by Nace Phlaux
We had ourselves an early Christmas get-together the Saturday beforehand. Helyne wound up getting Joey and Danny iTunes gift cards, and she got Jer, Dommy, and me these knitted hats she did herself, which was pretty amazing considering how quickly she met us and made ‘em. I guess she could’ve made them and had them sitting around her place for however long, but either way, they were pretty nice. I have mine over on the dresser as I write this. I got her a pair of nice ear buds that Dommy told me she’d like and an Amazon gift card. Kids today’re so hard to shop for. Easier to just give them a gift card. Not as personal, but they don’t seem to mind like our mommas would’ve.
Helyne gave me another pleasant surprise by wrapping the boys’ gifts to me. Normally I’d wrap everyone’s but gifts to myself, leaving mine obvious under the tree. Sometimes they’d get the mall girls to do it, but you know how that goes. No finesse. But apparently she took one look at Dommy’s skills and offered to do it for him. Once the others caught wind, they all asked her to make them up something pretty for me, God love her.
The twins got her a couple odds and ends, but Joey swore whatever Dan bought was a reference to the weed. I don’t know where he’d even pick something like that up. Jer and I have a glass of wine now and then on the holidays or maybe a beer at a neighbor’s picnic. I’ve been smoking on and off since back in our high school days, if you recall, but we’ve never even joked about marijuana in front of the kids. If either one of them is acting funny, it’s Joey for constantly watching his twin. If I could get him to watch his father instead, I’d be set.
Helyne volunteered to help me clean up in the kitchen, and once we got ourselves situated, she said, “I’ll talk with Danny, Mrs. D. Maybe he’ll talk with someone, you know, like, not so invested.” God bless her heart. On New Year’s Eve, when we were in the same situation, she said she’d done the deed. “It’s almost like Tobey Maguire’s Peter Parker keeping Mary Jane at arm’s length to keep her from getting hurt. He’s causing conflict with Joe so it’s not so hard on either one when Joe goes off to service. Kinda sweet if you think about it.”
I didn’t pick up on the reference but appreciated the sentiment. The boys need another woman watching them and providing a good example, especially with their father being, well, you know. Helyne’s the one who finally won me over with going to the temp agency after the layoff - said it helped her cousin get a decent job working in an office in Trenton. I wouldn’t want to cross the river every day, but that combined with Laura mentioning the other girls from the warehouse went that direction convinced me.
I never claimed to be an expert on the computer, but I thought I knew a thing or two. For the past couple years, I was the one who designed the flyers for the neighborhood’s annual yard sale. And our household budget’s been managed with Excel for I don’t know how long. So I suggested on my resume that I know how to work Office, but the agency’s tests made me feel like I barely knew how to turn a computer on. The whole thing got me worked up so much that I needed to get myself a skinny peppermint mocha in the Starbucks in the mall to center myself a bit.
I’ve been hooked on those ever since Helyne introduced me to their syrupy goodness. But listen, Dot, it’s getting near that time to head to church. Maybe this will get the boys’ attention, me not pestering them for Sunday services. I’ll have to explain later. About that. About where I am. About my newest best friend, my savior, Christy Wight. But I need to wrap this up. God bless you and the family. I love you all. Keep me in your prayers.
Fondly,
Candy
Eddie 6
I sat on a bench across from the J & J office until the clouds blocked out the sun and the cold became unbearable. Inside the lobby, I found a seat within sight of the elevator and the stairs. When Christy finally exited the stairwell holding a cigarette and caught my look, she came over and sat beside me, going, “Starting Monday, you’ll be picking up the seven-to-three-thirty shift at Havis in Warminster. Your manager will be Larry Gaunt. I want you to befriend him.”
“That all?”
“For now.” She stood up, readjusting her faux pea coat and checking her hair before heading to the exit to the mall’s courtyard. “You’ll receive a care package sometime over the weekend with a burner phone and the address for the warehouse. Should I include a map as well, Neo-Luddist?” She smirked but looked sincere until I told her I thought I’d manage. “And whatever you do,” she added as she leaned against the revolving door. “Don’t mention my name.” With that, she smirked and made her way through the exit.
After giving her some time, I left as well and headed your way. Inside the shop, nobody was around, and even the radio in the garage had been turned off. I was pulling out a creeper from beneath a car with my foot when a voice behind me said, “Looking for something, Eddie?” I turned around to see your wife standing in the doorway between the shop and the front, wearing this big fake smile.
“Where’s Brian?”
“Running errands. Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, jus-” I stepped back, right onto the creeper, which ran off from under me, planting me on my ass and causing me to knock over a tray of tools. I clawed my way up the side of the car and touched the back of my head. My fingers came back red. Dad used to keep a first aid kit in a drawer on the other side of the bay, so I limped over there, pulling at the handle.
Hayleigh hadn’t moved an inch the entire time I struggled, but as I stood there smearing the counter with bloody fingerprints, she finally said, “Oh, are you all right?” in this sickeningly insincere high-pitched tone that brought flashbacks of neighborhood picnics Ma would make us participate in.
I looked down into the drawer, hoping to find bandages or something to soak up the mess, but all I saw was a small black handgun next to a box of bullets. My hand slammed the whole thing shut so hard, I thought I’d cut myself again on my palm. “Fine,” I told her. “Just fine.” I gritted my teeth and held an oily rag to where I thought the cut was, applying as much pressure as I could without seeing stars. My ass ached too, but I wasn’t about to go babying that in front of your wife.
“You want paper towels from inside my house, sweetie?” Hayleigh goes as I edged past her.
I just grunted and stepped to the shop’s exit. “Tell my brother I picked up a job. Might not be around as much as I’ve been.” Before leaving the room, instinct made me add, “Not that you’ll be complaining much about that.” When I shouldered through the door, I saw your car parked in the driveway, but with your wife home and in such an aggressive mood, I couldn’t muster the thought of sticking around to track you down and converse.
Back at the complex, I visited the office after cleaning up and giving my ass a cushioned rest. The flamboyant black kid sashayed around his tightly organized desk, occasionally stopping to type something into his cell phone. After reviewing my account, he said everything was resolved. “The Village of Pennbrooke apologizes to you and any fellow occupants of your rental. Although our organization does not admit to any wrongdoing, we do acknowledge an inconvenience has occurred and will credit two hundred dollars toward your account.”
You can, I assume, gather how sarcastic that BS was. But the bank verified my account was restored. They couldn’t say anything either way about my severance, though, and by the time I got off the phone, it was a Friday afternoon and too late to confirm with anyone at All-Lite. My first thought was it didn’t matter since I’d begin picking up shifts the following Monday. But then it dawned on me that, well, why get involved in that girl’s shenanigans if I didn’t have to?
“Choices,” Richter said. “Imagine being a scientist invited to document the tsunamis caused by the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program earthquakes or being an intern for just about anyone at the original transcription of the Protocols of the Elders of Zion. You’ve stumbled on a conspiracy in your own backyard: a girl using the private data and manpower of an agency as her own conniving, networked army. The way I see it, you
have two choices. Three, really, but I’ll get to that.”
It was Saturday, and we’d taken the care package I received that morning over to Zhou’s House, that Chinese place across from the complex. We sat at a table toward the back with me facing the door since I thought I knew most of the girl’s main crew at this point. Richter had knocked through the wall early in the morning looking for a partner to eat with. I’d never been a fan of the place, but I can find something to munch on any menu. Sometime while I washed and dressed, somebody left a small brown box at my doorstep, this time without any notes telling me how well I sparkle.
Inside was what Richter called a cheap cell phone with one saved contact named “Boss Lady.” A marked map with a highlighted path showed the best way to get from the complex to Havis. “Probably got it from Google Maps,” Richter guessed. I had to take his word for it. Rounding out the box was the ticket to that afternoon’s season opener between Pittsburgh and the Flyers.
“You can work for the girl and be an obedient lackey. Might find yourself with some more interesting rewards. You can work with her but keep an ever-open eye, always attempting to discern the overall concept and whether you should step in for the greater good.” He stopped then for the dramatic pause, taking a sip from his drink.
“Or?” I said at the appropriate time. Years of his conversations had prepared me for moments like that.
“Or do nothing. Don’t work for her. Go out and find a new employer. But do so with the knowledge that there’s a highly questionable organization actively working some angle or another and that has all your and your family’s information handy.”
You seemed disgruntled when I told you I’d been down to the game thanks to a buddy selling me a ticket, but do you see why I had to lie? It’s not like I could’ve called the girl and asked for a second ticket. Doesn’t matter anyhow since they lost to the Penguins. My original plan was to take you out somewhere to watch the game, but the ticket combined with your wife the day before... Well, I only say it since you’re asleep, but the ticket gave me an easier out.
Even Richter wanted to join me, but I convinced him he wouldn’t want to be around the insanity of a delayed opening game. After his convincing me I needed to delve into this crazy conspiracy and come back riding on the back of Nessie or acting like the next Jim Garrison, I just wanted a couple hours to myself. Sure, it was in the middle of a crowd of Philadelphians, but sometimes that’s the best way to be alone. Surrounded by fans ready to let loose months’ worth of pent-up screams, I treated myself to a couple beers and nachos and joined in the hootin’ and hollerin’.
* * *
I gotta be honest, brother: The fact that the steel was the only other place I’d had a first day at a job freaked me out that weekend. Before that, the only job I’d worked at was with Dad in the garage, and I don’t recall any interview or orientation. Plenty of critiques, though. Plenty of pay cuts too. At first he was all too happy to give me a cut. You too, if I recall correctly. “Only fair,” he’d say. “You did the labor ‘n’ all.” But as time went on, he seemed to favor your work while giving me less and less for mine. Called what I was doing “shoddy.” Around that time, Ma started giving me errands to do, handing me too much cash for anything she asked for and telling me to keep the change.
The whole reason I’d even applied at the steel was because of my old buddy Jimmy. You remember Jimmy Eubanks from back in high school? Little elf of a guy, but he could tell the dirtiest jokes around. “How do you make a toddler cry twice? Wipe your bloody dick on his teddy bear.” Or “What’s funnier than a dead baby? A dead baby in a clown costume.” At seventeen, I thought he was hilarious. But I must’ve mentioned something about my situation ‘cause Jimmy brought up his plan for the summer after graduation.
“My dad says at his factory, as long as you know your shit from a shovel, you can have a job. We’ll pick up enough OT to buy Stingrays, crash ‘em doing donuts in Chapman’s front yard, and buy brand new ones, right?” he said, which was funny since Principal Chapman wound up screwing Jimmy in the end. He stopped him from walking at graduation and made him do summer school for his diploma. Last time I saw him, he was a manager over at a Mobil in Bensalem.
By the time I’d found out about Jimmy, it was too late to back out of the job, but his dad, Terry, welcomed me in and showed me around the place. “You didn’t play ball, right? Nah, none of Jimmy’s friends did much of nothing, huh? Know how Truman’s football team is like a Truman cheerleader? They both suck for four quarters.” Not as good as Jimmy’s dirty jokes, but he agreed to sneak me beers after lunch, so I threw the poor guy some chuckles.
But Jimmy’s dream was a lie. New guys on the site would never get any overtime, at least not until they knew what the hell they were doing. In those first couple of hot, summer months, I couldn’t stand being in the place longer than eight hours anyhow, and I was too young to go back to the bar with the rest of the crew. Most of my old friends were either in a similar situation or heading to college. The ones prepping to leave spent most of their nights raging, but I had work in the morning to think about. The others with jobs, having never worked before, were too exhausted to do anything. So I drank Terry’s beer.
And that’s how Dad found me in the kitchen one night, trying to make myself a sandwich. You and Ma were probably in bed, but I doubt you slept through the row we had. No one in town could’ve slept through the row we had. Those days, you were afraid of Dad. Ma might’ve been a little too. But that night, drunk and lonely and working on my own, on the verge of being my own man, I told Dad I wasn’t afraid anymore. And I’m sorry, Bri, but you must’ve heard me. You must’ve heard everything. Me questioning Dad on why he always looked so disgusted with me. Why I was always the trash and why you were so goddamned special.
I stood there, staring at him. My nostrils probably flared ridiculously like guys at the steel told me they do when I’m pissed. He just looked down at the kitchen table and, spoken barely over a whisper, said, “I want you out of here tomorrow morning.” I watched him turn around and heard him head up the stairs and close the bedroom door like he’d just told me a sweet goodnight.
* * *
Havis, if you’ve never dealt with ‘em, install aftermarket mounts to different vehicles, mostly ones dealing with emergency response and construction. So all the various radios and laptops set up right in the dashboard of a cop’s car? Havis. The place was known, or so they told me, for their strong temp-to-hire workforce. After about three months of general work around the warehouse, if they chose to keep me, they’d set me to a particular task. Build the trust there and they’d sign me on full-time.
A short guy named Pip told me all this as he gave me a quick tour of the place. His hat sported a faded Navy logo, and what I first thought were scars turned out to be indiscernible tattoos on his already dark black skin. I never saw him push back his sleeves high enough to figure out what any of ‘em were, so I assumed they said “Liberty before death. Death before dishonor” circled around an anchor. Could’ve just as easily’ve been “Water’s for ducks,” I guess.
“All right, Mister Eddie, all right. Here we go. Here’s your workstation for now.” He led me to a modest area with a small workbench, pliers, and a socket set. It wasn’t until then that I realized I hadn’t seen a chair in the place since the receptionist’s desk. No surprise there, but I at least expected one of those anti-fatigue mats like we had at the steel. Mentally, I noted the need for a decent pair of boots with ankle support.
Pip fastened pieces of black steel together into a shape he called complete and asked me to do the same. “My man, Eddie. My man. That was certainly quick, my friend. That’s good. That’s real good. Now let’s do a couple hundred more of ‘em.” He slapped my arm and laughed, turning his ageless face into a heavily cracked mask that looked like it’d seen some shit.
As he moved to place the steel part into a bin, he stopped himself, saying, “Losing my dang mind, yes sir, yes sir. Hand me that pad if you
would. See these stickers on the pieces? We need to write each of these serial codes down. You know how to read and write?” I scoffed and said I did. “In this industry, you never know. You never do. Now write it all down in this format like that for each piece, and we should be good to go.”
“Shouldn’t there be some kinda computerized thing like at the supermarket?” I asked and mimicked using a register’s scanner. “Just go dink dink dink and be done with it?”
Pip took off his hat and scratched his head for a length before saying, “Good man, yeah. In fact we had a young buddy come in here last year and build something like that. Everyone even took a day of training on it, and then nothin’. Whole thing was never mentioned again. We heard rumors of budget cuts, but I don’t know nothing about that, I don’t.”
He let me get to work on the parts, and as time went on, the different shifts of the factory made their way in, slowly bringing the place to life. After years at the steel, I knew never to leave my earplugs behind and went about my business as the machinery and blowtorches did theirs without us bothering each other. Eventually, Pip tapped me on the shoulder and mimed smoking a cigarette. I nodded and followed him out to an area behind the warehouse with picnic tables lined by a border of dead shrubs.
The majority of the group outside was white and male, but there were a few women around and a couple black and Latino guys other than Pip. Someone finally called me out on not lighting up, and the ensuing explanation seemed to blow their minds. More than likely, it was because I claimed they weren’t bothering me, when in reality I knew the smoking circle was the center of a company’s social scene. If I was to stay on mission, my best bet was to make friends with the smokers. The next step, naturally, would be the receptionist.
Pip snuffed out his cigarette, but before he could move from the spot, I asked about who we even answer to. “Mr. Gaunt? Oh, you won’t be seeing him ‘less it’s your last day, no you won’t. He’s busy in his office and doesn’t pay us any mind, but it’s his duty to send you on your way if it’s your time. Probably best to just avoid him as best you can.” With that, he slapped me on the back and headed into the warehouse.