by Finn Murphy
“Throw my weight around?”
“Throw your white around. You never heard that term before?”
“Meaning what exactly, Eduardo?”
“Meaning we’re brown guys and you’re the white guy. To throw your white around means you’re supposed fix the situation with your palefaced amigo.”
“I’ve never heard the term ‘throw your white around,’ but I like it. Problem is, I’m not white enough to throw anything around with this guy. We’re already pissing in the portapotty, we’re already starving. Do you think this guy looks at me any different than you?”
“I guess he doesn’t. How do you like being a brown guy?”
Just then Carlos came into the truck. He looked at me and winked. “Let’s get this fucker done. I’ll start unpacking boxes. Julio, hand me your knife.” Julio put up his hands. No knife. “Eduardo, let me borrow your knife.” Eduardo shrugged. No knife. “How about that?” said Carlos. “Three Mexicans and no knife.” Everyone laughed, and the tension was broken. Carlos figured that since we’d have the Bavarian Motel for another night we’d hit Aspen later and gorge ourselves. He told me his cousin said we needed to go to the Hickory House for ribs and order the two-person, $72 “Feast” from the menu. Carlos said that if we added a bucket of Modelo’s to the rib platter, it might go a long way toward dealing with the day. I told him that sounded like an excellent plan. Carlos smiled and became the happiest man on earth as he humped the crates while his tummy was rumbling, knowing that a feast at the Hickory was going to end his day. I envied his attitude. The nice thing about hard work is that it eventually ends. When it ends, there’s a hot shower, sore muscles, and, if you’re lucky, a few cold Modelos and a pile of ribs. That’s enough for Carlos, and very often enough for me. Eduardo, on the other hand, hadn’t yet finished his personal Occupy movement. “I asked you a question,” he said. “How do you like being a brown guy?”
“I’m OK with it mostly, Eduardo. If I let it get to me, then I’d be pissed off like you. The shipper doesn’t know me, or you, and he doesn’t care to. It’s not really about us. We’re just pieces of the machine to get his art uncrated.”
“Well, it pisses me off. He’s treating us like dirt, and you can’t change it. There’s going to come a time when I’m going to get really pissed off at both of those things.”
“Your problem, Eduardo, is that you can’t stand being a mover. You think you’re cut out for better things. You’ve got a certain dignity that you’re not able to release. You’re in the wrong business. Look at Carlos, he doesn’t let this stuff bother him.”
“Carlos is an idiot. At least when I was a pimp I could keep my dignity.”
“Carlos looks brilliant to me. He takes what he’s given and smiles through it all. I wish I could be that smart. So you were a dignified pimp? Look at what you had to do with your girls. You could keep your dignity, but they couldn’t keep theirs.”
“They didn’t have any.”
“You sound just like our shipper. Do you think he’s better off being on top of the pile and you’re worse off being at the bottom? What is it you want? I think you want to be over there discussing wine cellars and treating the rest of us like dirt.”
“You’re exactly right. That should be me over there.”
“Remind me never to move you when your ship comes in, Eduardo. How about we get this job done and go eat some ribs and drink some beer?”
“That’s enough for Carlos. Maybe even for you. Not for me. You’re just playing at this shit anyway. Mr. Great White Mover with a house in Boulder, slumming with the brown guys for some kicks. That pisses me off too. I should kick your ass.”
“It’s not that much of a game humping furniture and being treated like I’m invisible. I do the same work as you, and I drive, and I do the paperwork. Ever read Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison?”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
“Too bad. You’d like it, but it would piss you off even more.”
“I don’t need that.”
“No, you don’t. Still, it can be a comfort to know you’re not the only one annoyed at the status quo.”
“I couldn’t care less who else out there is getting disrespected. I only care about me getting disrespected. You like this work. I fucking hate it.”
“Eduardo, my doing this has nothing to do with you. But you’re right, I do like it.”
“If it was all you had, you’d hate it.”
“There might be some truth to that. Let’s finish this and eat some ribs.”
“You can’t buy me off like Carlos with some fucking ribs.”
“I’m not trying to buy you off. I’m simply asking you to enjoy the ribs with me and Julio and Carlos. If you want to kick my ass afterwards, fine. It won’t change your circumstances and it won’t quell your anger.”
“Maybe afterward I won’t be so angry.”
“Do you really think that?”
“No. But I really do think I need to release all this anger at somebody.”
“I’ve got an idea. How about we fuck the shipper?”
“How?”
“Leave that to me. I’ll get him where it hurts. Right smack in the center of that bloated ego of his. I promise you it will be good.”
“That might get me through the day, but I still want to hurt somebody. I’m going to tell Consuelo that this house is famous for a murder and that it’s haunted. If she’s the kind of Latina I think she is, she’ll be gone by five. Maybe we should invite her for ribs.”
“Let’s go back to work.”
Julio and Carlos missed this little existential conversation. They were working. They had definitely not missed the scene at the kitchen island with all the food, though. They’re more used to this than I am. Brown guys in Colorado don’t get a lot of respect. On the other hand, they could have shopped yesterday for today’s lunch instead of drinking beer at the motel pool. But that would have taken foresight, which none of my guys have in abundance. For my part, I generally don’t eat at all when I’m working, so I didn’t think of their lunch. Well, I’m not their babysitter.
We attacked the crates. The eight granite pieces we wheeled in were gravestones from Chinese emperors. Mr. Big told us to be careful, since each one cost $85,000. He had eight pedestals custom built in his gallery to showcase them.
Before I dropped out of my chic northeastern liberal arts college, I took Chinese for one semester. I was there just long enough to learn some rudimentary characters. I knew that Chinese reads from right to left, and I knew the vertical orientation. I was damned sure Mr. Big didn’t know Chinese from Pig Latin, so I had the boys set up the slabs upside down. Sooner or later Mr. Big would have a cocktail party and be bragging about his pilfered gravestones to somebody who knew Chinese. He didn’t care about the movers, but he would care about being exposed as an ignorant Philistine when it was pointed out he doesn’t know up from down on his six hundred grand worth of stolen rock. It wasn’t a big victory, but down there on the moving trucks, it was enough.
We finished the job. No tip, naturally.
After showers at the motel, we took a cab to Hickory’s and ordered two “Feasts.” That’s when I told them about the gravestones. They all laughed their asses off. Even Eduardo.
Just as we were leaving, Consuelo came in with her husband and three kids. Eduardo had told her the gringo driver would buy her family dinner. Eduardo knew I would, of course. I shook hands with Mr. Consuelo, nodded at the children, and left my credit card number with the hostess. I don’t know any Spanish, but when I was walking out the door to the taxi, a little bit buzzed on six or nine Modelos, I saw Consuelo cross herself several times in front of Eduardo. On the way home Eduardo told us Consuelo had quit. She told him she knew there was something wrong with the house, and the occupants, but hadn’t figured it out until Eduardo told her about the murder.
Chapter 10
BABY GRAND
“Finn, I’ve got a good one. Wanna to hear it?” It was Pete
Ruggles on the phone. Pete runs long-haul operations for Joyce Van Lines and is an industry lifer. In a weird irony, he also went to Colby College, and graduated, so we have that old college bond. We call each other from time to time just to chat or pass on a crazy moving story.
The afternoon of this call I was peeling off Ben Franklins into the eager palms of Carlos and Julio, having just delivered another rocket scientist to Colorado.
“Sure, Pete. I always want to hear strange moving stories. What happened this time?”
“My old pal Nick from Bingo Movers in New Jersey just called me. Seems their driver was supposed to deliver six thousand pounds plus a baby grand to residence this morning. I don’t know what happened, but the driver unloaded the stuff onto the shipper’s driveway and took off. The piano’s still sitting there on its side in the sunshine with the rest of the shipment.”
“Jeez, Pete. Must have been a really bad shipper. What’d he do? Ask the driver for his green card? Rap sheet? Tell him this is America so speak English? Maybe he looked on the sex offender website and saw his driver’s picture?”
“Dunno. All I know is the whole load is still in the shipper’s driveway.”
“Sounds bad. Good thing it’s not your problem. Not mine either. We’re going to lunch at Miner’s Tavern. It’s Philly cheesesteak day.”
“Well, Nick asked me if I could help him out. He’s an old buddy, so I’m going to try. When something this bad happens, it’s appropriate to circle the wagons and show some solidarity.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Pete. You’re a good guy that way.”
“Yeah. I’m going to have to send a crew to clean it up. You’ll never guess where this guy’s driveway is.”
“Oh no, Pete! Fuhgeddaboudit. I thought this was a social call. Stupid me. Not nobody, not nohow.”
“Afraid so, Mr. Wizard. It’s fifty-five miles from where you’re standing. Evergreen, Colorado. Looks like it’s going to rain too.”
“I’m going to make you say it, Pete. What is it you want?”
“I want you and your crew to go up to Evergreen and take care of it.”
“When?”
“Now. Actually, sooner than now. Nick said money’s no object.”
“You want me to take my trailer out to Evergreen with my boys, finish the unload, including a baby grand, calm down this crazy shipper, make everybody happy, and money’s no object?”
“Yup.”
“When a mover’s in trouble, charge them double. I’ll do it for two.”
“Two what?”
“Thousand.”
“That’s robbery, Finn. Nick won’t go for it.”
“No problem, Pete. Tell Nick to work his Rolodex while I eat my cheesesteak. You’re right, it is going to rain. Something to do with the cumulonimbus formations. I’m not really up on the science, but it rains in the mountains every afternoon about one forty-five in the summer. I hope the shipper signed off at sixty cents a pound. If he bought replacement coverage, Nick’s in for an Olympic-size claim. Those baby grands don’t like to take baths. Screws up the soundboard for openers, and those little felt thingies inside are like sponges; they just soak up the water. Plus, I hear the metal strings rust up real quick—”
“Stop already. The shipper’s got full replacement value at seventy-five thousand. Ralph’s deductible is twenty thousand.”
“Oh well. Too bad for Ralphie. Two grand sounds like a steal. In fact, it’s too cheap.”
“Enough! What’s the cut for Joyce out of your two grand?”
“How about zeeerrrooo, Pete. Nick is your buddy, and this is off the books. I’ll bet Willie doesn’t even know you’re calling me.”
“What are you going to pay your guys out of that?”
“I think this conversation is getting off track. I’m enjoying it, though. I never, ever, get to dictate terms, so I’m really going to milk this. Am I going for a cheesesteak or going to Evergreen?”
“Have the shipper sign a paper that says Joyce has no responsibility on this. Do that before you touch anything.”
“Sounds like we’re doing the deal.”
“We’re doing the deal. Go fix it.”
“I’ll do my best, Pete.”
This was interesting. I asked Carlos and Julio if they wanted lunch or three hundred each to work the rest of the day. They were suspicious. I explained the situation, and they opted for the three hundred. So out of the two thousand, I’d pocket fourteen hundred after paying the boys while using the Joyce truck and the Joyce fuel. That’s not bad by any standard, but there were uncertainties. The shipper was bound to be somewhat disconcerted, and, this being Colorado, we might be greeted at gunpoint, or by a posse of close friends in an ugly mood. Regardless, we were ready. I fired up the tractor, hooked up an equipment-loaded trailer, and headed out to Evergreen.
The exurbs west of Denver are mottled with winding roads sporting thousands of homes built into the mountainsides. Towns like Conifer, Genesee, and Aspen Park sprout up practically overnight, and developers grab any piece of ground that can hold a foundation to build somebody’s dream house in the hills. It’s a zoning nightmare and typical of Colorado. When easterners think of Colorado, they think of pristine mountain vistas and John Denver. Colorado, in fact, has more in common with southeast Florida, Phoenix, and Los Angeles when it comes to land use. The primary goal is to get the politicians to provide as much publicly subsidized infrastructure as possible so the real estate honchos can build more houses, condos, strip malls, and blacktop. The secondary goal is to have the existing taxpayers pay for the new schools, sewer plants, roads, and police departments that these same taxpayers didn’t ask for. People always seem to be puzzled when their bucolic communites get overrun by sprawl. Well, guess what? It didn’t just happen. It was planned, years before, by the developers and the elected officials in the town hall. Even more likely is that the developers were the elected officials in the town hall. Most people are too busy changing diapers and getting the kids to dance recitals to notice what is really going on out there. You can trace the entire arc of American history back to real estate scams starting with the Colonial Ordinance of 1648 in Massachusetts, which is still in effect. It’s actually even earlier if you want to dig a little. The pilgrims in Plymouth and the second and third sons of English gentry in Jamestown may have been starving to death, but that didn’t stop them from platting all the ground. Our elementary school history books say that George Washington started out as a land surveyor. Well, he was sort of a surveyor. What he really was was a real estate speculator on a grand scale, as were most of our founding fathers.
Here’s an interesting historical question: Why did so many American Civil War battles take place near courthouses? We’ve got Spotsylvania, Amelia, Jacinto, Stafford, Dinwiddie, and Appomattox, to name just six. Why were there so many courthouses in the rural USA in the nineteenth century? Was there so much theft? No. Robbery? No. Crimes of violence? No. The reason was that everybody was suing everyone else over land possession, ownership, titles, and development rights. Well, the real estate interests settled it all down over the ensuing century by operating quietly and effectively so that the path of unbridled development looked like progress and the ensuing sprawl looked random. It may have been progress, depending upon your definition, but it certainly wasn’t random. As a result we have all these swaths of low-density sprawl all over the country.
Evergreen is one of these. Miles and miles of roads and scattered houses where school bus rides are mini road trips and you have to drive half an hour to get a pint of milk. I was climbing uphill in the truck around the hairpin turns when I saw what looked to be a large yard sale. This had to be it. I parked on the main road before negotiating the driveway. This was potential hostile territory. If I was the shipper I’d be supremely pissed off and panting to take it out on somebody. Julio was in the lead with his 240 pounds and six feet three inches; Carlos was next, his taut frame expressing menace. I was last in line, looking for a rifle barre
l sticking out a window. There wasn’t a sound. It was a little past 1 p.m. as we passed through the mess in the driveway, veered around the piano lying on the pavement, and rang the front doorbell. I heard a baby crying, then footsteps, then the door opened, and there was our shipper, Mr. McNally, a pleasant-looking young man, holding an infant. Mrs. McNally was behind him with a toddler on her hip. I bravely stepped in front of my phalanx.
“Mr. McNally? I’m Finn Murphy from Joyce Van Lines. I’m here to make things right.”
“Thank God,” said Mrs. McNally.
“I’ve no idea what happened here and don’t need to know, but a short summary might be useful. Can you tell me anything?”
“Sure,” said Mr. McNally, “The driver showed up this morning and started to unload with his crew. We were in here with the kids. All of a sudden the truck left with everything still in the driveway. I called the office in New Jersey, and they said they’d figure it out. That’s all I know.”
“You didn’t have any words or anything with the driver or the crew?”
“Nothing. They came in, said hello, everything seemed fine, and then they were gone.”
“Well, I’m very sorry about all this. We’re a local crew. This is Julio and Carlos. We’ll get this all sorted out for you.”
“That sounds great.”
“There will be no more problems. Let’s do a walk-through and see where everything’s going.”
The residence was what they call an upside-down house, which meant the kitchen and living room were on the second level and the bedrooms on the ground level. They’re built that way so the mountain vista, really just a view of other houses and power lines, is enjoyed from the living level. On the ground floor there was a small interior stairway with a sharp turn leading up, and an outside stairway leading to a deck and the entrance to the kitchen. The house was built in the 1970s and was a total piece of shit.
I was thinking solely about how we were going to get that baby grand lying in the driveway into the house.