by Jack July
“No, he told me what you said. Just who in the FUCK do you think you are!?”
“Kelly, I…”
“FUCK YOU AMY! DO YOU HEAR ME? FUCK YOU! OUR LIVES ARE NONE OF YOUR GOD DAMN BUSINESS! DO YOU HEAR ME? STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM AND STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
Kelly slammed down the phone. Amy sat stunned, looking distant. Bogus picked up the phone and put it on the end table. “Did you hurt him?”
“I, I, um, lost my temper.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“It um, happened fast.”
“Oh no, my dear, people like us are not allowed to lose our tempers.”
Tears began to roll down her face as her chin quivered. “Oh my… what have I done? Bogus? Jesus forgive me, what have I done?”
The phone rang again. Bogus answered. “Yes, hold on.” He put his hand over the receiver and said, “It’s your father.”
Amy took the phone. “Daddy?”
“What in the hell did you do?”
“Daddy I’m sorry. I lost my temper and I…”
“We do not do that to each other in this family. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. I love you, honey, but I will not tolerate that. Do you understand me?”
“I do, I do, I’m really sorry Daddy, tell him I’m sorry, just tell him, okay?”
“Yeah, they’re taking him into surgery. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, I’m sorry Daddy, tell him I’m sorry.”
“I will; bye honey.”
She broke down and began to cry. Bogus held her while she sobbed. After a few minutes, Bogus whispered, “I think it’s time we get you some help, what do you think?”
Through her sobs she replied, “Yeah, it’s time.”
Chapter 10
Adele called it a retreat. Amy tried to find it on the map, but no such luck. Bogus wanted her to fly and take Luther. She wanted to drive by herself. She won, sort of. Bogus had her prep as if she were going on a mission, heavily armed. Her destination was a bar/restaurant just outside Huntington, West Virginia, where she would meet a contact. From there she would travel to her final destination. First, she would make one stop on her way out of town.
Around six a.m. she walked through the emergency room doors of Lewistown Memorial. The head nurse was Businesslike and forceful. She said there would be no visitors until eight. Amy smiled. “I understand. Could you tell me what room he’s in?”
“206.”
“Thank you. Do you have a restroom I can use? This baby has me peeing constantly.”
The nurse smiled and pointed her down the hall. She walked past security to the restroom, did her business, turned the opposite way when leaving the restroom and went straight to Joseph’s room. Most of the time entering lightly secured facilities like hospitals and businesses requires only that you be agreeable to the gate keepers, have an innocent reason to leave their line of sight and pretend you belong. She was nervous when she entered his room. That went away when he turned his head and smiled. “Took you long enough.”
“Kelly didn’t want me here.”
“Yeah, she’s pissed. I think she’ll get over it.”
Amy nodded. “What about you?”
“Look um, I’m really sorry—”
“No, no, no, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.” She looked away then back at him. “They find out what’s wrong?”
“Ruptured spleen.”
Amy choked up and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, Amy, stop it. Maybe I did deserve it. I got so caught up with the company and racing, I forgot who was important. This kinda gave me a little time to think. I’ve been ignoring a lot of people lately. Did you know I blew off Aunt Carla Jo’s birthday party? Worked on the car and got drunk with my team instead. Without her, I wouldn’t have any of this.”
“True.”
“And Kelly? She runs my life, in a, you know, a good way. Keeps the house clean, clothes washed, food in the fridge, bills paid, she does it all. I pay her back by acting like a drunk asshole.”
“I’m leaving for a few days. I’m going to get a little help. Find out why I’m mad at the world.”
“If it’s your job, hell, you don’t need a job. What do you do anyway?”
“I work for the government and it’s not so much a job as a...like a...passion. I get to help people.”
“So what do you do?”
“I help people. That’s all I can say.” Amy changed the subject. “You gonna be able to race?”
“No, not this week. Got lucky, the Busch series has the weekend off and Earl Spencer said he would drive my car at Pickens. People would rather see him, anyway.”
Amy smiled and laughed. “For now they would. You know when I was sixteen I had a little crush on him.”
“Oh yeah? You and every other girl in the south.”
The door to the room opened followed by the clank of a cart. “Mr. Braxton, we have to take some blo… Excuse me Ma’am, this is not visiting hours.”
“Oh? I apologize.” She turned back to Joseph. “Hey, are we good?”
Joseph smiled at her. “We were never bad.”
She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” When Amy got to the door, Joseph called out, “Hey,” She turned around. “I’ll work on Kelly. She’s pissed off but, she still loves you too.” Amy nodded and walked out the door.
Stopping every fifty miles to find a resroom was getting aggravating. The trip to Huntington was only supposed take eight hours, but it was going on nine. Still, she loved the drive. The scenery was spectacular. When she crested the hill on I-64 and got the panoramic view of Huntington and the Ohio River, it nearly took her breath. She crossed the river at SR 52. Turned on CR 7 and continued to CR 9 until she found her final stop, Buddy’s Bar and Grill.
From the outside, the place looked a little rough. She walked in quietly and scanned the room. The Jukebox was playing a Hank Jr. song, pool balls were clacking and the smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer was strong. It was every redneck biker bar she had ever been in. The bar itself ran along the back wall. Two pool tables took up half of the open space, with tables and chairs taking up the other half. She locked eyes with the person she had come to see. He sat at the end of the bar by himself, his back to the wall and an exit five feet to his right. He appeared out of place: tan khakis, blue oxford shirt, brown shoes and belt. She nodded to him and headed straight for the bathroom.
By now it was obvious she was pregnant. Still, women with her looks didn’t go to places like that often. When she came out she had to walk by a dozen or so men, some leaning against the bar, some sitting, and a couple of others playing pool. As she approached, the whistles and comments began immediately. She hadn’t been feeling really attractive lately, so their actions were not entirely unwelcome. Until, that was, the slap on the ass. She froze as the heat rose from the core of her body to her chest. Amy didn’t like people touching her, ever. She locked eyes again with the man at the end of the bar. He waved her forward so she took a step toward him, and then one of them grabbed the back of her jacket. Once the rising heat hit her brain, she switched to automatic. Fenian immediately started prioritizing targets. She checked off whom to kill and in what order. She turned back toward the man who’d grabbed her. He was sitting on a barstool and wasn’t very big, although the once-full shot glasses in front of him certainly made him feel that way.
“Where ya’ goin’, darlin’?”
The man behind her said, “Freddy, I think she’s pregnant.”
Fenian took a slow half step closer to him. Her crooked smile came easy, the eyes flashing, though her body language was that of a serial killer telling a victim to relax, it would be over soon. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaned into it a bit then said, “I like pregnant women; least you know they fuck.”
She never said a word, just let out a quick, breathy, evil chuckle and went to work.
Her left arm swiped his right arm that had been his support. Continuing the motion she stepped to her right, getting even closer, and grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand. Using all her weight she smashed his forehead onto the bar. Before he could hit the floor she found the target over her left shoulder and sent an elbow into the nose of the man behind her. He staggered back as her arms crossed, her hands went under her jacket and she pulled her twin single stack Walther PPS .40 calibers pointing them in opposite directions at the two next closest men. Before she could fire, she heard a booming voice from the end of the bar. “FENIAN, STOP!”
There was terror in the eyes of the men still standing. Her contact walked quickly but cautiously into the fray and whispered, “I’m Dr. Earle. Put them away.”
Calmly and with a half smile, she replied, “They assaulted me.”
“I am sure they are very, very sorry. Now, put them away.”
She whispered, “I really want to kill somebody.”
“Yes, I know. Put them away.”
“They may come after us.”
Dr. Earle shook his head. “I don’t think so.” A chorus of, “No, no way, we’re done, we’re sorry, please, sorry, yeah, sorry,” immediately followed.
With quick, light steps, Fenian spun and backed her way out of the crowd. She slid her weapons back into the holsters, walked to the end of the bar and took a seat, one eye always on the crowd. Dr. Earle let her calm down a bit. She looked him over, too. She guessed him to be mid 50’s, 5’9‘’ about 200 lbs., full head of salt and pepper hair swept back in a feathered eighties style, tan face, glasses, broad shoulders, with hands that looked like they weren’t afraid to work. He seemed to be in decent shape, but he also looked the part of a wise old owl. After draining the glass of Coors Light sitting in front of him, he let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just a little bundle of hormones and PTSD aren’t cha?”
She cracked a little smile. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry about that.”
“I understand you’ve been saying sorry a lot lately.”
She nodded slightly.
“Are you hungry?”
“Sure, I could eat.”
“Buddy!” Dr. Earle shouted across the room.
Buddy walked down the bar after cleaning up blood and broken glass. “Dammit, John, I can’t have your women friends tearin’ up my bar.”
John didn’t have the heart to tell him that’s why he brought most of his patients there first; there wasn’t much that was too expensive to tear up. “I’ll pay for the damages.”
Buddy crossed his arms. “Well, at least it wasn’t as bad as that other one. She tore up the whole damn place.”
Cassie, Buddy’s wife, stuck her head out of the kitchen. “She ain’t done nothin’ wrong. A man don’t put his hands on any woman unless he got permission.”
Amy looked at Buddy. “The other one?”
“Yeah, her name started with a T. It was ah, Tat, Tat…”
Amy smiled. “Tatiana?”
“Yeah, that was it.”
Amy looked at Dr. Earle and grinned.
Dr. Earle stammered a bit, “Yes, well, I’ll have my usual cheeseburger with fries and another Coors Light. She’ll have a Dr. Pepper, bacon cheeseburger with onions, bar-b-que sauce and onion rings.”
“Comin’ up,” Buddy replied as he walked away.
Amy looked at him hard for a moment. “How did you know that?”
“I’ve been studying you.”
“I decided to come see you yesterday.”
“Is that what you think? No, Mrs. Zielinski, that decision was made for you three weeks ago. The powers that be just waited until you decided.”
“Just, um, call me Amy.”
“Of course, Amy.”
She looked down and took a deep breath. “If we are going to do this, I need to know your story. ”
Dr. Earle turned in his chair to face her. “Okay, that’s fair. I grew up in Boston, in an Irish Catholic household, the middle child of five. I always had an interest in what makes people tick, so I was nosey; got me beat up a lot. Academic scholarship to Boston College, transferred to Harvard, got my PhD in Psychology. I earned a reputation working with business leaders and politicians, and eventually ended up in an office on Wall Street. I was making a fortune, syndicated radio show, a newspaper column; I had it all. My wife, a fiery Sicilian I had known since kindergarten, my childhood sweetheart, was on flight 93 which crashed in Pennsylvania. She was pregnant with our first child. So, I walked away from all of it. I made every geographical, physical and emotional change I could to put it behind me. However, nothing worked. I had always been a pacifist. I believed that fighting just caused more fighting. I was wrong. I was too old to be much of a warrior, so I applied to the CIA to see if I could help. And here I am. I repair the human weapons of our government. I feel good about that. End of story.”
Amy nodded. “Okay, I can work with you.”
Chapter 11
Union workforce membership in America has been in a longterm decline. Fifty years ago, approximately 35 percent of the work force was union. Today, unions constitute less than eight percent of American workers in the private sector and 12.5 percent of all workers. To reverse this trend, unions have engaged in increasingly aggressive efforts to increase membership. Two union-organizing tactics that pose the biggest threats to employers are card checks and salting.
Salting is a tactic wherein a member is sent to apply for a job while concealing his or her union affiliation. Once hired, the “salt” openly attempts to organize the work force, and usually violates the company’s rules until he or she gets terminated. The union then files an unfair labor practice charge alleging that the company discriminated against the salt because of his or her union activity. Unfair labor practice charges trumped up by salting cost the union very little money to file, but the cost of defending against one can bankrupt a small company.
Card check is usually used in conjunction with salting. If more than 50% of employees sign cards, this by law forces a union vote. Some of the tactics used to intimidate employees include threatening phone calls, unexpected visits to employees’ homes and other forms of harassing or threatening behavior.
Braxton Trucking was the perfect target. Not so big that they maintained the legal tools and budget to fight back, but big enough that unionization could be seen as a victory and bankrupting it could be used as a threat to other similar companies. One thing the Teamsters’ organizers didn’t count on was Carla Jo Brown.
Carla Jo came out of semi-retirement to help Joseph run the company while he healed. The doctors said two weeks. Braxton Trucking consisted of fifty-two trucks, seventy trailers and a few million square feet of warehouse space. They didn’t do many long hauls and rarely left the state of Alabama. According to federal law, if they stayed within 100 miles of their terminal and don’t cross state lines, they didn’t need to keep logs, deal with other states’ fuel taxes or comply with a myriad of other ever-changing federal and state rules that made the trucking industry a challenge even to the most knowledgeable of owners.
It wasn’t always smooth sailing. When Joseph added truck number 10, he was running into problems with drivers. Accidents caused his insurance rates to skyrocket; the lease company noticed extreme wear and tear on the trucks costing more money out of pocket. Trailer maintenance from another leasing company had become a problem. More were parked than roadworthy. That was until Brian Chambers walked in the door.
Brian was a schoolmate of Joseph’s Uncle Jack, and both were Vietnam veterans. Brian was a sniper in E Company, 75th Infantry Rangers. It took time and dedication to reach the level of proficiency that earned him the nickname Grim, as in the Grim Reaper. He took out his fair share of bad guys. He also lost friends and a beloved cousin in the war. He was a highly decorated soldier, one the best America had to offer. However, like many others, the horror of what he saw and what he did made him unable to leave the war behind, so he ran. He climbed into the cab of a truck a
nd for thirty years he called it his home. He traveled all of North America coast-to-coast, always running, always searching for something he could not find.
Brian never married, bought a home, or had so much as an apartment. But what he did have was knowledge of the trucking industry. He had seen enough death on the highway to understand the importance of safety. He owned his own trucks and he learned how to make them last, using good driving habits and proper maintenance. Jack found him at the VFW, having a Coke because he didn’t drink alcohol. He also carried a Bible with him everywhere he went.
Brian had hinted about coming off the road and settling down. Jack told him about Joseph’s difficulties with operating the company and wondered if Brian might have a talk with him. Jack hauled Brian over to the terminal and, after a three-hour conversation, a deal was struck. Joseph and Brian held a meeting with all twelve of his drivers at the end of their shift. An hour later, Brian fired nine of them.
As soon as they left, he picked up the phone and started calling old friends, men like him who were approaching retirement and wanted off the road. He brought in Mr. Peterson, Mr. Randolph, and Mr. Spearman. Their deals were all the same: they each got to pick a new leased truck every two years; they worked no more than 40 hours a week; and they were all paid in cash. Mr. Spearman brought in his son-in-law, Parker Dover, to handle dispatch. That’s when Braxton Trucking took off.
Brian Chambers worked in prison ministries on Sundays. Those men he found worthy, he brought in to be hired on their release date. He trained them to drive trucks his way, the right way. In this environment, Joseph watched how Mr. Chambers cultivated loyalty, responsibility and respect among drivers. He did much of it with a wink and a smile. None, however, wished to feel his wrath. Unfortunately, on Carla Jo’s first day standing in for Joseph, she got to feel a bit of that wrath.
Dr. Earle told Amy to leave her car out behind the bar by Buddy’s house, as they would need a 4WD to make it up to the retreat in the mountains. Amy laughed and pointed at her diesel monster truck. He smiled and shook his head. “I forgot, you’re a, well, ah…”
