“Jesus, Sharon, what are you doing out here? You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“God dammit, Gene, I nearly maced your ass into next week.”
Gene gingerly stood on both feet and motioned for Sharon to stand down. “Okay, look, I didn’t like not knowing what was going on at this place either. But I didn’t expect you to act like a fricking private eye.”
“Yeah, well, here we are.” She put the pepper spray back in her purse.
He eyed the purse suspiciously. “Got anything stronger in there?”
She tipped her head slightly. “Do I need anything stronger?”
Gene pulled his coat away from his waistband, revealing a revolver jutting out of his pants. “We might.”
Sharon’s eyes bulged. “Gene, does that thing have a safety?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
Sharon exhaled sharply. “Well, thank God for that. Let’s bust these clowns.”
Gene blew a puff of air up through his mustache. “Hey, we’re not cops, remember?”
Sharon glanced down at his waist. “Coulda fooled me.”
“Nice. Come on.” He led her to the smoker’s door. He turned the knob and was relieved to discover it was unlocked. They exchanged glances, and Gene pulled the door open quietly. Sharon grabbed the edge of the door and followed him into the warehouse closely, and as silently as she could muster.
The warehouse was huge, as they had surmised from viewing the exterior. The ceilings were at least 20 feet up, and large box heaters roared from various vantage points, usually in corners, close to the ceiling. As told by Alphonzo, there were several zones, labeled in black digits that appeared to have been sprayed on through a stencil. Unpainted cinder blocks were stacked and mortared, making for a utilitarian but effective organizational system.
Gene and Sharon hid behind a pallet piled high with boxes. Gene peered around the side and observed the worker that had taken the smoke break returning to one of the far staging zones and assisting two other workers with loading a large plastic bin with trash. They appeared to be emptying the drop zone in time for the next loads to arrive the next business day.
Sharon took a turn assessing the layout and found their next stopping point. They’d tack their way forward and collect evidence. She tried to decide if video or still photos were the best option. On her signal, they crouched down and duck-walked over to a row of plastic bins. Gene dropped to his knees, and then into a duck-and-cover position. Sharon followed his lead. After waiting a few moments and listening for approaching workers, Gene peeked over one of the bins, then signaled “all clear”.
He saw their next target: drop zone 01 was wide open. The workers were clearing out 05, by his count. It was risky, but if they could sneak into the drop zone without being spotted, they’d be close enough to start taking pictures.
Sharon nodded in agreement to the plan. She tried to breathe through her nose as often as possible, but the rank stench of the drop zones was going to make that difficult, if not downright unbearable.
On Gene’s signal, they made haste for the drop zone. The workers seemed focused on their labors and might not have noticed if the pair had casually walked down the aisle, arm-in-arm. Gene wasn’t going to test that theory—neither was Sharon. They pressed against the wall separating zone 01 from zone 02 and held their breath.
The workers filled their plastic bin and called for somebody. A moment or two later, a pallet jack clattered along the cement floor and raised the plastic bin. The jack rumbled away, and one of the workers headed toward the row of plastic bins that Gene and Sharon had just been using for cover. They looked at each other and simultaneously exhaled. Fortunately, the worker kept his head down and pushed the empty bin to the drop zone without looking to either side. Gene and Sharon crouched down and tried to look like stray trash bags. From a distance, it might have been a passable illusion.
The workers were clearing out the drop zone front to back, which meant the next load placed them further into the corral. The plastic bin jutted out into the main aisle, but most importantly for Gene and Sharon, they no longer had line of sight to anyone approaching from zone 01.
Gene silently motioned to Sharon, and they crept forward to zone 03. This zone had trash almost to the edge. They could press their backs into it and blend in, so long as nobody paid close attention. Sharon was catching on that attention to detail wasn’t exactly anyone’s strong suit, apart from the single-minded focus they gave to clearing drop zones of trash.
Sharon fished her digital camera out of her purse. She removed the glove from her right hand and used that hand to operate the camera. She boldly stepped out into the aisle and snapped some photos. The empty zone 01, the partially cleared zone 02, the nearly filled zone 03—she tried to keep Gene cropped out of the photo—the empty zone 04, and the plastic bin sticking out of zone 05. She stepped back into the corral, just in the nick of time, or so she thought. Her stomach turned sour when she heard a familiar voice to her right.
“Aw, hell no!”
Alphonzo’s voice was close enough to be breathing in Sharon’s ear, but she quickly realized that he was in zone 02, rooting around.
“Aw, hell no, come on, you guys. You can’t be doin’ me like this. Hey, yo, Hector! Hector!”
Gene and Sharon turned inwardly and held their breath. A Hispanic male dressed in all black passed them. Gene caught a glimpse of him while trying not to choke on the foul scent of the garbage.
“What’s up, ‘Zo?”
“Hector, come on, man, you know we got to have these zones clean! Missah Syed, man, he tell us we gotta clean the zones, man, and you can’t be doin’ me like this! Whatchoo doin’ on oh-five for, when oh-two still not done?”
Hector shrugged. “We didn’t feel like it.”
Alphonzo groaned. “Well, feel like it real quick. The floor got to stay busy, man. If they waiting on us, that get Missah Syed mad, you feel me?”
Hector sounded unconvinced. “So what? If we give ‘em oh-five, that keeps ‘em busy. We’ll get back to oh-two later.”
Alphonzo’s patience was audibly wearing thin. “Because we running oh-two tomorrow. Oh-two got to be empty now so nobody waiting on nobody else. Oh-five gotta wait.”
“Okay, ‘Zo, you’re the boss.” Hector’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“No, I ain’t, and you better not be saying no nothin’ like that when Missah Syed around. I just work here, same as you.” Alphonzo walked briskly up the aisle to zone 05. “Yo! Move this over to oh-two! I ain’t playin’!”
Hector walked coolly behind him. The two other workers, a man and a woman, pushed the plastic bin down the aisle. Hector turned on his heel and followed them into the partially cleared corral.
Alphonzo stood beside zone 03, and waited for their work to resume without comment. He kicked a trash bag on the floor and bounded away, in the direction of zones 06-12, shouting a final order as he left. “And keep that junk out of the aisle, man, Missah Syed want this place neat.”
Gene and Sharon rose from behind a makeshift barricade made of trash bags. They stepped over the pile and into zone 05. They heard Hector swear under his breath as he tossed the bags back into the corral.
“All talk, and no action. He could have cleaned this up himself.” Hector returned to zone 02, and the intruders tried to decide on their next plan of action. Should they press deeper into the warehouse, or slip outside at their first opportunity? Before they could decide, Alphonzo’s voice called out in all directions.
“All hands meeting! All y’all, on the floor. All hands!”
Hector and the two other workers shuffled down the aisle. Gene and Sharon crouched down to be as inconspicuous as possible. The trio didn’t look to either side.
Gene and Sharon followed them at a safe distance. They had entered the warehouse at the very back, and to their knowledge nobody was going to approach from the rear once the drop zones were cleared of workers. They passed a cinder block-walled room that contained wa
rning signs against entry when the flashing red light was on. There were bay doors on either side of the room that were wide open, but everyone took care to avoid the room at all costs. Sharon expected someone to take a shortcut through the room, but nobody did. She saw workers making their way to a place beyond the double-doored room, which further added to the confusion as to why nobody opted for a shorter route.
Sharon and Gene ducked into the room, which was empty, and lit by fluorescent tubes. Grey speakers hung in the corners. The room seemed utterly unworthy of warning signs of any sort. Maybe some sort of alarm sounded in there? Or there were toxic fumes involved? After getting a face-full of garbage, Gene wondered how much more noxious the fumes could get.
Sharon’s boot skidded on something that seemed like dog poop. She winced and dreaded confirming her diagnosis. She lifted her boot and checked the sole. Something brown was on her boot, but it wasn’t poop. Gene looked at the substance curiously, then crouched down to scoop some of it off the floor with his bare hand. He held it to his nose and sniffed it. “Clay.”
“Huh? Are you sure?”
He stood and offered it to her nose. She declined the offer. “I thought garbage composted into dirt.”
“How the hell should I know?” Gene blew a puff of air up into his mustache.
Sharon shrugged, and pulled the digital camera out of her purse. She took photos of the streaks of clay on the floor and put the camera away. They left the strange room and headed for the all-hands meeting.
CHAPTER 62: CONTACT
Jacqueline sat at her desk and replied to another email that her assistant could have capably handled on her own. She was reaching, and she knew it. By all rights, she should be at home with her family. The work day was very much over.
But she wasn’t ready to go home just yet. She had her timing down: leave just enough time to say goodnight to the twins, get ready for bed, make perfunctory small talk with Richardson, and then either bury herself in studies and calculations, or roll over and turn off her lamp and leave him to fend for himself. She eyed her phone.
She promised herself that she wasn’t going to do this, but the need for distraction was too great. She scrolled through her contacts, selected one, and tapped NEW MESSAGE.
9:41 PM: Have you left for Dubai?
She set the phone aside and scrolled through her email messages. She had all but picked them clean for the day… arguably for the week. Tomorrow was a holiday, after all—well, for most people. Jacqueline expected to be wrapped up in some serious concerns on behalf of Phillip and Mercurio-Atlan. She re-read a message announcing a holiday clothing drive when her phone chimed that an incoming message had been received. She picked up the phone. It was Phillip, responding.
9:43 PM: At the airport now. Boarding soon. Who told you?
She smiled wryly and tapped out a reply.
9:44 PM: Not important. Hope all is well.
She sat back in her chair and pressed the phone against her chest.
9:45 PM: Thank you. Sadly do not have time to talk. Boarding.
She tossed the phone onto her desk. That was the airport equivalent of going through a tunnel.
CHAPTER 63: REORGANIZATION
Gene and Sharon reached the site of the all-hands meeting. A single metal door stood between them and a large room that contained rows of folding tables and metal folding chairs. Nobody sat for the meeting. Alphonzo addressed the workers from a pile of wooden pallets, stacked roughly three feet high. Gene and Sharon didn’t dare risk exposure by slipping into the room to get even closer. This vantage point would have to do. Gene propped the door open with a shovel handle.
Sharon snapped a few photos through the crack in the door. It wasn’t definitive, but she did get a good shot of Alphonzo in profile. This would be a vital piece to their presentation to the Superintendent in the morning.
“Okay, everybody here. Missah Syed, he say we gonna have to do something different tonight. All y’all gonna be working in here with Gloria. All y’all gonna be making.”
Hector was visibly annoyed. “I’m so glad we’re busting our butts clearing the zones.”
Alphonzo raised his arms. “The zones still got to go. But… but, when the zones empty, all y’all move up in here and Gloria gonna put y’all to work.”
Hector snorted. “Clearing zones isn’t work?”
Gloria stepped forward. Sharon tried to get a good shot of her through the door crack. She got half of her face in the frame. Gloria was Chinese-American, and middle-aged, from what Sharon could tell. Gloria only stood about five feet tall, with wisps of grey flowing through her dark hair. She wore thick round glasses with tortoiseshell frames.
“All of us need to work together. Mr. Hassan is counting on us to come through for him. And that means clearing the zones, Hector, but it also means conversion must speed up, Mary and James, and material needs to be brought to the floor as quickly as possible, Thomas, Lenora, and Ellen, so Yulia and myself can meet our new goal. Once the zones are cleared, we’ll train you to help us out on the floor. I need all of you to focus on the goal.”
Alphonzo clapped at the workers enthusiastically. “She right, all y’all got to work together!”
Hector nodded grudgingly. “Can we go now?”
Gloria raised her hand to signal the meeting was not over. “Gerald, how many zones do we have left tonight?”
Gerald did not step forward. Sharon tried to push the door open wider, but Gene waved her off and pointed to the shovel. If the door opened wider, the shovel would fall over and attract unwanted attention. They strained to hear his voice as he spoke quietly.
“I think… I want to say five zones. Three full, two partials. Right, Hector?”
Hector looked at his feet. “Three partials.”
Gloria frowned. Alphonzo stomped his foot on the pallets and mouthed, “Damn!”
Another voice rang out. “Come on, Hector!”
Hector glared at the crowd. “I’ve got this. You worry about your zones, I’ll worry about mine.”
Alphonzo patted his chest. “I’mma help out. We gonna clear those zones. We good.”
Hector rolled his eyes, then nodded. “Sure, whatever.”
Sharon whispered to Gene. “That might be our guy. He seems like he’d be more than willing to turn on these people.”
Gene took it under advisement. “Maybe.”
Sharon peered through the crack in the door. “Oh crap, Gene, we’ve got to go.”
Alphonzo had concluded the meeting. Workers began to mill about, returning to their respective assignments. Gene pulled the shovel out of the door and leaned it against the wall. Sharon stuffed the camera in her purse and headed back the way they came. Rather than dart from hiding place to hiding place, she figured if they moved quickly they’d stay far enough ahead of the pack that they’d never be discovered or confronted.
They struggled to find the right pace. Too fast, and they might as well stand still and fire a few rounds from Gene’s revolver into the ceiling and let the whole warehouse know they were there. Too slow, and they’d be discovered, and most likely overpowered. Gene’s gun might scare a few of the workers, but if enough of them were brave enough, they’d hold out just fine.
Gene stood in the doorway of the mysterious room that had the clay streaks on the floor that none of the workers cut through last time. This for sure meant they could put some extra distance between them. Gene skidded a little as he hit a clay patch but righted himself and successfully crossed the room. He beckoned to Sharon to catch up. She nodded and tried to speed up as she crossed the floor. She stepped directly on a slippery clay patch and landed awkwardly on her right knee. She cried out but tried to stifle any more sounds that might give them away. Gene cursed under his breath, then cautiously made his way back to his fallen partner. He crouched down and tried to help her up. Sharon shook her head, and tears dripped down her nose.
“Come on, Meier, we don’t have time for this. Get up.”
Sharon t
ried, but her leg had given out. She was stuck on the floor. She removed her purse and handed it to Gene. “Give me your gun. I’ll buy some time for you to get away. Take the camera with you… if we lose it, we’ve got nothing.”
“What? No. I’m not carrying a fricking purse.”
Sharon glowered at Gene. “It’s just a goddamn purse, Swolski. Give me the gun, now!”
Gene shook his head slowly and reached into his waistband. He heard the footsteps of the approaching workers. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand. He looked down at Sharon’s outstretched palm. He released the safety.
“The gun, Gene, give it to me.”
Gene took a deep breath. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through Hector. Workers stopped in their tracks. Alphonzo bounded around the corner, and his eyes bulged as Gene fired off another shot that whizzed past his ear. “She’s hurt. I’m getting her out of here.” Gene gripped the revolver with both hands, waiting for the next target.
Alphonzo dove behind some plastic bins that were filled with garbage. The remaining workers stood still and raised their hands, slowly.
“We just work here,” said one.
“Shut up,” growled Gene.
“We don’t want any trouble, mister,” said another.
Gene considered squeezing the trigger again to reinforce the meaning of shutting up, but he didn’t want to use bullets frivolously. Firing the gun was never the plan. He brought it fully loaded, but with no spare bullets. At worst, he thought he’d just have to show someone the butt of his gun in his waistband to buy time to escape. Now Hector lay bleeding on the warehouse floor. So much for their inside man.
“Look, I’m taking my partner out of here. She’s hurt and can’t walk. I’ve got to get her to the hospital. We’re gonna act like this never happened, got it?”
The workers nodded, but with a look of fear that didn’t quite line up with being threatened with a weapon. Sharon looked up at Gene, and her eyes widened. She screamed. “Gene, behind you!”
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