What’s my name? She’s the second one to ask that. He hesitated just for a moment. Should he give her some other name? Does it really matter what he name is? He just couldn’t think fast enough and had to give an answer or she would think he was mentally challenged or something. “Dillon McGee, ma'am.”
She immediately shook her head. “No, sorry. We’re not hiring today.” There was a cup of coffee on her desk and she picked it up and took a sip.
Now Dillon was mad. Burning mad. He started his truck and drove east toward the city. Why did both women ask his name? Then immediately say they were not hiring when he knew good and well they were. There was only one explanation. Morgan had black-listed him. Morgan had warned companies in Springfield not to hire him. They had probably warned companies all over the state, maybe even the country. Had he forgotten who he was dealing with? Morgan had grown so powerful the whole country was bowing to him. No one would cross him. Dillon had crossed him five years ago and lived to tell about it, a miracle in itself, but he wondered what would happen if he tried something like that now.
Someone was probably hacking into his search results on his computer. Was Morgan paying off these companies? Or threatening them. So he had to choose: sign the contract or starve. Slow death or probably a very swift one.
He could get a fake ID. But he would have to get a fake social security card and Missouri driver’s license. Did he know anyone who could do this for him? No, but he could try. He could fake his identity and tell the next clerk his new name. He shook his head as he drove. It would never work. Someone from Morgan would walk in right behind him and spill the beans.
He had bills to pay and mouths to feed. Might as well go sign that contract. At least he would get a raise out of it. If Morgan wanted to pay him more, he guessed there was nothing he could do about it.
He drove to his favorite pawn shop and bought a new AR-15 and several boxes of ammunition. Then he bought a box of .38 shells. He loaded it in his truck and drove toward his house. It was nearly noon and he was getting hungry. He had the afternoon off and a yard to mow. He would sign the contract tomorrow. At a stop light he texted Gabby to let her know he was on his way home for lunch.
She had sandwiches ready when he walked in. She had her long, black hair pulled up into a ponytail and had not put on any makeup yet. She set some potato chips in front of him when he joined her at the table. “How did it go?”
“Looks like I have to sign the contract,” he said.
“Well, it’s not so bad,” she said. “I mean, you’ll make more money, won’t you?”
He nodded. “Quite a bit.”
“That’ll help around here.”
He looked at her as though a revelation had dawned on him. “That’s right and I want you to put in your two weeks’ notice. There’s no need for you to work anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Then we’d be right back where we are now.”
“You can look for a better job. Something during the day.” He scratched his ear. “Just a few hours per week. Something you really enjoy.”
She smiled. “Ok. I’ll do it.”
He sipped his tea. “If you tell your boss you can only work during the day, do you think he would go for it?”
She tilted her head. “Maybe.”
“See what he says. Tell him you’ll take a pay cut.” He looked at her more seriously. “And if something happens to me, remember I have a life insurance policy with Missouri Life.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I don’t like talk like that.”
“I know. I’m just sayin’ that I have my own policy that I pay for.” He crunched a potato chip. “See, Morgan has a policy on me now, and if I die, they will get the money. It’s called dead peasants’ insurance. You know about that, right?”
“Yes.”
“But I have a policy too. And you and the kids will get that.”
She took a drink from her glass. “That’s good.”
“The policy is in the file in our closet. You make sure you cash it in if something happens to me.”
She raised her voice some. “There, you said it again. Quit saying that.”
He looked intently at her. “I need us to be vigilant. I need you to tell me if you see anything suspicious around here. Some guy lurking around the house. Anything out of the ordinary.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“I don’t trust Morgan. You know what I saw five years ago. You know they killed a guy and collected his insurance, and I went to jail for being in on it.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past them to do it again.” He looked over at her. “And they hate me. Charles Morgan hates my guts.” He paused. “I don’t trust him. But we have to live our lives.”
“Can we go to the police or something?”
He lifted his palms, shaking his head. There was nothing the police could do and he knew it. He was going to live out his life looking over his shoulder and that was all there was to it. Maybe Charles Morgan had cooled by now. It had been five years. Perhaps he had forgotten the whole thing. Yeah, but they were making him sign, and black-listing him. Was Charles really this patient? Was he still seeing red? How long could a man hold a grudge?
Dillon couldn’t get to sleep that night. He wasn’t able to shut his thoughts down. Was there any other way? He could just not work, and collect unemployment if they let him go. Maybe they were bluffing and wouldn’t fire him at all. But he had already told Gabby to quit her shift. He did like the idea of more money. You know what? He thought, let’s just get this over with. If they come after me, I’ll be ready. They didn’t get me the first time. I’ll be even more ready this time. Let them come. He adjusted his pillow and thought about Matt Douglas. That guy was a mountain. That was the one guy he was afraid of. He hoped he was still rotting in some jail cell where he belonged.
He thought about the night he was called out to push Joseph Wilson’s truck over the side of the cliff, with Joseph dead inside it. That’s the kind of thing Morgan liked to do to employees he didn’t like. Would Dillon ever stop thinking about that? Sometime after midnight, he took a sleeping pill and finally drifted to sleep.
The next morning, a hot mid-July day, he walked into the business office of Morgan Retail Store and signed the contract. William smiled and nodded from his doorway. It was several pages long. It signed him up for insurance that the company would receive, not his family, should his life end. And it stated in no uncertain terms that there would be no retirement payments and no medical benefits after retirement. At least none the company would provide. He would have to retire at sixty-five and he was on his own after that.
Another section of the contract made Dillon agree not to shop at any other retailer. His implanted microchip would keep him honest. He faced stiff fines for breaking this rule. And he could only do business with companies approved by Morgan. They would watch his business dealings, his internet activity, and even monitor his private time. The sheet he hated most said he could never quit. He could be fired by Morgan for any or no reason, but he could never quit his job without corporate permission. He signed his life over to Morgan. In return, he would receive a large raise and the company’s gratitude for being a loyal employee. He would be a company man in good standing.
A notary public watched him sign, took his fingerprints, then signed and stamped the contract. She put the contract in an envelope and took it with her as she left the room.
Dillon sat and waited until a nurse came in with a black bag. She led him to a clean room near the worker’s lounge. He took off his shirt and lied down on his stomach on a table that was covered with white paper.
“How are you today, Mr. McGee?” She said. She seemed cheery enough.
“Fine, thanks.”
“This is just alcohol. It will be cold.” She rubbed alcohol on a spot just under his left shoulder blade.
Then he felt a needle being inserted into his back. It stung and he winced slightly.
“This is just the
deadening,” she said. She hummed and looked at her watch and waited a few minutes for it to take effect. Then she stuck him with a large needle. It hurt, even though she had numbed it. He could feel the pressure of something new under his skin. She sutured the hole she had made and put more stinging alcohol on the area. “All done.”
As Dillon put his shirt back on, his boss came to the door. “All done?”
“Yes sir.”
William walked around behind Dillon. “Can I see?”
“Sure.” His loss of privacy had already begun.
William lifted his shirt and looked at the new little wound. “Looks good!”
Dillon’s voice was even. “Good to know.”
William moved around in front of Dillon and made eye contact with him. “I’m proud of you Dillon. You made the right choice for your family.”
“Yes sir.”
“And now that you’ve signed, I have a new job for you. You think you might be interested?”
Dillon shot a look back at him. “Well that depends, Mr. Knowles. What is it?”
“Follow me.”
The two of them walked down the hall to a locked door. William coded a sequence on the panel. Dillon had seen this door, but had never been inside. He knew what it was though, even before William opened the door. It was the surveillance room. It was a large, brightly lit room with transparent countertops and a modern design. It looked to Dillon like the bridge of a starship in the movies.
A man that Dillon knew from the store named George Rosen sat in front of a large wall of screens. Each screen displayed a different location. Dots, some moving, were scattered on each screen.
“This is where we keep up with everybody,” William said.
Even though it was brightly lit, there were no windows and Dillon immediately felt cold and claustrophobic. “I really like my job out by the door, if you don’t mind.”
“You are way overqualified for that job and you know it,” William said. “This is where the real security job is.” He glanced at the screens then back at Dillon. “I’ve been wanting to move you in here for years, but you wouldn’t sign.”
Dillon didn’t like being confined in a room with a locked door and no windows. It reminded him of the months he was incarcerated. He could feel the walls pressing in on him even though it was a large room with a high ceiling. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Well, don’t think too long. I’ve already replaced you at the front.”
Dillon shot a look at him. “You have?”
“Yes, any idiot can do that job, it took me one day.” He adjusted his glasses. “This is the real heart of the store. I want to start training you on surveillance.”
Dillon looked again at the screens. He studied the dots for a moment. “These are the microchips?”
“Yes.” William pointed to one of the screens. “Here’s yours. It just came online. And I’m right next to you.” He glanced again at Dillon. “You’ll only be in here four hours at a time. That’s about all your eyes can take.” He paused. “The other half of the day, you’ll do some field surveillance for us.”
Dillon was relieved and his face showed it. Maybe four hours at a time wouldn’t be so bad.
“I thought you’d like that,” William said. “This job can get really interesting at times.” He patted George Rosen’s shoulder as he sat in front of the screens, watching. “Really interesting. I’ve heard some stories.”
George turned and looked at Dillon. “Welcome to Spy Central.”
Chapter Six
Travis and Julia Reed drove into town in Telluride, Colorado. Travis rolled down the window and smelled the crisp mountain air. There was still snow way up on the tops of the peaks surrounding the town, even this deep into summer. The waterfall snaked its way down the side of the mountain behind the buildings. Travis paused to watch the gondolas traveling up and down the west slope, going to the ski area. There was no skiing this time of year, but tourists were riding the cars for the view.
They were on vacation and had come to visit their old friend Oscar Morales and his wife, Sylvia, at the hardware store. They also wanted to see their old house. They hadn’t been back since they left five years ago.
“You sure you’re ready to see the old place?” Travis said, turning onto the street and heading toward it.
“Yes, I think so.” She felt of her neck with her fingers as they approached the house.
Travis pulled right up in front of it. The new occupant’s car was parked in the driveway. The house looked smaller than he remembered. It had a new coat of paint and was a whole new color. The tree they planted in the front had doubled in size.
They hadn’t seen it since they moved away, a couple of weeks after the night of the intruder. They wanted to stay longer, but Julia kept having nightmares and no longer felt at home there. Travis had agreed that they could move back to Missouri and they had packed up and left.
Within a couple of months of their leaving, Julia pointed out to Travis that the thumb drive she had tried to hide that night didn’t bring about a conviction anyway. She once told Travis she should have just handed the man the memory stick and it would have spared her the scar she still had across her throat. The man got it anyway and she had nearly died trying to keep it from him.
“I still dream about this house,” Julia said, glancing at Travis. “But not as much as I used to.”
“I think the dreams will completely go away before long.” He looked over at her. “And mine too.” He sat upright in the driver’s seat. “You ready to go see Oscar and Sylvia?”
“Yes, let’s go.”
He drove around the block and turned toward the hardware store, at the end of town. Oscar looked older than Travis thought he would. Health issues had aged him. The couples hugged and greeted each other just inside the doorway.
“How long has it been?” Oscar said.
“Too long,” Travis said. His heart jumped at the sight of the interior of the store. He remembered how nervous he was learning where everything was. It was challenging, but he thought he had done okay.
Sylvia escorted Julia to the restroom, arm in arm, the two locked in conversation, catching up on children and health and husbands.
“You sure it’s okay if we stay a couple of nights with you guys?”
“Absolutely,” Oscar said. “There’s a new restaurant in town and I want us to try it out tonight. Let’s get to the house and let you guys freshen up. We still have the same spare bedroom where you stayed before.”
At supper, the four sat in a booth in the new restaurant, eating and catching up. Oscar caught Travis’ eye. “Any more trouble with that company you worked for?” He grinned. “It got pretty interesting the last time you were here.”
“No, it’s been quiet since we got home to Springfield.”
“That was some kind of adventure,” Oscar said. “I didn’t know if we would all live to tell about it.”
“I’m sorry we involved you guys in all of that–”
Oscar interrupted him. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. I just meant it got pretty scary.”
Travis looked more serious. “Now the company is making its employees sign a new contract.” He took a bite of salad. “It’s even worse than before. The workers are paid pretty good, but they put a microchip under their skin and watch their every move. They can’t shop at competitor’s stores.”
“Wow. I had heard about that on the news, but I really didn’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” Travis glanced at him. “And there is no retirement. None. The workers get nothing when they retire. Not even medical.”
“Who would sign?”
“Oh, they stand in line to get a job there. That’s the whole point. Everyone wants money now. Nobody cares about their future.” He paused. “Then, when they get older, they start to panic. But Morgan has that covered. There’s a weekly lottery. A million dollars. I heard he makes nearly as much from his own people on the lottery as he does on sale
s.”
Oscar’s eyes grew large. “No kidding.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, but I heard that. Morgan’s a genius. He’s walking evil, but he’s very smart.”
Oscar sipped his coffee. “Is it true he wasn’t even tried for the dead peasants’ murders you guys proved?”
Travis nodded. “So much for us proving anything. Yeah, the president pardoned him before it ever went to trial. I saw him push a guy off the balcony in his office. He never answered for that either.” He took a sip of his drink. “The guy’s Teflon.” He looked around the room, then back at Oscar. “And you know what scares me most? Other companies are beginning to follow Morgan. It’s all about microchips and loyalty and no retirement now.”
“You’d think the government would do something.”
Travis shook his head. “No, they’re so desperate to get the economy going, they’re staying away.” He glanced at him. “And Charles Morgan either owns them or they are scared of him.”
At bedtime, Travis and Julia pulled a thick blanket on top of them. They were back in Oscar and Sylvia’s son’s old room. The bed was only a full and they were used to a queen, but as cold as they were, they didn’t mind sleeping close.
“I had forgotten how cold the nights get here in the summer,” Julia said.
He laughed. “I know, your feet are freezing! I just wish we could bottle some of this air and take it home.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
She spooned her back up next to him. “I’m good.”
The next morning they drove back to the house where they had lived. But they parked in the driveway of the house next door. Julia got out first, and Travis followed her up to the door. She knocked and smiled when the homeowner answered. “Tony, it’s so good to see you.”
“Julia!” He hugged her. “How are you? How do you feel?”
“I’m great thanks to you.” She moved her scarf aside and showed him the scar under her chin.
Travis walked up and extended his hand. “Tony, we just wanted to stop by and thank you for saving Julia’s life that night. If you hadn’t called 911–”
The Dead Peasants' Contract: A Sequel to The Dead Peasants File (The Dead Peasants' Series Book 2) Page 4
