Angel Board

by Rufty, Kristopher

  Finally, he pushed the wire through, dangling over the ledge like a limp noodle. Taking the tip, Brad lowered it to the bottom of the baler and fed it back through to David in the lower canal.

  On his knees at the back, David took the tip and stuck it through the looped end, tying it as tightly as he could. “All right, your turn.”

  It took some time, but they secured each wire, tying them taut. They were careful not to poke or stab each other in the process. Surprisingly, no one was hurt, a miraculous achievement that both were proud of.

  After all this work, Brad was doused with sweat and looked very pale. Using the tip of his dark blue shirt that matched David’s, he swabbed it away. It left a wet smear behind that Brad concealed by tucking his shirt back into his pants.

  David asked, “Have you eaten this morning?”

  “Huh?”

  “Food, Brad. Have you had any this morning?”

  “I had a Pop Tart on the way in.”

  “You look starved.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Maybe you should grab some water, sit down for a bit. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” said David. He walked to the control panel and pressed the red button. The engine groaned to life as it raised the baler’s jaws. The cardboard expanded against the wires as it lifted. They shrieked against the concentrated pressure of the escalating cardboard.

  “That’s never going to hold,” called Brad. “The baler was too full.”

  “We did what we could. It’s not our fault we only have this cheap shit to work with.” He turned off the engine. The cardboard block sat popping while waiting to be dumped.

  “You’re right,” said a nasally voice. “It’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

  David and Brad shared a look, grimacing. They turned back, found George standing a few feet to the side. His shirt, dark blue and fading, didn’t quite match theirs. Thanks to his over-hanging gut, there were stretch marks that had caused the fabric over his stomach to be discolored. A pool of sweat stains had pooled around his armpits. His thin, spirally curled hair was soaked as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He looked as if he’d been the one that had just completed this intricate task. But David knew better. All George had done all morning was lug around that clipboard he loved so much.

  “Morning George.” David tried to put on a polite smile, but failed.

  “I didn’t approve you coming in before your scheduled time.”

  “No, but I didn’t think you’d mind the extra help.”

  “The budget won’t allow it. Just like those costly wires you adore so much. We can’t afford it.”

  That was a lie. David knew the budget they had to work with. Besides, month after month, they’d turned in their numbers well below the approved amount. By doing so, George would get a fat bonus at the end of each month.

  “Are you sure about that?” asked David. “We could order two batches, smaller bundles and keep the cost about the same.”

  Brad nodded as George’s face wrinkled in anger. Obviously, he’d never thought of doing it that way.

  “Why don’t I double check, just to be sure.” George forced a smile that was more of a scowl.

  David knew the man would only order the cheap shit from here on out.

  George stepped closer to the bale and stood between Brad and David. “You two have been back here long enough working on this. My two nieces could have done it quicker, and they’re only seven.”

  “Maybe you should call them in,” said David. “I heard we’re a few short today.”

  He and Brad shared a harmless laugh. When they saw George remained stone-faced, they stopped.

  George whipped his gaze at Brad. “Didn’t you have somewhere else you needed to be?”

  “David and I were just talking. I was going to get some water and take a quick break. He said he’d finish the rest.”

  “That’s right,” added David.

  “But I actually wanted to help him finish it up.”

  “Don’t bother,” argued George. “I can help him do that much.”

  David was doubtful George knew the slightest thing about working this machine. But what George had said wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order that Brad reluctantly had to obey. He nodded at David, then left him alone with George.

  In Brad’s absence, the stockroom seemed to take on a bleak eminence. The awkwardness made David’s skin feel sticky. George turned to David.

  “Who do you think you are?” asked George.

  “Nobody.”

  “Good answer. I wouldn’t even say you’re that much. Let me remind you that the only reason why you’re still here, buck-o, is because the higher ups are too scared to fire your ass. Afraid that you’ll kill yourself, and they’d be sued by your family.”

  “That’s a lie,” said David. He knew George was only saying this to get under his skin. It was working. David could feel his icy fingers meddling under there. He gripped the lever on the baler so tightly, his hand was hurting. “They won’t fire me because they know I can fix all your problems for half the wage. Remember, you’re the one that has two strikes.”

  Furious, George began to shake all over. David realized he’d probably just gone too far. He wanted to prove a point, show George he didn’t intimidate him, but all he’d managed was to enrage the man even more. Good job.

  “It’s time you and I talk on the level,” said George. “I don’t like you.”

  Obviously.

  “I don’t care how hard you had it growing up, or if Daddy wasn’t there for you when you needed him, and all that other whining bullshit.”

  “My dad died, you asshole.”

  “Aw, shucks. That must have been weelly hardsh.” He mocked him with baby talk. Back in his usual gruff, “I’m not going to bow to your every cry just because you fucked up slitting your wrists and didn’t finish the job.” He nodded to the bandage on David’s wrist. “You couldn’t even do that right.”

  David’s palms squeaked against the metal lever. He now held it with both hands as if his life depended on it.

  George eyed David’s hands. “You want to hit me?”

  “What?” Had he heard him correctly?

  “You’re holding that lever awfully tight. Is that what’s keeping you from decking me? Just let go, take a swing. I dare you.”

  David wanted to so bad he was growing hard. But he knew better than to fall into that trap. It wasn’t worth the trouble in the end.

  “You like to talk about me when I’m not around, so go on, hit me.” He leaned his face in, turned it sideways. “Punch me for Daddy not being there.”

  David’s body went rigid. A gentle current waved through him, easing his anger. He suddenly stopped caring about George’s insults. His arms became weak, so he let them drop by his side.

  George was confused by David’s sudden state. He looked as if he was on acid and the trip had just really kicked in. He almost laughed until movement caught his attention.

  The lever.

  It was wiggling. How it was doing this without David’s hands, he wasn’t sure. But it was. Then it pushed forward, regurgitating the compacted bale outward. It crashed onto the pallet Brad had placed there earlier. The wrapped boxes pushed against the wires.

  Screaming, the metal thinned. One of the wires snapped. It whisked by George, narrowly missing his face. He felt the wind of it. He gasped. Tried to speak, but he couldn’t. Where his voice should have been was a burning sensation like acid reflux. He tried to speak again. This time, his neck blazed as if he were gargling acid. He brought his hand up to his throat and felt a hot wetness that burned. He prodded with his finger, finding a tight line stretched across his throat. He followed the line from one side to the other, realizing the wire hadn’t missed him after all.

  It’d slit his throat.

  The realization dawning, he began to panic. Trying to cup his hands o
ver the wound, he hoped to stop the bleeding. He glanced at David, who just stood there, dazed. Staring off to the side, looking at nothing particular. This angered George even more.

  At the first thought of rage toward David, George felt someone gripping his hair. It hurt. Felt like they were trying to tear his scalp from his skull. Then in one quick motion, his head jerked back, ripping the skin apart even farther. Blood spurted from the canyon-like wound.

  He’d lost so much blood, his legs seemed to vanish out from under him. He dropped to his knees. He tried to scream, but could only produce wet gargles. George understood that he was going to die. There was no way he could get out of this. And it’d been overall painless. Not as bad as he would have thought.

  On that note, the bale began to ascend, swelling like a welt against the inadequate wires. He figured then he should have kept his mouth shut.

  George saw the strain the cheap aluminum was enduring just to keep the cardboard at bay. It wasn’t enough. The bale exploded into a mess of ripped boxes. Shredded bits peppered him. The wires were loose, slapping at the air, lacerating him with solid, wet slashes.

  Arched like an octopus’ tentacles, the wires slapped, whacked, and grated. One struck his abdomen, slicing him upward and wide. A flap of skin on his gut dropped open like the mouth of a mailbox, but instead of letters, entrails sloshed out, coiling over one another like a flurry of snakes. They splattered into a sticky pile on the concrete floor.

  Another wire pricked his eye, snatching it from the socket. A grisly line of goo flapped behind it like a tail. It soared high and landed somewhere in the room.

  George continued to burble as he was decimated.

  When David came to, he was on his ass, hugging his knees against the wall. He gazed at George and wasn’t shocked by what he saw. Wrapped in the bailer wires, and displayed like some kind of human sculpture of devoured flesh and cardboard. Sheets of skin hung over the wires like wet laundry. Chunks of meat were spattered across the floor like animal droppings.

  There was nothing subtle about any of this. This was a message. And David had never felt more at ease. She was there with him.

  And he was glad to have her.

  Chapter Eight

  Sam hung up on Carol during her frantic call and darted out of the hospital, not bothering to tell anyone that she was leaving. What she’d gathered somewhere inside of Carol’s hysterical monologue was that something had happened at Office Warehouse. Someone had been killed.

  And David—in some way—had been involved.

  That was all she’d needed to get her moving.

  In her car, she sped along Warchester Drive, zipping in and out of heavy, lunch hour traffic. She couldn’t be bothered with using turn signals or driving carefully. She had somewhere she needed to be. Fast.

  On Tyvola Avenue, the traffic was thinner, but not enough that it was easy to maneuver around. Then came all the stoplights. Frustrated, she pounded her fists on the steering wheel. Why was it so goddamn difficult to drive ten miles?

  When she reached Jake Alexander, she passed a parked bus letting off passengers. She knew she could get a ticket for it if she was seen, but at the moment, she didn’t care. She only had a mile to go, and nothing was going to stop her.

  Finally, she whipped the car into the parking lot of Office Warehouse. The parking lot was deserted, save for three squad cars, an ambulance, first response, David’s car, and a few others that she didn’t care enough about to figure out.

  As she put the car into park, she spotted the white coroner’s van parked at the front of the store, and something heavy like a rock dropped in her stomach. A quick feeling of dread teetered through her, but she didn’t let it slow her down.

  Sam hustled across the parking lot and through the front doors. She spotted Brad at the front between two uniformed officers. When they noticed Sam, they didn’t seem very pleased to see her.

  “Hi, I’m Samantha Corban.”

  The younger officer said nothing in return. He nudged his already frowning partner.

  “Ma’am?” asked the other one.

  “My boyfriend—uh, I mean my friend works here. I think he was involved in what happened today.”

  Brad glanced over his shoulder and shot her a smile that Sam read as relief. He was glad to see her. “Sam. Thank goodness.” He stepped away from the officers and went to her. He stretched out his arms and hugged her. Tightly. Pressed her snugly against his chest. Sam caught the understated fragrance of deodorant and sweat. She couldn’t return his hug due to her arms being pinned by her sides by his embrace.

  Muffled against his chest, she said, “Brad? Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine… It’s just shocking what’s happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  He started to speak, but was interrupted when the older officer deliberately cleared his throat.

  Brad let go of Sam and sighed. He looked her in the eyes. “I guess I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  He nodded, agreeing.

  “Where’s David?”

  Brad glanced at the officers. They shook their heads at him. “He’s in the back. I guess I can’t tell you anything else. One of the detectives will have to.”

  Detectives?

  “Is it as bad as it sounds?”

  “You have no idea.”

  More confused than she was before, Sam scurried to the back. Turned a corner. Darted down one aisle and cut through the printer section. As she walked past models large and small, old and new, she eyed the stockroom entrance up ahead. Lights popped and flashed from inside. The distinct sound of voices bickered back and forth. It sounded hectic in there, intimidating.

  She ventured onward.

  And stopped just outside the doorway. She peeked around the edge. The stockroom looked as chaotic as any episode of Law and Order she’d ever seen. People frantically passed back and forth, bumping into each other and avoiding eye contact as they did so. A bald man in a lab coat stood over a crumpled pile of white and red. The coroner. Then that meant the heap at his feet was…

  A dead body.

  She felt sick.

  A blonde female dressed in a gray uniform came up behind the bald man, smacking anxiously on gum. She tapped him on the shoulder and began relaying whatever message she had for him. Her lips moved so swiftly that Sam couldn’t pick out anything she was saying. As the blonde continued, Sam’s attention returned to the white sheet. Not so much a pile as she’d originally thought, but a shape—molded into the white fabric. She distinguished the form of a head, shoulders, legs, but none of them were attached. They looked as if they’d been gathered and placed there like someone trying to hide them under a rug.

  Sam looked to the right, wishing she hadn’t given it a second look, and located David near the trash chute. She’d expected to see a man on the verge of hysteria, a pathetic mess of emotion, but instead she found him smiling. Arms folded over his chest and nodding.

  In fact, he looked damn happy. He was speaking fluently, without hesitation.

  Two men stood in front of him, their backs facing Sam. The older of the two was jotting David’s words down in a notepad. The cover flapped with each scribble. He had gray, neatly combed hair. When he’d glance at the other man, she caught the glimpse of a caterpillar-like moustache. David said something, and the older one laughed. He patted David across the chest as he chuckled. Sam guessed he’d said something extremely funny, but she never knew David to be the comedian type in a normal situation, let alone one as messed up as this.

  Gray Top thinks David’s a laugh riot.

  The other man didn’t laugh. Maybe he hadn’t heard David’s amusing comment, because he couldn’t stand still. He had his hands in his pockets and nervously bounced from foot to foot, side to side. It made Sam antsy just to watch him. He was a good foot shorter than David and Gray Top. His hair was a black mess of curls on top of his head. He could have
been a compressed version of actor Jeff Goldblum. He wore glasses, and each crack of a camera’s flash reflected in the thick lenses.

  The detectives.

  The Adventures of Gray Top and Curly Lens.

  “Excuse us, lady, we need to get by.” The voice was deep, serious, and came from behind her.

  Nearly screaming, she cupped a hand over her mouth to hold it in. She turned back and found two paramedics with a stretcher between them trying to get through. She was in their way.

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’ll move, I’m so sorry.” She stepped back, allowing them entrance.

  “No worries, but maybe you should stand on that side just in case someone else needs to go in or out.”

  “Right. I’ll do that.”

  As they rolled past her, she took her place opposite the door, out of the way. Her skin was burning with blush. The medics guided the stretcher to the red-stained sheet and kicked down the wheel locks.

  “Sam? What are you doing here?”

  David. He’d seen her. Of course he had. How could he have not seen her, or heard the exchange with the paramedics. She looked over and saw three sets of eyes gawking in her direction. Her skin grew hotter. She knew her cheeks were probably crimson.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t have come, but I was worried. Your mom said something had happened, and I don’t know why, I just rushed right over.”

  “That’s my mom for you.” He leaned closer to Gray Top. “She worries.”

  Gray Top said, “Any mother should worry. Sounds like a fine woman.” He glanced at Sam, contorting his lips into a smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll be done with David in just a minute.”

  The smile was pleasant, warming. The kind a father would give a daughter when he found his baby girl was getting married. She liked it. But her feelings were short-lived when she heard the sudden eruption of his bellowing laughter again. She saw him leaning his head over, a hand on David’s shoulder, and the two of them giggling like little schoolgirls over a boy they both like.

  Look at Gray Top in there. He’s like David’s new best friend. Maybe they’d bonded. She could see it now, next year at Christmas, there’d be five stockings on the mantel instead of four. The new addition would be for Mr. Gray Top, David’s new BFF. Then they’d realize it was too crowded up there, and it would look better if Sam’s were moved. They’d proceed to toss it into the fireplace while singing carols and drinking punch.