayed the wrong direction until the veterans of the plant objected. He made his share of mistakes in life and in the plant, but the idiots at the top took the cake.
Eyes staring at the long path that led from the office down past the stitchers to the back door, Andrew wished he could walk out and keep going.
***
Doug, Matt and Alex stood near the back door of Mr. Solow’s house. They pulled up to it as that is where the driveway ended. He glanced at the curling driveway as he fished into his belt pocket. Alex rapped on the screen door as Doug pulled out the plastic bag he deposited in his pocket at Sullivan’s house. The name on the tag was BUDDY. His frown deepened and he ventured to find an answer in his swirling mind.
When Solow came to the door, Doug replaced the article on his belt.
“C’mon in, boys,” the old farmer said with a smile. “Just frying up some goodies for lunch.”
Matt looked at his watch. “It’s barely after ten, sir.”
Solow laughed and eyed Doug. “I get up before dawn. Come in and sit a spell, boys.”
They all had met Mr. Solow, worked on his farm as young men and accepted his hospitality before.
“Been a while since I seen you, Matthew,” Solow said to the blonde officer. “Been ten years since your daddy and I busted up that VFW brawl.”
Matt took off his hat and nodded. “Yes sir. Always meant to thank you proper for letting us walk the beans back then. So many of the kids are employed by the seed companies to detassle corn, its hard to get private work anymore.”
Solow patted Matt on the arm as the young cop sat at the table. “Your pop and I go way back. I paid for a mass for him just last month.”
Matt nodded, visibly moved at Mr. Solow’s words.
Mr. Solow stared at Alex as he sat down and said, “You look a might peeked, boy. You need something to eat. I got just the thing to give you all a lift.” He went to the stove and turned a metallic pan over. “Ya’all like deep fried hog balls?”
While Alex was swift to excuse himself and exit the house, Matt let go a chuckle and faced Doug. “Okay if I have some, sir?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. They smell damn good.” As he sat to the left of Matt, Mr. Solow scooped up generous helping of the fried hog balls. After he poured them ice teas, Doug explained why they were there.
Solow sat down and speared himself some food. As he munched and the cops did likewise, he said, “Hmm. I haven’t heard nothing, but the property is enormous. We pull the hogs in at night. I’ll ask Elias and see what he knows. I’m sure he has walked the back lots today.”
“Mind if we ask him?” Doug wondered as he chewed.
Solow shrugged. “Be my guest. Saw him earlier and he never mentioned anything. He still looks after Miss Goodkind out on the back forty, don’t ya know?”
Aware of how Solow paid for the aged blind woman to reside on his land, Doug nodded and said, “It’s routine, sir and all for the safety of all. I’d hate to have Luella or Elias hurt by wild dogs or whatever it is doing this to things.”
Mr. Solow’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? What do ya mean by that?”
Matt swallowed and said. “This is great stuff, sir. Well, it’s like this. We saw some funny tracks, not from a wolf. It may be nothing. Like a wild boar…but that is all speculation.”
Solow smiled. “If I see any, I’ll shoot ‘em in the ass and ask questions later.”
Doug smiled and gave a nod. “That’s all I can ask.”
Matt knifed at his plate, saying, “These are from baby pigs, right? These here are kinda bigger.”
Mr. Solow gazed at his plate and said, “Sometimes a hog can be blessed. Eat up. You fellows need some Sweet Potato pie?”
Matt ate up the two larger offerings on his plate and said, “You’ve been too kind and we better take off, sir.”
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled, fellows. Anything you need, just drop me a line.”
Doug and Matt drank their iced tea, then stood up. Doug said, “Appreciate it, sir. You don’t mind if we walk the property lines?”
Solow shrugged. “Not at all. Go right ahead.”
They stepped outside and saw Alex near the cruiser. He appeared a shade of green.
“That boy needs to grow up some,” Solow commented in a low voice.
With a wink to Mr. Solow, Doug whispered, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”
They split up at first, Alex and Matt going wide, taking the edges around the long barns, while Doug walked through the center of the land. He walked past a circular stone cover that denoted a cistern near the hog trough. Several babies ran amok and he reckoned the snack they just had came from them. He’d seen Solow castrate pigs years before. A couple rags hung there by the trough. Doug half smiled, wondering why the old man used a Johnny Cash T shirt to clean his tools after such grisly work. From everything he knew of Mr. Gilmore, the old boy didn’t strike Doug as very sentimental.
The three policemen walked the acreage of the Solow property and found nothing suspicious. They even ran into Elias who showed them a few of the hog barns. As the two younger men went with Elias, Doug walked up to Luella Goodkind’s trailer. The Seeing Eye dog Duke stared at him, but never growled. The hefty woman sat on a large swing outside, working a crochet, creating an afghan all the same color.
“Ma’am,” Doug said afar off as not to startle her. “Doug White from the Sheriffs’ office.”
“Mor
ning, Douglas,” she said with a giddy voice. “What brings you out here?”
“Oh, this and that. Getting along all right, ma’am?”
Her smile radiant, the heavy woman said, “Oh yes, as good as I can.”
“Have you heard any coyotes in the night, Ma’am? We’ve had a few strange incidents lately. Found the body of one down by Injun Creek only last week.”
The blind woman’s countenance was quizzical. “Why no, nothing like that.”
“Make sure you tell Elias or Mr. Solow if you do.”
“Of course, dear.”
“That’ll be all, ma’am.”
“Don’t be a stranger, young man.”
***
Jordan White was pleased to see Cassidy Ellington at lunch. His gleeful smile faded as he read her face, cleaned up, but still red and tearful.
He sat across from her and waited a few moments before he spoke. “What did you get from the Accelerated Reader list?” Jordan asked her, and looked back down at his food.
Cassidy made no motion, other than to nibble on her bottom lip a bit. “Those books are lame.”
“I like my comics better,” Jordan confessed and she made no action to eat her lunch. “The superhero ones are better than the Bible ones Mom gets me.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry about your dog,” Jordan said, right thumb trapping the edge of his tray.
She never touched her food, but fiddled with the straw on her milk. “They made me come to school. Mommy says I have to get over it.”
Jordan surveyed his tray, remained indifferent about the pizza rolls and said, “My gramma was like that when Buddy got ran over.” He swallowed, emotion welling up in his throat, but Jordan’s voice came out fine. “She said animals have no souls, so we can’t mourn them forever.”
“How does she know that?”
Jordan shrugged, glanced at a banner strung over the lunch line that promoted drinking milk and said, “She grew up on a farm. I guess she knows. Dad said it was in the Bible, but never said where.”
A single tear ran down her face. Jordan always thought she had steel gray eyes like her father, Lucas. Cassidy admitted, “I hated her, Genesis. She was big and mean. Now she’s dead, too.” More tears came and she rubbed them away with the back of her hand.
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