Chapter Eight
His sixty-inch TV gave the only light in the room. A triple X-rated porn film blew up the guy’s dick and his bitch’s cunt. Both were getting sliced and diced. Watching the screen, seeing the blood—it turned him on. The couch springs groaned with him as he jerked off.
The phone rang, disturbing his viewing and his pleasure.
“Sh…ee…tt.” He paused the scene with the remote. His free hand grabbed the phone and shoved it between his ear and shoulder, all while keeping his other hand busy.
“It’s your minute.” He breathed fast as he came.
“You haven’t been home.”
“What the hell! Ya think I got nothin’ better to do but wait around for you?” He grabbed his warm beer.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Especially when you know I’ll be calling. The boss says we’ve got to step up the threats.”
He grinned at this order. Nothing beat scaring the shit out of some stupid ass and then watching the poor shit cry and shake. Best was offing them, if things fell right.
“No sweat, dude man. Got somethin’ special in mind? Or can I jus’ use my brain?”
“Hold your imagination in check for now. You might get too creative, too soon. The boss man’s hackers will have her home number later tomorrow. You’ll find it in the usual place along with a bonus.”
“Extra cash is good.” He set the beer down and found his dick. Circled it. Watched to see how long it took to get hard.
“The boss likes what you’ve done so far, but ramp up the threats. Get physical, but be careful with that. You don’t want to get caught or have her recognize you. And don’t hurt her...too much.”
“Hey, dude man, no problem…I love botherin’ the ladies. Drawing some blood’s okay?” Thinking blood tightened his dick. He’d cut her some. Screw her, too. Bury his dick in her ass. He needed a bitch.
His caller exhaled. “All I’m saying is cover yourself. The police are probably in the picture after your floral delivery.”
“Nice touch, hey? I got off burnin’ that tree, man.” Skin caught in the teeth of his zipper. “Shit. Damn it.” He watched his hard-on go soft. “Double shit.”
“The package was creative. The boss liked it a lot, but it wasn’t effective enough. The boss figures she’s got a brass pair hidden under those skirts.”
“I can find that out, real quick like,” he sneered. Thinking about how got him throbbing again. That and the porn with the sound on mute.
“Security is getting tighter. Watch out for the night guard.”
“Hell, you mean old Horace? I can handle him. No sweat.”
“Don’t get cocky and discount him. He’s ex-military.
“Probably forgot all he learned.”
“Watch out for the head nurse, too. We…I think she’s onto something.”
“You mean that Debbie broad? Hey, man, I can do some neat shit to her. I been watchin’ her shake her ass, thinking no one’s looking.” He looked at the TV. Some guys were jacking off into the blood and body parts. He plugged Debbie’s face on the sliced-up female.
“Well, I’m warning you. Watch her, too, and be careful. I don’t want any fallout coming back to me.”
“Not from me. All I know’s a post office box number.” He swallowed some beer. “Don’t you trust me, dude man?”
No answer.
“Hey, dude man…you out there?”
Finally, the caller broke the silence. “She will be at the Country Club tomorrow night. Alone. You know her car and its plate. I’d suggest you camp out in the woods near the parking lot. Perhaps you could put a scare in her there.”
“Want me to kill her?”
“No, haven’t you been listening? Scare her, badly, that’s all. Maybe we can end all this tomorrow night.”
“Okey dokey… Be fun...tomorrow night.” His bleary eyes focused on the screen, now nothing but writing.
“I’ll call Sunday morning at eleven. Don’t screw this up.”
His phone went dead. He dropped the cell to the floor. The writing on the screen ended. Sprawled on his couch, he watched as a man buried himself into a woman’s ass.
****
Despite her sleepless night, Caitlin woke early to a blazing, late winter sun. The weather channel promised a spring-like warmth for the day. She was snapping up her purse from the hall table when her phone rang and she answered it on the third ring. “Morning,” she chirped.
“Back at you,” Mike quipped at the other end.
“I thought you were my sister-in-law,” she chuckled. “Guess not.”
“After last night I have no intention of changing gender.” His voice got all deep and sexy. That got her sweaty in her silk and cotton blend, oversized black and white sweater. Not the mindset she needed before starting a busy day.
“Thank goodness for that. I don’t see myself playing footsie with my sister-in-law,” she shot back, visualizing his erection from last night.
“I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Neither did I.”
“Because of you…”
“Same here…”
“You’re worth the four cold showers.”
“I’m not sure you equal the bags under my eyes,” she bantered and refused to look at the clock.
“I could come over and check out those bags,” he offered, his voice etched in loneliness.
“Sorry, I’ll carry them myself. I’m off to a meeting,” she cut him off and glanced at her watch. “In fact, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late.”
“I’ll try again then.”
“You do that, please.”
Seven minutes later, she was on I-94 heading north toward Milwaukee and a meeting with the private investigator she had hired for Northland. While she drove, her mind bounced back to Mike and his call, and how she felt last night. That wasn’t the mental framework she needed for this morning. Always good at compartmentalizing, she stuffed all of that away and ordered herself not to think about it until after her meeting.
This work appointment was hush-hush, not quite “if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” but definitely of the “need to know” type. Their meeting place was public enough not to arouse suspicion, yet far enough from home they weren’t likely to run into anyone she knew. Fifty-five minutes later, she arrived at the busy family restaurant near a sprawling, fashionable mall on Milwaukee’s northwest side. She parked as far as possible from the restaurant door and away from other cars, hoping to avoid any potential scratches to her “baby”.
Inside the restaurant she stood in line, a single person waiting for a table in a place jammed with groups of people ordering late breakfast or early lunch.
“How many, miss?” the harried hostess asked, her arms full of menus.
“One, but not the counter. A booth or table, please.” Caitlin noticed the grimace, professionally masked by the hostess. Tables for one weren’t cost effective, especially on busy Saturday mornings. However, Caitlin had her reasons and stood her ground.
“Excuse me, miss, but I hate counter seating, too.”
Caitlin looked up at the man’s words—the right ones. He was a few places ahead of her in line. He wore a black baseball-type jacket with white scrolled writing etched on the front right side—the right words and right color coat. Late forties in age, beefy but not fat, brown hair in need of some barbering, spatters of gray at the temples. Maybe six foot—the right description. She relaxed and smiled at the stranger.
“I’d be happy to share my table, if you don’t mind.” She caught the hostess’ satisfied release of breath, her questioning look, as close to a plea as the harried woman would allow herself.
“Thanks, I accept since we likely will both be seated sooner.” She glanced again at the man, who was carefully taking her measure while appearing not to do so.
The appreciative hostess suggested a just vacated small booth partially hidden from general view by a bank of densely-leaved potted plants. “Perfect,” Caitlin told her. The man agreed and the hostess hurried them to the booth, leaving them with menus and a promise of coffee.
Aromas of bacon, maple syrup and strong coffee filled the air.
“I’m Hank Stoddard.” He offered a large, callused, strong hand to Caitlin, who grasped it firmly.
“Caitlin Donnelly. You come highly recommended, Mr. Stoddard. If you’re handling of this morning is an indication of future success for us, I’m pleased already.”
“You handled yourself like a pro, too. We should work well together.” A waitress came to take their order and bring coffee, before leaving them to their discussion. Hank pulled out a paper and buried his head in it. Then he began talking quietly, asking pointed questions about Northland. Any watchers might have thought him reading.
Caitlin, whose back faced the restaurant patrons, answered his questions just as quietly. To any observer, they appeared silent. She outlined the company’s concerns and what she hoped Stoddard could unearth.
“We can document drug use with the industrial injuries and the need for medical attention for drug overdoses, especially on the second shift. That’s why you’ll start work as a sweeper on that shift. That job gives you free access to all areas of the plant without arousing any suspicions. No one’ll know who you are except me. However, my company president knows someone has been hired. Oh, did you bring your employment file so I can enter it into the computer files with everyone else’s?”
“I have it and I’ll leave it here inside this paper. Also, I’m using the name Hank Stokes for this job, Ms. Donnelly. You’re smart to have as few people as possible know who I am. Couldn’t someone guess, though, by looking at new employees?”
“I thought of that, and fortunately, our second shift sweeper moves to first shift on Monday because the first shift guy retired. The timing’s excellent because we’re starting twenty new people Monday between both shifts. These new employees will be scattered around many departments so finding you, if someone is onto us, won’t be that easy.” Caitlin sipped her orange juice, gazing disinterestedly out the window at the melting snow.
“That’s a big help. I know you talked to the consulting group on the east coast about drug usage and problems in industry. So you know things can get pretty sticky until we know exactly what’s going on and who the players are. Regarding the latter, do you think you just have users? Or is there something bigger going down?” For the first time since they sat down, Hank set down his paper and looked at her.
She returned his frank stare. She admired his astuteness camouflaged so well by his laid-back manner. With someone like him on the job, Northland’s drug problem could be destroyed. “We think we’re dealing with users getting high during breaks with stuff they bring in or go out to get.”
“Optimistic, aren’t you?” His grin said he didn’t expect an answer.
“Trying. At the consulting group’s suggestion, we’re implementing a closed door policy beginning Monday. That means, however, more stuff might come in when the workers report to work.”
“What about the local authorities? You brought them in yet?”
“We’re instituting random locker checks starting on Monday. If we find anything, then we’ll call in the sheriff.”
“That’s doing it backwards. They should at least be aware of your concerns.”
She nibbled on dry toast, then continued while Hank devoured a double order of steak and eggs as he listened intently. “The truthful answer is the sheriff’s doing some investigation on another matter. One I don’t think is involved with the drug issue, but I guess you should know about, too.”
Hank sipped his coffee, looking carefully at her. “What’s the other problem?”
“I’m being harrassed, getting threatening notes and phone calls.” She outlined the events and their timeline.
“You think it’s a personal thing, then, and not related to the tightening policies against drugs?”
“I do, especially since we decided on the latter and announced our decision several days after the incidents started.” She finished her poached egg, munched her last tidbit of fried crisp bacon, just how she liked it.
“What do the locals think?”
“They’re following all the leads. Whoever’s behind the threats is likely a disgruntled former employee. Or maybe it’s an unauthorized union ploy by disaffected workers.”
“Any new people begin at the plant about that time who might have a history with you, a grudge to settle.”
At Hank’s words, her heart clutched. A quick inhaled breath lodged in her throat, strangling her. Not Mike! Her mind shook the thought away, but not before the perceptive Hank caught it.
“Who were you thinking of? Give me a name and I’ll keep an eye out, too.”
She couldn’t respond. Her answer accused where no accusation seemed justified. Besides, how would Mike get into her office before he officially began and had keys? “No one, really, Hank. The timing just couldn’t work. But if anything comes up, I’ll let you know. You do the same if you hear any shop scuttlebutt.”
Hank agreed, but not happily, she could tell. She played with her napkin. Her slender fingers drummed against the table. “Someone always has a gripe. Many of them were very unhappy about the last contract. Since I’m the negotiator, I’m the target for their anger.”
“I know how that goes.”
“But that anger should dissipate as we’ll be reopening contract discussions next week.”
“Or, I’m playing devil’s advocate here, the threats could increase.” He poured another cup of coffee. “Going back to the original issue…you don’t think the plant has pushers?”
“I don’t discount anything, but I have no facts for that. That’s one of the items I hope you can uncover. Find out exactly what is going on.”
“We won’t be able to meet like this once I begin working, but I set up a drop box in a mailing center. I can leave messages there and you can do the same. Here’s the second key.” He wiped his thin-lipped mouth with a napkin, balled it up, laid it on the table, and pushed it toward Caitlin. She found the small key under the crumpled napkin and fingered it into her palm and then to her purse. “The mailing center is located downtown Southport. The renovated block on Main Street.”
“I know the place.”
“This way is safer than meeting.”
Caitlin nodded agreement at his plan. “Just be aware. Quite a few workers visit my office from time to time to gripe. Just in case you need to reach me fast, a drop-in visit wouldn’t attract attention.”
Hank nodded. “Good to know.”
“So when should I check the box?”
“Every Friday. Noon’s the best because the place is busy. Also after three until closing. You should go when it’s crowded. You’ll be less noticeable. If something’s necessary before then, I’ll ring you at your office, name a good time; that about does it, then.” His voice rose, “Well, miss, thanks for sharing a table with me this morning. A real pleasure meeting you.” Hank rose, grabbed his check, and ambled leisurely off to the pay station.
Caitlin grabbed her bill, her leather bomber jacket, stuffed the “forgotten” newspaper in her large purse, and headed first for the ladies’ room. The morning had gone well and faster than she expected. Only the oblique reference to Mike left a bothersome feeling in her. But that was silly...wasn’t it? Crazy, that’s what she was getting to be. What to do now with her extra time?
Knowing that Mike would be at the reception tonight sparked her desire to shop. Her usual tailored black dress somehow seemed drab for this wedding. A smile parted her lips in the mirror’s reflection. Yes, a flirty, new dress would prepare her for whatever happened tonight.