Desperate Times

by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Desperate Times

  By

  Nicholas Antinozzi

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Nicholas Antinozzi

  Copyright © 2010 by Nicholas Antinozzi

  Edited by Sue McInnis, MS

  Cover Design by Steve Peterson

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  One

  Black Friday. The term originated on Friday, September 24, 1869, when there was a failed attempt to corner the gold market, causing investors to panic and the stock market to plummet. While there have been a handful of Black Fridays since that time, the largest single-day drop in the market occurred on Monday, October 19, 1987. That day the market shed nearly a quarter of its value. Generally it is agreed that Black Friday refers to Tuesday, October 29, 1929, the day investors leapt from their skyscrapers, ushering in the Great Depression.

  Those dates were just tune-ups for what was about to come. Call it political correctness or dumb luck; Wall Street would save its greatest tragedy for a Friday.

  It was on that Friday morning that Jimmy Logan sprinted from his Chevy pickup across the gravel parking lot toward the long sheet metal building that housed Dahlgren Industries. He’d overslept and was fifteen minutes late for his shift. Over the past year there had been a fifty percent reduction in the workforce, which translated into a fifty percent increase in responsibility. Last week there was a meeting over the importance of attendance with special emphasis about being on time. With that stuck in his mind, Jimmy hit the concrete sidewalk at a dead run, clutching his shirt pocket with his right hand to keep his cigarettes from flying out.

  Jimmy paused at the employee entrance and quickly composed himself. At thirty-two, he was still in his prime and in good physical shape, despite the pack-a-day habit. He ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Jimmy sighed, then opened the door and walked inside the brightly lit building where stout iron machines, painted battleship gray, were already thumping away. Forklifts rumbled, and the overhead crane whined as it slid across the rails with a heavy load. The familiar smell of burnt steel and cutting oil greeted his nostrils. Those sounds and smells never changed.

  Jimmy could feel the eyes of his co-workers upon him as he rounded the corner of the shop and headed up the steps to the time clock. He reached for his card in the bottom right slot where he’d parked it for nearly ten years and found the slot empty.

  “Jimmy, I need to see you in my office,” beckoned the gravel voice of Ken Dahlgren.

  Jimmy closed his eyes for a second and turned to face the owner. Ken Dahlgren nearly filled the door. He was tall and trim, and one look at his hands told you that this man was close to his work. Dahlgren was dressed in his usual business attire—blue jeans, flannel shirt, and a battered pair of steel-toed work boots. His face was grim. Jimmy nodded and followed Ken inside the double doors into the upstairs offices. His heart was in his throat, but he managed a smile and gave a quick wave to Ken’s wife, Patty, who now ran the office by herself. Jimmy had known Patty nearly all his life, and he didn’t like the look in her eyes when she returned the wave.

  The fact that Ken was leading him into his private office only made him feel more apprehensive. Jimmy wondered if he should apologize for being late and beat Ken to the punch. Still, he didn’t think that being fifteen minutes late justified a trip into the office. A visit there was usually to discuss a serious problem in the shop, more than likely a mistake on your part. And while Ken never raised his voice, his words carried a lot of weight and could hit you pretty hard. Jimmy racked his brain, wondering if he’d screwed something up. He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t absolutely sure.

  Ken’s small office was semi-organized chaos. Two drafting tables held scattered reams of blueprints. The blinds over the window on the far wall were closed. Ken’s laptop computer sat open on his desk. Two mismatched steel chairs sat across from it. “Take a seat, Jimmy,” Ken said, shutting the door before settling in behind the cluttered desk and closing the laptop. “There’s coffee in the pot,” he added, nodding his head to the steel table behind Jimmy. “You might want a cup; this is going to take a while. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Jimmy shook his head. Whatever Ken was going to say he wanted it straight up. “What’s going on, Ken,” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Are you letting me go?” He regretted saying that even before the words had left his mouth. He sounded defensive.

  Ken looked at Jimmy thoughtfully, and after a brief hesitation he shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, a flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “But I only wish it was something as trivial as that. The truth is, Kid, this is it. We’re shuttin’ down.”

  Jimmy was rocked back in his chair by the impact of those words.

  “Where the hell do I start?” asked Ken, looking troubled. “Listen, your folks were like family to me and Patty. You know that. At their funeral, I made a vow to them that I’d look out for you. You’ve made that pretty easy; you’re a damn good employee. But it’s more than that. We’re friends, right?”

  Jimmy nodded and decided that he wanted that cup of coffee after all. He didn’t like where this conversation was headed. Ken knew full well that he didn’t like talking about this subject. The wound was deep, and the scab had never healed. Jimmy’s parents had been killed in a car accident nine years ago. Nine long years, and a day didn’t pass that he didn’t think about them. Jimmy had already been working in the shop at the time when the sleeping truck driver had jumped his rig across the median and crushed the family sedan like an empty beer can. That had been a long time ago, and while Jimmy would never get over the incident, he had learned to cope. He carefully selected the cleanest of the dirty mugs and poured himself a cup from the pot.

  “I don’t suppose you caught the news this morning?” Ken asked, sipping his own coffee from a battered steel mug.

  “No,” admitted Jimmy, shaking his head as he returned to his chair.

  “Have you been paying attention to the economy? Do you know what’s going on out there?”

  Jimmy didn’t know if Ken meant out in the shop or if he was referring to out in the world. He thought Ken meant the latter. “Yeah, I know what’s goin’ on. A lot of people are out of work, and now half the town will be on unemployment. We’re in a recession. I get it.”

  Ken held up his hands. “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean to put it that way,” he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if asking God for a little help. “How can I put this? Listen, Kid, things out there are a whole lot worse than anyone is saying. The shit’s gonna hit the fan today. It’s already happening. The dollar dropped twenty-five percent overnight, and the stock market was down a thousand points five minutes after the opening bell,” Ken then typed a few keys on his computer. After a moment his face darkened. “Make that twenty-five hundred points, and the market has only been open for twenty-six minutes. We’re running out of time.”

  While Jimmy understood precious little of the workings of the stock market, but he did understand numbers. These didn’t sound very good at all. “Okay,” he said, setting his cup down. “What the hell does that mean to us?”

  “It means that barring a miracle, the wheels are about to come off of this thing. I don’t believe in miracles. I’ve been watching this for a long time now, months, years even. I knew that it was just a matter of time,” Ken’s tone grew more intense with each word he spoke. “Our entire system of government was corrupted, and our economy has been running on smoke and mirrors. Where do you think that bailout money is right now? I’ll tell you—it’s in the bank accounts of those cro
oked bastards who caused this mess in the first place. We should’ve demanded heads, but like the sheep we’ve become, we trusted our government to do the right thing. They let this happen. No, they made this happen. The fools just kept printing money.”

  “All right, all right,” said Jimmy, who stood up and began to pace. “What the hell are we supposed to do about it? Spit it out. What are you telling me?”

  “We—and that includes you and Paula—are heading up to the lake place this afternoon. We’ve got to get out of here while we still can. Patty and I prepared for it the best we could. We’ve laid in supplies, I think we have enough to last a year, if it lasts that long.”

  “It? What do you mean, it?”

  “Unless I’m wrong—and trust me I’m not—the dollar bill will be just about worthless by the end of the day. Everything will shut down, plain and simple. The trucks will quit running, and the shelves in the stores are going to empty before you know it. I just didn’t think it’d happen so fast. There’s a lot of speculation that the government will declare martial law. I believe them. We’ve got to get out of Dodge before that happens. Who knows—they might get a handle on this thing in a few weeks, maybe less, but don’t count on it. The treasury is empty, bankrupt, and it’s time to pay the piper.”

  “Holy crap!” said Jimmy, rubbing his face with both hands. He could feel perspiration beading up on his forehead. Anyone else could’ve told him this, and he would’ve told them they were full of shit. Ken Dahlgren was a straight shooter; he’d never share this information with Jimmy unless he absolutely believed it were true. “What are we supposed to do, just walk away from everything? How can I explain this to Paula? ‘Hey, pack your stuff. The economy bit the big one and we’re going up to Ken’s lake home today!’ Right, that’ll float like a lead balloon.”

  “I can’t answer that for you, Kid. You’ve got to drill it into her head that this is going be our only shot at getting out. Look, hardly anyone planned for this. Those who didn’t are going to have to do whatever it takes to feed their families. Do you understand what that means? They’re going to want what we have, and we’re going to need to protect ourselves from those people. Tell her that. Tell her whatever she needs to hear, but just make sure she understands that this is no joke.”

  “We’ve invited the Putnams and the Donnellys, and that’s it. I know that’s probably not music to your ears, but they’re good men once you get them away from this place. The checks are ready; I paid everyone through five o’clock today. I’m going to cut everyone loose so the rest of the crew can be with their families. I’m also going to tell them what I just told you. They can use that information however they see fit. Unless…you’d like to do me a favor and tell them all for me?”

  Jimmy shook his head, smiling for the first time that day. “No, thanks. That’s why you get the big bucks,” he said, wishing this was a bad dream and thinking Ken was right about what he thought of Donnelly and Putnam. Jimmy detested both of the men.

  Ken nodded with a smirk and studied his computer screen for a second. “Down thirty-six hundred points,” he mumbled. “We’ve got to get you moving.”

  Jimmy watched as Ken opened his bottom desk drawer and quickly produced a bank envelope. He then stood, reached into his pants pocket and dug out a familiar ring with two keys on it. Ken set the key ring on the envelope and pushed it across the desk to Jimmy.

  “Those are the keys to the Mack,” Ken said, as if Jimmy didn’t know. The Mack was the company truck used for carting parts to and from their customers and also doubled as a moving van if someone needed it badly enough. “There’s about eight thousand bucks in that envelope. I want you to head over to Saint Cloud and top off the tanks and buy whatever you can get your hands on.”

  “I can’t take your money, Ken,” protested Jimmy. “I’ve got a little in the bank.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to take it. I’m ordering you to do it. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got a ton of shit to take care of before we hit the road. You’d better stop home first and run this by Paula. We don’t want her watching this unfold on the television alone. She might panic. You’ve got to be quick, and you’ve got to make her believe. I’m going to be blunt; if she won’t go I want you to give her enough cash to get down to her folks’ place. My guess is that she’s going to lean that way. That’s a big mistake. The cities are going to be war zones, and it won’t matter how much her old man owns or what he has in the bank. But that’s their business. Do you follow me? I want you heading up with us.”

  Jimmy did follow Ken on that. Paula’s parents lived quite nicely, thanks to their pedigree and a nine-figure trust fund. Paula had been cut from those considerable purse strings when she’d moved in with Jimmy. That’d been nearly two years ago. Ken was also right about Paula; she just might decide to return to her parents. That would be up to her. Things hadn’t been good between the two of them lately, and Jimmy honestly didn’t know what she’d do.

  “Get moving,” Ken said, motioning toward the door. “Every minute we waste here that wad of cash is worth a little less. Take care of business, pack your shit and get to my place by three o’clock. I think Patty’s cooking steaks, so come hungry. We’ll eat and hit the highway. Don’t forget to top off the tanks; this might be our last chance to fuel that pig for a long time.”

  Jimmy took the envelope and the keys to the truck. He felt he should say something but had no idea what that something was. He nodded to Ken, trying to look confident and up to the task at hand. He certainly didn’t feel up to this. Despite the proof on Ken’s computer of the collapsing stock market, Jimmy didn’t want to believe any of what Ken had told him. He also knew that Ken would never lie to him or even stretch the truth. Ken Dahlgren was his rock, a man he would trust with his life. He reached over the desk, firmly shook Ken’s hand and walked out the door.

  Of everything that was racing through Jimmy’s mind as he unlocked the door to the Mack, he dwelled on the other men who would be joining them. Ken didn’t know them like he did. Both of the shift supervisors were masters of illusion in the workplace. Solidly behind Ken and good company men to his face, out on the shop floor it was an entirely different story. They bitterly complained to each other about Ken and his stupid ideas all day long. Jimmy had tried to tell Ken about this on several occasions, but it hadn’t done any good. They’d all been friends for longer than Jimmy had walked the earth. Ken wouldn’t believe a word of it. Jimmy thought that the truth was about to come out about both men. He would be right, beyond his wildest dreams.

  Two

  Hyperinflation is a term used to describe what happens to prices as a currency rapidly loses its value. Case in point: As recently as thirty years ago, the Zimbabwe dollar was worth roughly 1.25 in United States dollars. By July 22, 2008, that value had decreased to a ratio of 688 billion to one USD.

  People said that could never happen here. They were wrong.

  Jimmy parked the twenty-six foot truck out on the shoulder of the highway outside the trailer court where he lived. The narrow streets inside Westwind Manufactured Home Community were lined with parked cars, making it not very friendly to large vehicles. It was a little after eight, and the sun was just beginning to burn the condensation off the windows of those cars. It was quickly becoming a warm, humid morning. Hungry robins pulled breakfast from the green grass while two chained terriers outside the nearest trailer yapped at them or anything else that moved. Jimmy gathered his thoughts, rolled up the window and pulled the keys from the ignition.

  His double-wide was three blocks inside the sprawling trailer court. He lit up a Camel and began to walk, trying to work things out in his head. He didn’t bother wrestling with the big picture. The only thing on his mind was Paula and how she’d react to what he was about to tell her. He passed the barking terriers, barely noticing them. Paula wouldn’t believe him; he was sure of that. Paula caught her news on the Entertainment Network, and Jimmy doubted if she could even comprehend what was about to happen. He
could barely get his own mind around it.

  He knew it’d be an easier task if the two of them were getting along. Just last week they’d had an argument, and she’d threatened to move back home with her parents. They didn’t like Jimmy, never had. They’d be elated to take her back. They’d made it abundantly clear that they thought it was beneath their daughter to live in a trailer court. They also blamed Jimmy for Paula’s decision to leave school, which was ridiculous because Jimmy had fought with her over that decision. They still argued over it.

  Jimmy continued down the sidewalk and turned the corner on Pinto Street, stepping over an overturned bicycle with training wheels. He could see his place from here and took one last drag from his cigarette before flicking it into a sewer grate. An approaching car passed and someone waved from the passenger seat. Jimmy blindly waved back, oblivious to anyone or anything beyond what was waiting just a few lots away. His stomach was in knots that grew tighter with each step.

  “Hey, neighbor,” a familiar voice harkened from an open window.

  Jimmy wanted to scream. It was Bill Huggins, and Jimmy knew that if he didn’t keep moving, and fast, he’d be stuck there on the sidewalk for a long time. Bill was a world-class talker and could stretch a simple hello into an hour-long ramble. He was also a crack mechanic, master electrician, and a top-notch plumber, which made him tolerable. He also promptly returned borrowed items. He couldn’t spell to save his life, but his printing was impeccable. Bill was a walking contradiction, if not an intolerable bore.

  “Hey, Bill,” answered Jimmy to what was now an empty window. He stretched his legs as far as he could, walking as quickly as possible without actually breaking into a run.

  Bill’s door banged open, and before Jimmy could cross the final fifty feet home, the pudgy Huggins had cut him off cleanly. Jimmy gritted his teeth. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Bill; the two had known each other since high school. The trouble was Bill never bothered to ask Jimmy if he’d caught him at a bad time, and he never seemed to give him an opportunity to say so on his own. Bill had that unique ability to speak in a steady stream without ever seeming to take a breath. To Jimmy, it seemed that Bill sat inside all day thinking of things to say to him during moments such as these.