Solow’s right eyebrow arched. “Oh?”
“I’d love to beat it out of his ass, but the state gives me shit about that.”
***
Jordan didn’t mind his stay at Grammas. She had good cable television and served him too many snacks. His stomach didn’t take to the gummy candy well and he threw up. She made him cereal and he spewed that as well.
“What is it, dear?” she said with care.
Jordan looked around the old widow’s home and felt so alone. “I want my Dad.”
She sat by him on the couch but he got up fast. “He’ll be back soon, honey,” She told him.
Jordan didn’t mind his gramma’s house. The food tasted different, but she bought him toys. So, as his dad said, it all evened out. He worried about his dad.
“Your daddy and that place he works,” she said with bitterness in her voice. “It takes up so much of his life.”
Jordan hated where his dad worked. He went there once on an open house day. It was vast, loud and dirty. Jordan thought it was scary and couldn’t fathom his father spending half a day there every day. He hated the place for it kept daddy there and not at home.
He swallowed hard and stared at his hands. The right one shook. Jordan sat down and buried his quivering hand under his hip. He thought of the monster, the pig man. They’d said the kids imagined it and it was really a regular man. Jordan frowned at the thought. They’d seen it. It was a pig man.
Jordan’s mind shifted and he reflected on something else. He thought about Cassidy and hoped she was doing all right. If she were there with him, he didn’t know what he’d say. They spent a long time last evening, waiting, just hoping Hawg would never come back. She’d cried a great deal. Jordan had wept, but soon that faded in his case. He wondered why that happened, but he couldn’t understand much that day.
He closed his eyes and all he could hear was the cry of Hawg. The monster was real. Jordan had smelled him, felt his rotten breath on his face and stared into his eyes.
***
Hux parked Roberts’ car in the parking lot of the VFW that sat near to the Green Parrot. True enough, the tavern was draped in the yellow bands of a crime scene. A few State troopers and commonly dressed men sporting rubber gloves knelt behind the hitching post.
In the windows of the VFW, a pair of old ladies glared out at the scene. They pointed at Hux as well.
His Harley was over near their scene behind the tavern. There wasn’t a really good way to get to it and ride off with no one seeing him. So, deciding on the direct approach, he walked across the street and right up to the first trooper to make eye contact with him. He looked down at himself just before he met the cop and wished he’d had the means to change and clean up for the day.
“Jesus Christ, what went on here?” Hux asked, face long and glaring at the bloody spatters on the side of the bar’s façade.
The trooper checked Hux over, read his Harley clothes and said, “Bar is closed today, son.”
Hux nodded, curious if the bikers that lost their balls died or not. “Looks like it. Hey, I left my ride out back last night. Care if I go get it?”
The trooper opened his mouth, said nothing, and then gave Hux a long stare. “Why would you do that?”
Hux grinned. “I had a designated driver, pops. That’s the law, right?”
“Yes, it is.” The trooper looked at the bikes still lined up at the post. He then said to the other trooper, “Rear of this joint a crime scene?”
The younger trooper shook his head and the man said to Hux, “I don’t see any harm in it, really. You were here earlier in the evening?”
“Yeah. I just got a call from Sheriff White to come see him at the Solow farm.”
The trooper seemed happy to hear that. “Good. I’ll tell him you are on your way.”
Hux shook his hand and walked around the bar. Once on his ride again, he felt so much better. He was angry with himself that when the escape happened, he went for Roberts’s car fast, as it was an easy escape. He should’ve gone for his bike.
Now, he thought as he stoked the pipes, to the plant for a visit, then the Sheriff, and then, lights out for Mr. Roberts. He grinned for Roberts was genuinely afraid because of what he’d seen. The tough man from the big city was disturbed down deep by the monster and Hux liked that. Hux wondered why the beast had ripped their nuts off and seemingly collected them in a helmet. Was it on purpose? Did the monster seek revenge for something? Hux shook his head, dismissing all of that. The creature was not capable of such feelings, he reasoned. It followed Ed and him out of instinct.
Not worried about Ed fighting a scapegoat coat he made up for him, he figured they could pin the JFK assassination on Ed about then…
***
Andrew swiped his card and walked into work like any other day, save for he’d called in and was not with the regulars at shift change. Though it didn’t feel like the last mile, Andrew felt certain this was it for him. He was surprised his card still worked on the door. His mind raced with fears for his son, and that diluted the other things that could disturb him. If they fired him, he’d get six months of unemployment and a bit of severance. If anything, he’d enjoy a summer off and do field work at harvest time.
Insurance issues and other matters bothered Andrew, but he didn’t care about that now. The rattle of the machines and the smell of the plant made him ill. During his lay off a few years ago when he had applied for work at various print shops, and the smell of ink had made him nostalgic. Now, it made him sick, a reminder of where he was when Jordan needed him.
When they laid him off before, no one would walk him out, as was company policy. Sure, his demeanor denoted he may take a swing at the one who walked him out or be trouble at the moment of truth…but Andrew did no such thing. He joked later, “I may have to return to this upholstered MEN’S room, so I behaved.”
As Andrew walked in, he knew that was a lie. The dickheads who stabbed him in the back up in the front of the plant stayed away to insure their safety. Jerks like Lou Lauren and Scott Grady knew the score. While going to jail for battery then seemed like a great idea, now, he wasn’t so sure. Frustrated, for he really wanted to crush the front teeth of that asswipe Sullivan, Andrew figured Lynne and the kids needed him free, not in a cage.
“I’ll kick his ass another day,” Andrew promised himself, unsure if he could hold it together at the moment of dismissal.
He passed through the long path after the entrance, flanked on one side by giant racks full of skid loads and on the other by Plexiglas barriers hemming in the stitching lines. He spotted Della Rodgers from up at the front of the plant, a woman rumored to be in line for Jack Sullivan’s job. She wore a baggy top and Andrew wondered how much longer she could hide she was pregnant. He didn’t wonder who the father was, though. In this place, he pondered, it was often decided by draft lottery or DNA at the moment of truth. Della shot him a bitter gaze, her attitude so stuck up she practically walked on the ceiling.
“I hope the kid belongs to Matt Crouch,” Andrew said, barely audible. “That’ll learn you.”
Several people stopped Andrew before he made the open area beyond the stitchers. Hoist drivers stopped and women fixing magazines came over to lament the trouble with Jordan the previous night.
“It’s just terrible,” Marcia said. She was an older lady nearing sixty who’d helped train Andrew twenty years ago when he was first hired. She could recall him before he grew a beard.
“Jordan’s all right,” he assured her.
Lena held up a yellow envelope. “Want to donate for Andrea Ennis? So bad that they found her dead out in the country.”
Andrew nodded and fished a couple bucks out of his wallet for the collection. He eyed the pictures of Jordan and Kenny in his billfold and smirked. They’d grown a great deal since that pic was taken.
Brian Miller, a hoist driver who Andrew went to high school with, said, “Damn douche bags made you work over last night. They are half responsible, man.�
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Andrew leaned on the yellow safety rail, waved at the distant offices and said, “What else is new? When they lay off guys who’ve been here thirty years and then promote some suck ass who has been here three years, what more can you expect out of them?”
Another lady in her fifties, Paula Gowran, stepped over from the stitcher side. While Andrew half smiled at the bad frost job on her hair, he accepted her hug. He’d known her through three marriages, the last ending in cancer. “We’re all praying for your little boy, Andrew.”
“Thanks, he’s a tough one, he’ll be ok.”
Brian asked, “What are you doin’ in here? I figured you’d called in.”
Andrew smiled. “I may be in for the last mile, guys.”
Marcia blurted, “They’d never fire you after what you’ve been through.”
“Sure they would,” Andrew told her. “They’re pigs.”
Paula’s lip jutted out and she looked genuinely sad at the idea of Andrew being fired. “Even pigs have some feelings.”
“Ah, it’ll be all right,” Andrew said and started to cross the big hoist aisle.
Brian dropped his safety glasses down and shook his head. “That’s fucked up, man. We heard stories of all these people getting killed.”
Andrew watched the women go back to work and said to Brian, “Yeah, messed up.”
“Your kid saw this guy, the killer?”
Unsure how he should answer, Andrew nodded.
Brian whispered above the din of machinery, saying, “I heard it’s a monster, not just a big dude. That true?”
Andrew opened his mouth, hesitated, and then his eyes followed the path toward the office.
Brian’s eyes widened, “Holy shit! It’s true!”
Andrew said, “We aren’t sure what it is, ok? The kids…” Starting to laugh, Andrew said, “Oh shut the fuck up, Miller. Who’s gonna believe you anyway?”
Brian drove off laughing and Andrew turned to face his fate with a half grin.
Jack Sullivan wasn’t smiling. He stood at the door to the bindery office, hand on the railing to the steps that led up to his office.
No words were spoken as Jack headed up the steps. Andrew thought he looked like a geek in his cream-colored pants and yellow shirt. A quick glance in the bindery office showed the bitch Carol Brandt behind the desk, smirking in glee at the sight of Andrew passing by. The foreman Debra Johnson also seemed to ooze merriment from her crypt keeper face. He’d never seen either of those women smile before. Now, he didn’t feel bad for not giving money when Brandt’s mother died a month back. He reckoned folks like her hatched out of garbage anyway. Johnson’s husband had passed on last year while watching NASCAR. The devastating loss hadn’t softened her up one bit. If anything, she painted her visage with anger and was far more ruthless than ever. These people never cared for his family so why should he have mercy on the memory of theirs?
Andrew paused on the steps, waving at Minh the IT guy in the pressroom. Minh waved back, busily adjusting something at one of the presses’ main frames. He’d get Minh his Colt 45 and dynamite later, Andrew thought. May be selling a lot of collectables soon, Andrew mused as he entered Jack’s office.
The first thing he noticed was that his office had a window. Only the offices at the opposite end of the plant had windows. Andrew often joked that they refused to let the slaves see the outside world as it would inspire hope. Andrew could see the shallow edges of Injun Creek as it snaked past the plant and trickled under the railway line. He and his father used to fish in Injun Creek farther on up the road from here. Jordan liked to fish, he pondered, as he sat down across from Jack.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you in today,” Jack said in a momentous voice, his head framed by motivational sayings on the walls.
Andrew wondered which cheap movie Jack Sullivan learned his dialogue from as he replied, “I could never imagine, Jack.”
“Call me Mr. Sullivan.”
“When I was assistant on the bind line in the early nineties, you used to come fix my strapper. You were good enough to be Jack then.” Andrew’s eyes noted the tiny picture frames on Jack’s desk. His kids or wife? Andrew suddenly didn’t give a shit.
“Mr. Sullivan to you,” he said as his voice deepened.
Andrew sat back, fingers interlaced behind his head. “So, Jack, get it over with. What do you have to say to me?”
“Always Billy Bad-Ass, to the end, huh?”
“Your father worked with mine on the Norfolk & Western railroad, Jack. How did you get to be such an aristocrat?”
Jack’s eyes flared. “That is inaccurate! I expect you to do your job.”
Andrew loathed how he talked down to everyone, separating his contractions to sound smarter. “I’ve always done it. If leaving to look after my kid interfered with your overtime, thems the breaks.”
“You are using this to get out of work. I have no sympathy for men like you.”
Hand on the knee of his denim jeans, Andrew said, “Did you call me in to brow beat me or did you have a special reason to see me?”
Jack sucked air into his nose, his teeth tight together. “You are part of the problem. You are something I can do without.”
“You ever wanna jump, high classed guy, I’m sittin’ over here.”
Eyes narrowed, Jack snapped, “You would love that, would you not?”
God, Andrew thought, he sounds like a douche bag.
Jack went on to say, “You would love me to take a swing and have me arrested?”
Andrew mocked his tone and said, “You do not have the balls, Jack Sullivan.”
Face full of redness, Jack sat back and slapped a folder of papers on his desk. “I do not need to have them. I have yours. This is your life here and it is over. You copy that, Billy Bad Ass?”
“Thank God. I thought you were gonna ask me to the prom,” Andrew stood up fast and Jack’s mouth dropped open. The big man towered over Jack’s desk and said, “Judgment day will come for all, you bastard, or is that a part of the Mass ya miss every Saturday night when ya go to church before the tavern?”
Jack stood and Andrew felt the fight was on. However, the plant manager didn’t swing at Andrew. “I think it is time you left my plant.”
Andrew gave a nod, and waited for him to go out the door first.
***
Covered by the trees that shaded old Injun Creek, Hawg slept for a time. The bark of the Harley’s straight pipes nearby roused him from his slumber. Angry, he sat up and looked through the trees.
A quarter mile away sat a yellow structure. The conglomeration of buildings made up one business. Injun Creek ran along side of this structure, so Hawg kept to the trees as the echo of the bike tormented his ears.
It was a familiar sound. Though he couldn’t smell the rider, he was certain of his identity. Eyes riveted to the rider as he parked his bike and started to take off his sunglasses, Hawg recognized the biker.
The one that got away.
Hawg never made a sound as he slipped from the tree line and started to cross the parking lot of Ambrose Brothers Printing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN Rampage
Hux stood at the back doors of the plant, hit the handicapped button to make both doors open and froze. The scent in the area was bad, like rotten fruit or pig shit…
He turned fast and saw Hawg, loping across the parking lot past the giant air conditioning units that only benefited the office areas. Surreal in appearance, clearer due to the sunlight, Hawg was coming for Hux.
His boots wouldn’t move at first, so shocked was he by the revelation. This paralysis only lasted a moment and he turned, fleeing down the ramp to the plants locked inner doors.
Hux ran down the long rug that led to the two inner doors. His badge swipe card hung from his key chain and he slapped this against the security box, never looking down at his actions. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hawg as the beast grabbed the handle of one of the swinging outer doors, ducked his head to get inside,
then smashed the other glass door as he made room for himself to get in. Hawg’s side arm shot made the glass fly down the rug, but didn’t appear to break the beast’s skin.
How does it know me? He couldn’t comprehend it, but felt glee when the security door clicked. Hux yanked the door open as Hawg dropped to all fours and moved down the carpet to the security entrance. The door that unlocked had a hard spring, so it swung open slow on purpose. Hux was through it but unable to pull it shut fast enough. Hawg grabbed the edge of it. Eye to eye with the beast, eyes riveting on the steely tusks as they started to extend, Hux abandoned his struggle.
He stumbled backwards down the center aisle of the plant. On his left, the tall racks of skids loomed, full of stock wrapped in plastic and a safety netting so it could never fall onto passersby. To his right lay the stitcher area of the factory, various turns in the production line shielded by Plexiglas. Hux ran down the yellow stripes on the floor, but only for a few steps. He collided with Mary Ann Statler, in the middle of a major gossip session with a trainee Hux didn’t recognize. She changed husbands with the decades and often cruised the small town to see whose car from the factory was parked at another’s home. Her tales and nose were longer than anyone’s Hux could name. He bounced off her and fell against the wooden cabinet where Mary Ann was about to deposit rejected books from the stitcher line.
“Why, Huxtable! Drunk so early again?” she sniped and froze as Hawg’s screech filled her ears.
Hawg only saw an obstruction between him and Hux. Her loud scream added to the cacophony of machine noises tormenting the creature. Hawg made a backhanded swipe with his right claw, knocking her jaw out of joint and sending it around the back of her head, but not removing it from her body. The trainee ran and her tongue wagged, a deep howl spitting from her neck. Hux stumbled down the aisle and Hawg sunk his left claw into her cellulite-ridden thigh. With a minor grunt, he pitched Mary Ann toward the line. She landed on the steel spools that fed wire to the stitcher heads. Her askew jaw wasn’t there to stop anything and the long bolt at the top of the spool drove through the roof of her mouth, into her sinus area.
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