Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Action/Thriller
Type: Fiction
In a dying profession, people are dying and a plant manager is wrongfully accused. What follows is just as much a search for 'why' as for 'who'.
When a factory owner is suddenly found dead, the plant manager, Rick Montgomery, is arrested. The case manufactured against him does not hold up, and he is released, though not cleared. Corpses abound, clues are scarce, the town is nervous. After a friend is murdered while investigating, Rick is compelled to take over. He gets into trouble, but his wife, Nikki, saves the day. The bad guys, grossly overestimating the progress of Rick’s investigation, attempt to silence him, but Rick gets the drop on them. He is surprised to discover what the criminal enterprise is, as well as, who is leading it.
Excerpt
When he walked into the machine shop and heard only the symphony of mechanical noise, Rick Montgomery groaned. Absent were the usual banter and bravado, jokes, and camaraderie. Instead, the men were overly intent upon their work. One look at the department head’s face confirmed that he had walked into a hornet’s nest. He groaned. What now?
After a perfunctory greeting, Jeff Jefferson unloaded! “By God, RH, if I was one to do an evil deed, today would be the day! This crap has gone on too long! He’s getting me so pissed off I can’t think of anything but putting a bullet between his crazy old eyes! When he came through here this morning, all he did was put me down! I could have killed him, and I wouldn’t have batted an eye! I tell you, I’ve had it!”
“What happened this time?” Rick Montgomery asked, trying to sound steady.
“Nothin’s ever right! The place is dirty; my guys are lazy! I asked him about the pay raise he promised me six months ago, and he said he was taking care of it, so I asked him, real nice as you please, ‘What does ‘taking care of it’ mean? He says: ‘I’m gathering all the facts’. The ole asshole’s just stalling! He doesn’t know a fact from a fart!”
“Cool it, Jeff. This isn’t going to accomplish anything except to get you fired! I’ll check into it again. I’m sorry, but I thought we had it resolved. Blame it on me, I let it go.”
“Shee-it, RH! I know you’ve done what you can.”
“Apparently I haven’t,” said Rick, pulling his memo pad from his pocket and quickly scribbling a note. “Let me see what I can do to take care of it. You know how it is, Jeff. Mr. Azoth has so much on his mind, and he forgets every now and then.”
“All the time if you ask me! Six months of forgetfulness!”
“You’d be surprised. Remember, he’s responsible for an entire plant and a hundred-forty employees.”
“Actually, I don’t care. Nobody’s forcing him to play. He ought to go to Florida.”
“You ought to put a lid on it, Jeff.”
The young department head opened his mouth to argue, but had a second thought. “Sorry, RH, but look around. What’s wrong with the place? What more can we do?”
“Your shop looks good, but we can always do better. Equally as important, your production is up. Keep it going, and it will get better – sooner or later.”
“We could increase production 500 percent, and it wouldn’t make any difference!” countered Jefferson.
“Sure it will – to you and to me. All dogs get their day. Be patient and wait. For now, calm down and think about the weekend. Do you have anything planned?”
Rick could tell Jefferson wanted to continue venting, so he waited while the young department head dealt with it.
Finally Jefferson said: “We’re planning to go to the fair. How about you.”
“Twenty-fifth anniversary….”
“Congratulations, RH.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We rented a condo at the lake for the weekend.”
“Expensive?”
“Twenty-fifth anniversary only comes once in a lifetime, Jeff.”
“True, and lots of people never make it.”
After one more exhortation to persevere, Rick resumed his tour of the plant. As plant manager, he knew his responsibilities, but hobbled by the owner’s hyper-controlling behavior, it was difficult to address issues with confidence or authority. Some days it was as like walking on eggshells. No matter what he did, it was never enough. But, his profession was dying in the United States, as jobs were steadily off-shoring. The fact was, even though the world population was increasing, jobs in the US were growing scarce. Those fortunate enough to have a job in manufacturing stayed until they could no longer get out of bed. Yet, despite all that, there were days he would have seriously considered seeking another job were it not for his wife’s very emotional plea for stability. She did not want to move again, and she had left no room for discussion. With a sigh, he once again resolved to hold on to this job, which he otherwise loved – no matter what!
Turning into Ed Stansloski’s final department, he looked with satisfaction at what they had accomplished. Production and quality were up, and it was much cleaner and less cluttered. On the other hand, the next thing he spotted was a pile of material he had directed the long-time department head to recover or recycle. It had not been touched yet, and it irritated him. The big, taciturn department head was nowhere to be seen, so Rick settled for scribbling a note and leaving it on his desk.
Thinking about junk turned his mind to the old warehouse. It was a no-man’s land, a very dimly lit, dusty, walled-in corner of the oldest part of the plant. He often wondered what had motivated them to build it as though it were Fort Knox, but it was hard to imagine what was going on in their heads ninety years ago. Its shelves were piled high with antiquated parts the owner retained. ‘We still have customers with the equipment in operation,’ the old man claimed. Oddly, nobody else knew who those ‘customers’ were, but it made no difference – Mr. Azoth was the boss.
As he pushed open the heavy door, the hinges groaned loudly, but not loudly enough to obscure a shouting match. From the back of the room, he heard his boss’s raised voice. “You men get back to work right now. I will not stand for this insubordination.”
Hurrying toward the sound, he heard: “Lay off, old man. You ain’t no god…”
Another voice broke in: “Yeah, we’re getting’ sick of your crap. We’re not your slaves.”
“If you do not return to work immediately,” retorted the owner, his raised voice wavering and thin, “why, I’ll….”
Rick rounded the last towering row of shelves, and deep in the gloom of the far corner, he could see two men had backed Mr. Azoth into a corner.
“You’ll what, old man?”
One of the men grabbed a steel rod from a nearby shelf.
“What’re ya gonna do old man?”
Rick sprinted toward the little group as he shouted: “Drop that! Knock it off.”
One of the men whirled around, startled.
The other lowered the rod slightly, but did not take his eyes off the old man.
“This doesn’t concern you, RH,” said one of the men.
Rick finally got close enough to recognize him in the gloom. “Roger, are you nuts?”
Finally within reach, he grabbed for the rod, but the younger man was faster.
“Stay out of this, RH.”
The pipe waved ominously, and Rick could see the man’s knuckles were turning white from gripping it so fiercely.
“You’re making a huge mistake! Now, put it down!”
“We can talk till we’re blue in the face, but it won’t change his twisted mind!”
“You young lout,” shouted the old man. “Put that down and get out of here! You’re fired!”
Quick as a flash, Roger cocked the rod and began to swing, but Rick had been watching him closely, and he saw it in his eyes. This time he caught the rod. Using the man’s own momentum and a bit of surprise, he tossed him to the floor, as he wrenched the rod from his grip.
“Stop this now. Get up and get out of here!” Rick ordered, his voice hard and threatening.
Roger, a large, husky man picked himself off the dirty, rough concrete floor. His eyes shifted between the owner and Rick several times. His breathing was hurried, his face red.
“Let’s go, Roger. He ain’t worth it,” urged his pal, Bill, trying to break the stalemate.
Roger stood stock still, his eyes narrowed to slits, his huge hands balled into fists.
Mr. Azoth started to say something, but Rick signaled for him to be quiet. Astonishingly, he complied. The ancient warehouse became quiet as a tomb as the four of them stood statue-like in a standoff.
Rick began tapping the steel rod on the concrete floor, the ringing sound carrying an obvious threat. Finally, cursing and grumbling under their breath, the men started out of the old warehouse. Rick tossed the rod on a shelf and followed.
Behind him, Warren Azoth, called: “Make sure they don’t steal anything on the way out.”
“That does it,” growled Roger, whirling around to go back and finish what he had started.
Rick blocked his way. “It isn’t worth it. Do you want to spend your life in jail?” he whispered gruffly. “Go straight to HR.”
“But…”
“Do as I say! Don’t make this any worse than it is!”
After a long, tense pause, the men turned and swaggered away. Rick pulled his cell and called the HR Manager. He briefly explained what had happened, knowing she was well versed in handling such things. Once he got off the phone, he turned his attention to Mr. Azoth, who was trying to get back on his feet
|
