by Warren Cain
“Let’s head home now. We’re going to be pushing it if we drive to the other side of town and have to head back after we stop for a while,” Sarah pleaded.
“Come on. We’re only young once. Let’s enjoy it.”
* * *
“Hey, Leo!” Kirk yelled as he walked towards the group of twenty or so kids.
Leo and Kirk had been friends since Kirk had enrolled in the local public high school after his “tour of duty” as Leo jokingly called it at the Catholic grade school. Kirk always teased back that some were meant to be tougher than others.
“How ya doing?” replied Leo as they exchanged a sort of secret series of combination handshakes and high fives. “Need another one?” asked Leo, pulling a cold beer out of his pocket.
“That’s my brand!” exclaimed Kirk, sounding surprised. “Where did ya get that from?”
“Found it in the ditch,” answered Leo with a wink.
It was considered to be dishonorable to reveal one’s buyer amongst the students at Lansing High School.
“Hey, Leo. Do you want to go have some fun with me?”
“Kirk, this is Tiffany Johnson. Tiffany, this is Kirk.”
“Nice to meet you.” Kirk extended his hand to the petite blonde.
One of the cutest smiles Kirk had been fortunate to witness crossed her face. Her blue eyes glowed as though she had never been more excited to meet someone.
“Nice to meet you, Kirk.”
Leo always was more tempting to the gorgeous ones. Should have found myself an uglier friend so I would be the best looking one. Sarah sees it differently though, Kirk thought to himself as he turned to see Sarah talking to one of her friends. A smile crossed his face as she turned and winked at him.
“It’s time to go. I’m going to be late,” emphasized Sarah as soon as he finished his third beer since arriving at the party.
Kirk looked at his watch.
“10:35. I better go, Leo. Looks like I could be late getting Sarah home.”
Don’t want my buddies to think I’m worried about getting her home late, but I really don’t want to cross Mr. Horton.
“Are you okay to drive?” quizzed Sarah in a concerned voice.
“I’m fine,” Kirk insisted, trying not to slur his words.
Kirk shifted the truck into reverse. His foot pushed into the gas pedal, increasing their speed.
“Slow down.”
“I’m alright. Don’t wor—”
“OHHH!”
The truck stopped instantly, bouncing the back end of the truck off the ground. Kirk looked at Sarah with a broad grin.
“OOPS.”
“Let me drive, Kirk.”
“I’m fine. I just didn’t see the tree.”
“Please, let me drive.”
He started down the gravel road and turned on the highway. Kirk fought back the feeling of sleepiness, his mind focused on staying awake and getting Sarah home by 11:00.
Man, I did have quite a bit to drink, he thought to himself as he became aware of the magnitude of his intoxication. I’ve got to get her home fast.
He forced his head to stay up and fought to keep his eyes open as he drove down the road.
“Kirk, you’re swerving. Pull over and let me drive,” expressed Sarah with a note of fear in her voice.
“I’m okay. See, I’m doing fine,” said Kirk as he leaned over to playfully kiss her, trying to lighten the mood.
“KIRK!” Sarah screamed as the truck left the road. The cool night air was filled with the sound of shattering glass and bending metal as the truck rolled down an embankment coming to rest on its top.
Chapter 5
Ron Truitt walked down Sanford Street in Binesford, Idaho, toward a small run-down trailer house he had started renting a month and a half ago. The old house was one of ten situated in the small trailer court. Many old items that should have been sent to the landfill months ago lay discarded around the small lot the trailer sat on. A blue Monte Carlo, sitting on blocks with license plates that had expired nearly a year and a half before, was parked in the driveway. From the junk that was stacked around the car, it was apparent no one had been in it for some time. The trailer itself showed many signs of neglect. The electricity had been shut off for two months, giving a passerby the appearance that this place was most likely abandoned.
Rotten place to live, thought Ron to himself. Can’t beat the fifty bucks a month though.
His appearance closely reflected the neglected look of his mobile home. His face had not been shaved for a couple of weeks and may not have been washed in half that amount of time. His clothes had not been washed in two weeks and most likely had been slept in several times.
I hope I can pay the rent this month. Unemployment just doesn’t pay good enough.
It was two months since being fired for testing positive on a drug test. Half of his unemployment check had been spent in the last week on drugs.
Ron opened the door to a place resembling the yard with items of no value cluttering the floor. The kitchen table was filled with empty boxes and old cans that remained half full. A thick, red-colored liquid was slowly dripping from the table.
The kitchen sink was full of dishes that would only be washed if someone had a need to use something.
Ron looked at his wife sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by various items that had been recklessly discarded. Her appearance indicated she had not slept for a long time; tired brown eyes seemed to beg for a single moment of rest, just a short rest from her life. Once a vibrant woman, she remembered walking down the bridal aisle full of hope for what was ahead of her. Now she sat in the middle of a pile of trash with two hungry children, her spirit broken, wondering how her life had come to this.
In her arms was a one-year-old baby, crying from lack of food. A second child who looked about two or three years old sat playing on the floor with a hairbrush. The child wore only a diaper that had not been changed for some time.
An involuntary sigh and slumping shoulders added to her broken appearance as she noticed his hands were empty.
“Ron, where are the diapers and milk?”
A look crossed his face that showed he had forgotten.
“Oh, Ron. Did you buy more drugs? How are we going to buy food and pay the rent? We have to stop living like this.”
“Are you blaming ME for this? You could do something once in a while too. Why don’t you get the damn milk?” he shouted, sounding angry, mostly caused by his mind wanting to get to the bedroom to take care of his addiction.
He was able to ignore her, but the screaming from his mind was impossible to block out. She stood in front of him, blocking his passage to the bedroom. “It has to stop, Ron. We can’t live like this. The kids can’t live like this.”
Her plea failed to overcome the urging his mind was giving him to go back and snort the cocaine he had purchased with money that needed to be spent on food and diapers.
“GET OUT OF MY WAY!” he bellowed, pushing her.
She fell backward with a look of terror on her face. She tried to hang onto the baby but lost her grip as her head hit the chair. Ron looked as scared as Nancy as her eyes met his. He knew deep down he was not taking care of his family the way he should. He kept telling himself he would get off the drugs or that it wasn’t really a problem. This was the first time it became physical. He had never laid a hand on Nancy or the kids before.
Nancy picked up the baby who was crying but seemed to be uninjured and held him to her shoulder.
“Go away. GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!” she shouted in a trembling voice as she glared at Ron with a look that gave no indication she was open to discussion.
Ron turned and walked out the door.
Chapter 6
Ron spent the night on the east side of Binesford in an abandoned warehouse commonly used by the homeless and dru
g users and dealers. The police occasionally raided the place—mostly to ask questions in a case they were working on. The police’s mood seemed to be that if the activity was kept in the warehouse they were willing to look the other way.
Ron had snorted enough coke to forget about his wife and kids for the night, but with the morning came the memory of the night before. Shouldn’t have done that, he thought with a twinge of guilt. I can make it up to her later. Today will be my last day with the drugs, and then I’ll make a new start tomorrow.
Ron grabbed what was left of his cocaine and snorted another line. The twinge of guilt left him. “That’s better. You always make me feel better,” he said with a laugh, looking at what little cocaine was left in the bag.
“Get some milk and diapers,” he mocked in a sarcastic tone. “I got what I need,” he said, referring to the bag of coke.
I’m going to have a talk with her. She can’t talk to me like that. It’s not my fault I got fired. I’m doing everything I can. She acts like I don’t try.
He made his way back to the trailer park determined to make Nancy understand how hard he tried and that it wasn’t his fault. It was bad luck, and he would get them out of it.
“Nancy?” he declared loudly as he opened the door.
No answer.
“Nancy, I’m home.”
The trailer remained quiet.
Ron searched the trailer only to find it abandoned.
I’ll just fix me something to eat and wait, thought Ron, not realizing it had been almost sixteen hours since he had eaten.
He walked to the refrigerator. As he grabbed the handle he saw a note stuck to the front with a magnet.
Ron,
I’ve taken the kids and I am leaving you. Until tonight I held hope we could work through your drug problems. I realized tonight that both of us have to want it, not just me. I was scared tonight, scared for our children and myself. We can’t live like this. I am taking the kids and you will never have a chance to see them again. I would let you know where we are if I wasn’t so afraid of you. I don’t know who you are. Five years of marriage and it occurred to me tonight that I don’t know you.
Ron’s feeling that he would convince his wife how hard he was trying to change things turned to the realization he had failed. Not only had he failed, but he failed to try. Failed to realize what he was putting her and the kids through. The letter seemed so strange to him. It was written to someone who considered him a stranger. He realized after reading the letter that the woman he knew so well five years ago was in fact a stranger to him. He couldn’t comprehend how things had come to this point.
How did it get so bad so quickly?
Then the realization he may never see his children again hit him.
“No. NO!” he screamed as he kicked over the kitchen table, knocking old magazines and boxes off the table onto the already cluttered floor.
Chapter 7
The conference room on the upper floor of the J&R McCarry building gave clients the impression they were dealing with a class act company who wanted only the best. The large oak tabletop held the mirrored image of the room. The chairs surrounding the table matched the oak finish of the table with a fancy trim on the backs of the chairs and the highly polished look of all the furniture.
At the backside of the room away from the entrance sat two men at a moderate-sized bar meant for entertaining clients. Tonight, one of the two men at the bar was Jeff McCarry, CEO of J&R McCarry Inc.
Jeff was a tall man with a broad build and bright blue eyes full of energy. He had been with J&R since the beginning. He was J&R, since his brother Robert had died an untimely death of a heart attack a few years back. Now Jeff held controlling interest in the company.
J&R was the largest construction company on the East Coast. They worked on projects ranging from football stadiums to the twenty-one-story Labell Tower in Miami. J&R began as a moderate construction company working with residential housing and single-story buildings in rapidly developing areas of Virginia. Jeff remembered starting the company with his brother after the construction company they had worked for filed for bankruptcy.
“What are we going to do? That’s what I asked Robert,” Jeff told Sam Grishman, who was sitting across the bar from him.
The company had hired Sam for his vast experience with larger construction projects. He worked as a foreman for one of the largest construction companies at the time and was enticed by Jeff and Robert to come work for them. Sam was licensed as a structural engineer whose skill with design work was second only to his love of being on site coaching the men until they were a perfectly orchestrated team adept at nearly any task put before them.
Now Sam sat in front of Jeff . . . about to hear a story he had heard almost every time he and Jeff sat in this room alone. He’s not half the businessman his brother was, he thought to himself, missing the days when Robert ran the company.
Jeff knew how Sam felt about him. That was one of his best qualities. He knew what people were thinking and what they wanted to hear.
“We wouldn’t have made it without you onboard, Sam.”
Sam was one of the few people who knew Jeff too well to fall for his lies and was growing tired of the dishonest lengths he would go to just to keep the company running.
“We need to start our own business. That’s what he told me. I wouldn’t have dreamt for a million years it would succeed. Fifteen years later and here I am CEO of my own company that’s going to be declaring bankruptcy if we don’t find a couple of high-profit jobs to pull us out of the frying pan.”
“You don’t think I feel the same way?” exclaimed Sam, sounding offended. “We both want this company to succeed. Me, so that my guys will have a place to work, and you because it fattens your wallet. You forget the company is more than this building. More than financial statements and quarterly records. It’s men and women out there who take pride in what they build. All you care about building is your bank account. You used to be one of those guys, Jeff. What the hell happened to you?”
“I remember what it’s like out there,” Jeff debated, trying to defend himself even though most of what Sam said was true. Jeff was detached enough from the work outside the office that it was all about the money coming in.
Who can we bill? How much? When is the next stockholder meeting?
Jeff was faced with the sad truth that he didn’t set foot on a job site these days unless the client requested it.
“If I didn’t take care of the finances, there wouldn’t be a company here for your guys to work at. You’ve even helped me come up with less than ethical ways to make payroll, and if the stockholders found out what our real situation was both of us would be in prison. Whether we like each other or not, we both have too much dirt on each other not to see it through.”
“I KNOW,” Sam replied as mad at himself as he was at Jeff for letting himself get involved in his half-baked schemes to convince the stockholders the company had more value than it did.
“You could at least show up on the job sites and let the guys know you think they’re doing a good job. Robert used to. It builds up the morale.”
“I don’t need you to compare the way I run this company to the way Robert used to,” Jeff said in a stern tone. “What are we gonna do about finding some projects?” he said, trying to get off a subject he didn’t care to deal with.
“Word is there’s a large hydroelectric dam project getting ready to bid in Tennessee on the Plymouth River. Mostly funded by the feds. Engineer estimated it to be somewhere around thirty billion. Has a four-year deadline on it. Sounds like just what we need to get back on our feet.”
“Any other companies in the running for it?”
“I talked to the engineer on the project, had a couple classes with him in college. Hard to get much out of him about the other contractors looking at it, but it sounds like Wentworth co
nstruction out of Chicago might be interested in it.”
Jeff looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“They have a real shot at it. Young company trying to expand. They probably don’t have the overhead we do.”
“What are our options?” Jeff asked somberly.
Sam looked around the room to make certain they were alone.
“Blackmail or bribe. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Damn!”
Jeff remembered back when his company was bidding on some of the bigger projects and larger companies came in trying to bully them out of the running. Back then it seemed so easy not to give into the bullying or the bribing. There was nothing to lose. Now there were stockholders, board members, and employees with families he had to answer to. It felt good when the big dogs came in bullying and standing up to them to get the job.
“Sure is a lot easier to do what’s right when it makes a profit. Do we have enough to bribe our way into this job?” Jeff inquired with an unsure tone.
“It would take ten million to bribe a dishonest contractor off the job, and I would still say they would want to be in on a fair amount of the subcontractor work. Wentworth is hungry to expand. They won’t leave easy.”
“Damn, we can’t do that. I don’t think we would finish this month’s payroll out if we did unless we can shake some money loose out of our accounts receivable.”
“I know,” Sam mumbled in a flat tone. “That leaves us one option.”
Jeff brushed his hand through his hair as though he were trying to think of some other way out, even though he had already decided blackmail would be his course of action. They had done this before, and each time it became easier. The first time they blackmailed a contractor out of bidding a job, Jeff spent what seemed like weeks without sleep. He had compromised his integrity. Now, he would lay awake maybe fifteen minutes thinking about it before he fell asleep and never looked back.
Find the man who turned the bids in for the company. Hire a private investigator to do a background check on him. It was simple. Was he embezzling company money? Was he cheating on his wife? Find out his secret. He could still turn in the bid, but he would fill out the bid form with a price that was given to him, leaving the job to the only other company capable of a project this size. Jeff smiled at the thought.