The Trouble Way
Page 22
Chapter 12 Mr. Peter Hedd He could only dream of having a woman he could go home to and beat the piss out of on days like he was currently experiencing. Braunswine had crap for humor.
Early 1970’s
“What in the be-Jesus is going on, Jake? I leave for an hour and come back and my cafeteria is shut down and I find out there are rats in the ceiling and maggots in the mashed potatoes. Just what in holy-hell happened Jake?”
“I hate to tell you, Mr. Hedd, but you ain’t heard the worst of it. The County Health Department is going to be back in the morning and is going to do a full store health check.” Jake leaned forward on the desk across Mr. Hedd and looked down at the notes Jake had taken when he toured with the inspector. “They said it’s possible the entire store could be shut down if they find that we have a rat infestation problem. The inspector did a cursory check and found two rotting carcasses in two different stockrooms, one in the pet food stockroom, and the other in the candy stockroom.”
“What the hell. I told Dwight to set those damn rattraps. His ass is grass.”
“Dwight said he did set traps and caught several rats but he apparently didn’t catch them all. Said he even put rat poison around like you told him to do. The inspector said that was a huge mistake because once they eat the poison, they go off and die someplace.”
“That’s exactly what we want them to do, for Christ sake, die.” Mr. Hedd threw both hands up and leaning back in his chair. “What the hell does he want us to do with them, take them to rehab?”
“Well, not exactly, he said you need to recover bodies to dispose of them. That’s the problem with poison, no bodies. They don’t come out into the middle of the stockroom and die. They hide, then croak. That’s where all of the odor is coming from in some of the stockrooms, the poisoned rats that wandered off and found someplace comfortable to die. That’s what happened to the one in the ceiling above the cafeteria, apparently.”
“Oh, Christ. Braunswine is going to have a coronary artery blow over this.”
Mr. Hedd looked up and saw Dwight in the outer office waiting by his office door and motioned him in.
“What is it Dwight?” He flagged Dwight to come in.
“I checked all the stockrooms and we caught a few rats in the traps. Apparently there are a bunch,” Dwight said.
“Thank you Dwight,” Mr. Hedd said and began absently rifling through the pile of paperwork on his desk. “Do you have any idea of how much money is at stake if the store is shut down for even a day?” He shoved the stack of papers to the side, looking from Dwight to Jake and back. “Not to mention the publicity if the newspapers find out. Jake, if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think there is some sort of conspiracy going on around here. One goddamned thing after another.”
Mr. Hedd looked up from his desk and saw that Dwight was still standing there waiting for further instructions. “That will be all, Dwight. Keep all this on the low down.”
“Yes Sir,” Dwight said and turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
“Jake, I want you to get a crew to work overnight; I don’t give a good goddamn about overtime. I want you to do a thorough sweep of the entire store and find if there are any more dead animals.”
“Will do, Mr. Hedd,” Jake said and got up to leave.
“One more thing, Jake, replace those stained ceiling tiles above the grill. It doesn’t look too appetizing to have stained, dripping tiles above the steam table. Check the tiles above the entire sales floor and replace any that need it.”
Jake made a quick dash after Dwight and caught up with him as he was about to disappear around the corner on his way to the stockroom.
“Dwight, hold on. One more thing, how would you like to make a little overtime pay? Mr. Hedd wants a crew to work overnight tonight?”
“Sure, why not. I can always use some extra hours. What’s up?”
“We’ll be stalking big game tonight.” Jake said. “Rats.”
“Mr. Hedd must have found more scrats.”
“No. But it’s scat, not scrats, Dwight.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Forest. Must be another one of those damn requisite education problems. You providing the pizzas?”
“Sure, why not,” Jake said.
“What in the bejesus happened here?” Mr. Hedd said, looking at the two thirty gallon metal trash barrels overflowing with dead plants sitting on a flatbed cart.
A startled Bertie dropped the six inch container with a dead houseplant and looked up at Mr. Hedd standing within inches of her. He shifted his gaze to look at the entire row of houseplants on the display rack with shriveled brown leaves.
“I’ve been watering them every day, Mr. Hedd. She scurried to scoop up the dead plant and scattered dirt from the dropped container. “I don’t know why they’re dying.” She put the plant in the overflowing container and used both hands to push down on the pile to make room.
“My God, Bertie, how many plants have you thrown away?” Mr. Hedd shook his head and fingered a few of the dead, plants in the garbage can. A third empty can was lined up, waiting to be filled.
She went back to her task and continued to methodically pick up each dead plant, record the price on a markdown sheet.
“I’m not sure, Mr. Hedd, but I have the count on the markdown sheet. I swear I watered them. See, Mr. Hedd, the roots are still wet,” Bertie said holding a shriveled plant, roots up, with one hand and handing the list of dead plants on a clipboard to him with the other.
“Well, Bertie, it’s obvious to me that these are dead plants,” Mr. Hedd said as he scanned the sheet mentally running a total of the number of plants on the list. “I certainly don’t think someone would intentionally spray them with vegetation killer ... let’s not be ridiculous. My God, there are over a hundred plants on this list and there are that many more on the display. They may be wet now, but by the looks the leaves, they died of thirst. They have obviously not been watered properly. It looks like you missed this entire side of the plant display, Bertie. Everything else appears to be fine but this row. You are going to have to be much more careful. I want you to set up a watering schedule and stick to it. I will not tolerate losing so many plants to neglect.” Mr. Hedd reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pack of Chesterfields and took a cigarette from the pack and stuck it in his mouth. “When you work out a plan, in writing, I want to see it before the day ends. Understood?”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hedd.”
“I suggest you take a few notes, Bertie.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hedd.” She reached in her pocket for a scrap of paper, attached it to the clipboard, and began scribbling notes.
Now, let’s see what the rest of your department looks like,” he said and walked down several aisles before stopping at a horticulture aisle. Looking at the mound of seeds on the floor, he bent and picked a one-pound bag of wild flower seeds. As he picked it up a waterfall of seeds cascaded onto the counter base and overflowed to the tile floor. He turned and stared at Bertie, back to the bag and then to Bertie without saying a word.
Bertie stared at the waterfall of seed accumulating on the floor and shrank when she looked up and saw Mr. Hedd glaring directly into her eyes. “Mr. Hedd, I don’t know what to say. It looks like the seam busted open.”
“No, Bertie, someone slit the bag with a knife or possibly a box cutter.” He took a deep breath, the cigarette still hanging unlit from his lip, and let out a disgusting sigh. Something caught his eye and he kneeled for a closer look at the spilled seeds. “Oh, for crying in the night, Bertie.” He pointed his finger at the dark drops mingled with the seeds on the floor. “That’s scat. We’re feeding the goddamned rats. Jesus, Bertie.”
He looked up at Bertie as she kneeled closer, adjusting her glasses, for a better look. She picked up one of the dark drops and eyed it closely.
“What’s scat, Mr. Hedd?” Holding the drop up to him.
“For Christ’s sake, that’s rat shit Bertie.”
She flippe
d the drop out of her fingers and looked at Mr. Hedd. “Why didn’t you say so, Mr. Hedd? I could be infected.”
“Doesn’t anybody around here know what shit is? Get all this damaged merchandise on the markdown sheet, Bertie. And, when it’s completed, I want to see it personally.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hedd. Yes Sir.”
“No doubt the same vandal that killed your plants, huh, Bertie? Or, maybe it was pure carelessness opening the freight boxes. We’ve gone over the use of box cutters numerous times at our employee meeting. Have you been paying attention, Bertie?” He held up the sliced bag of wild flower seeds for Bertie to see, ignoring the seeds streaming out in a continuous cascade, sprinkling the floor. In an obscene gesture he emptied the remaining seeds on the floor and tossed the empty bag toward the garbage can. It missed.
“I swear to God, Mr. Hedd, I am extremely careful with my box cutter.” Bertie’s face was crimson. “I swear.”
Mr. Hedd turned and walked away from her without another word, dismissing her assertions by his silence. When he got to the garden fence, he stopped and turned back to Bertie. “For crying out loud, Bertie, go wash your damn hands.”
Outside the garden shop fence, he lit his Chesterfield and saw the distinct profile of Mr. Braunswine as he stopped, the driver’s window rolled down on his Cadillac. Mr. Hedd looked toward the building to see what Mr. Braunswine was directing his gaze at and saw the weeds growing next to the building. A beautiful bouquet of yellow dandelions had sprouted next to a downspout.
“At least we do a good job of keeping the weeds watered … shit.”
He’d obviously missed it on his before dawn inspection tour.
“Goddamn you Dwight.”
Mr. Braunswine made eye contact with Mr. Hedd, looked at the dandelions, back at Mr. Hedd, sure he had gotten his non-verbal message across to Mr. Hedd. Then he continued slowly driving his Cadillac around the rest of the building. When he got to where Mr. Hedd was standing, he rolled down his window. “Nice bouquet.” He was not smiling.
Mr. Hedd shut his eyes, took a deep drag on the cigarette, his one, and only chance to fortify his constitution before the inevitable ass-chewing that was minutes away. At this point, Braunswine didn’t even know about the rats. He gave the cigarette a flick and walked back past Bertie.
“Get those plants dumped into the dumpster behind the store. Push that flat-bed around the building, not through the stockroom with those garbage cans unless you want Mr. Braunswine to give you another lesson on watering plants.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hedd.”
“Do it now, Bertie. Get Dwight to help you dump the cans.”
“Yes Sir, Mr. Hedd,” Bertie said, stood and began pushing the flatbed through the garden gate to the rear of the store.
He walked into the store to greet Mr. Braunswine when he made his regal entrance.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Let’s get to it, Hedd,” Mr. Braunswine said and led the way toward the stockroom.
As with his habit of looking into the manager’s vehicle, Mr. Braunswine gauged the condition of the store by first looking in the stockroom.
It took little time for Mr. Braunswine to zero in on the object of his search. When he entered the building materials stockroom, in the furthest reaches of the store, he stopped in his tracks. The object of his attention was the boxes of merchandise scattered in disarray in the middle of one of the aisles. Apparently some stocker did a perfunctory job of filling the counter and left the overstock in the aisle.
“Do you accept this deplorable condition of your stockrooms, Mr. Hedd?” Mr. Braunswine did not take his eyes from the boxes scattered on the floor for dramatic effect and waited silently for a response.
Mr. Hedd had fallen for that ruse before and was not about to be duped again. He may as well have asked if he stopped beating his wife. There was no right answer for that question either. He almost said, “No, Mr. Braunswine, I have not stopped beating my wife and as soon as you are finished abusing me, I’m going straight home to knock the living piss out of her again,” but refrained, knowing Braunswine had crap for humor. Besides, in his forty-one years, he hadn’t found, to his profound regret, a woman who had an attraction for him great enough to marry him. In fact, none had expressed an attraction for him at all. He could only dream of having a woman he could go home to and beat the crap out of on days like he was currently experiencing.
“I’m waiting,” Mr. Braunswine said, turning his gaze to Mr. Hedd.
“I’ll get someone on it right away.” He turned to Dwight, motioned him to approach, and gave him instructions to stack the merchandise in an orderly fashion.
The rest of the stockroom tour went in a similar manner, filled with sarcastic, degrading comments and instructions for Mr. Hedd to follow. All in the most disrespectful way, in front of employees.
The District Manager’s tour lasted over an excruciating hour before he made a quick tour of the cash office where he bent his considerable weight to the floor and used a yardstick to make a sweep under the safe. To his enormous gratification, he fished a quarter and a penny from the dust covered floor and with a smile and handed them to Mr. Hedd.
“Attention to the small stuff, Mr. Hedd, attention to the small stuff,” Mr. Braunswine said as if he had made a truly profound statement then turned to leave.
“Mr. Braunswine, there is just one more incident you should be aware of,” Mr. Hedd said directing Mr. Braunswine toward his office. “Maybe we should go into my office.”
“He’s headed in your direction,” Mr. Hedd said. “A word to the wise, you might want to check for scat in your stockrooms.”
“It’s rat shit,” he said, “rat shit.” He lowered the receiver, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes. “Say goodbye to your year-end bonus Dick Hedd. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“It was Bertie, Mr. Hedd,” Dwight said, looking at the liquid draining out of the perfect rectangular hole punched in the bottom of the fifty-five gallon drum.
“What in tarnation was Bertie doing driving the forklift on the receiving dock? Has she been trained?” Mr. Hedd, standing in the white slippery liquid, bent to see the hole the fork on the machine left near the bottom of the drum. Liquid nearly covered the receiving dock. “What the hell is it?”
“Oh yeah, she’s been trained. She’s better at driving it than I am,” Dwight said. “I think it is concrete sealer, At least, that’s what it looks and smells like. Someone wrote that with a crayon on the side of the barrel.”
“Get it cleaned up before someone calls the fire ---”
The fire engine, as if on cue, roared around the end of the building and came to an abrupt stop next to the receiving dock. No less than five firemen in full white protective gear including the headwear and oxygen masks, like the scientists in an episode of “The Twilight Zone,” responding to a deadly attack of poison gas, bounded out of the crew cab. Two more jumped down from the rear bumper, just like in a Charlie Chaplin movie. The only thing missing was the accompanying organ music.
“Who in the hell called the fire department?” Mr. Hedd asked of nobody in particular.
“That would be Bertie,” Dwight said. “I heard her on the phone in the receiving office. She said she didn’t know what was in the barrel and she, for one, was not about to be exposed to some goddamned poison gas.”
“It’s concrete sealer,” Mr. Hedd said when a fireman got to the person in charge.
“You know, Sir, this will have to be analyzed. There is no label on the container. That in itself is a violation of environmental codes.”
“It’s concrete sealer,” Mr. Hedd said. “It says it right here.” He pointed to the crayon label.
“Sorry sir, but that is hardly an official label,” the fireman said. “Who know what’s in that barrel.”
“It’s goddamned concrete sealer.”
The firemen ignored Mr. Hedd and turned and began herding curious employees away from the receiving area and onto the sales floor.
“Well, I am one-hundred percent sure,” Mr. Hedd said, resigned to the fact he was arguing losing battle.
“Sir, it is my job to be one-hundred percent sure and that, my friend, is exactly what I intend to do.”
“Fine,” Mr. Hedd said and turned toward his office.
“One moment Sir. If the spill had been contained to the exterior of the building, we would let you keep the store open. I see that quite a large portion ran into the receiving area. I’m afraid you’ll have to shut the store down until it gets cleaned up and the danger has been assessed and contained.”
“Why me?” Mr. Hedd said, looking up at the ceiling, noticing a now familiar brown stain nearly to the stage of dripping. “Shit … shit … shit.”
“Mr. Hedd, line one for you,” Dwight said. “A reporter for the Seattle Times wants to talk to the store manager about a tip they got of a rat infestation in our store.”
“Goddamnsonofabitch. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Chapter 13 Old Jake Forest “Jake ... Leave ... Me ... Alone,” she said real slow and as serious as a broken neck. That’s pretty bad if you can’t remember a woman you slept with, especially a personnel manager. Then it was kissing, the silver vibrator, and old Jake.
Present
I was suspicious long before I actually knew for a fact the employees were planning treachery against Peter Hedd. Not only old Pete, but the DM, Braunswine as well. In fact, the entire company of Big Richards. There were too damn many things going awry for it to be just a coincidence. Hell, I didn’t find out for sure of a worker’s conspiracy till years later after I’d been fired from the goddamn place.
When I think back on it, that was definitely the best thing ever happened to me, getting the boot. At first, I was pretty depressed about it, but after a while it dawned on me I should have quit the company when it first crossed my mind around the second year I was with the damned outfit. I kept putting it off, thinking I’d better save some bucks, for a cushion. I was thinking maybe ten-thousand before I cut and run. After I’d saved that, it didn’t seem to be quite enough. Then, it seemed too late, they had me by the golden cuffs. Maybe they weren’t golden, more like toy plastic handcuffs with flaking gold paint on them. Anyway, they had me bluffed for a while, years actually. Maybe I was just too chicken-shit to quit.