River Kill

by Ted Begnoche

  "Must be tough, I said, "when you're doing your best but it's still not enough."

  “It's a thankless job, Stu. But it has its moments. Too bad John's not here. He always used to pump me up."

  Gertling finished his coffee and tossed his cup.

  I followed his cue and tossed mine into a nearby garbage can. Gertling disappeared again and I went back to work, this time paying more attention to the numbers I was supposed to be matching up. I didn't see him again until almost ten o'clock.

  "We need to start sealing these boxes, Stu." Gertling grabbed the tape gun and made me watch as he demonstrated the technique for neatly entombing the packages.

  I nodded knowingly and tried a few under his watchful eye, then was allowed to proceed on my own. I started on one end and Hugh took the other. When we met in the middle my back was throwing out all kinds of protests, crackling like microwave popcorn as I slowly straightened up. The entire loading dock was littered with the morning's efforts.

  Gertling stowed his tape gun and began slapping mailing labels on the boxes. He checked his watch and put his head down, checking paperwork and putting everything in order. He was still working when I heard a big diesel engine rumbling outside the loading dock overhead door.

  "Hit that switch over there, Stu," he said, jerking his head toward the door. "The green button."

  I pushed the button and the door rolled skyward, revealing the back of a huge box truck. It stopped just short of hitting the wall, and a few seconds later the rear door opened and the driver hopped up onto the dock.

  "Where's Hugh?" he said. He scratched at his rump with one hand, munching on a dripping jelly donut in the other. Sugar was plastered all over his face, even up in his eyebrows. I wondered if he could remember which hand was for which function by the time he got to his next stop.

  "He's in one of the boxes," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. The guy gave me an 'Okay, smartass' look, wagging his head back and forth.

  Gertling poked his head out from behind a stack of boxes and waved. "Good morning, Tony," he said. "Say hello to Stu. He'll be working with me until I drive him crazy, so you'll be seeing a lot of him."

  "Lucky me," muttered Tony, and then to Gertling, "we already met. What the hell, Hugh, you trying to break my back? How many you got today?"

  “Thirty-eight. And we'll probably have more tomorrow."

  Hugh stepped down into the back of the van and clapped his hands together. I started handing him boxes, and with a bit of help from Tony, we loaded everything in about five minutes.

  Hugh held a clipboard for Tony while he made an "X" in the appropriate spot. He tipped his hat to Hugh, then turned to me. I gave him a big wink and a thumbs up. He shook his head in disgust and pulled away from the loading dock. I could hardly wait until tomorrow.

  "What's next?" I asked.

  "Do me a favor, Stu. There are some spare parts for microscopes down in that room, you know, where John fell. I'll introduce you to Shirley. She dropped one of her eyepieces, and her light shit the bed. You might have to do some digging, but I think you'll find everything you need."

  Gertling led me into the assembly area. Shirley was peering intently into a microscope, slowly moving a huge circuit board back and forth underneath it. Hugh introduced the two of us when she paused to check the board against a blueprint that was beside her on the bench.

  Shirley led me over to her assembly station and showed me what she needed. Her bench was right next to John's. I thought about asking her a few questions, then decided against it. I wrote down the model number of her microscope and let her get back to work.

  "I'll be back in a minute," said Hugh. "Meet me on the dock." He pushed through a set of double doors and disappeared. I went back to the dock and found a stool. It wasn't even eleven o'clock and already I was beat.

  Gertling reappeared, jiggling a set of keys and whistling a snappy tune. He held out the keys to me and motioned with his head. "Down the stairs to the left. Use the light, and bring me back the keys when you're done. Stanley wants either him or the Baby Step to have them at all times."

  "Why is that?" I asked, pushing off the stool.

  "No idea. All I know is, Stanley freaks out when he can't find the keys. You don't want to be around when that happens. It gets ugly in a hurry."

  I flicked the switch and the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell receded. The stairs were steep, and counting the top one there were ten that led down to an eight-by-eight concrete landing where John and his wheelchair had ended up. The air felt a little cooler, and I tried to convince myself that was the reason for the goosebumps which sprouted on my forearms. I brushed them away and fiddled with the keys until the door swung open.

  I took a step inside, groping with my free hand until I found a light switch. The room was a tangled mess of spare equipment, all piled haphazardly on benches and laying in heaps on the floor. Overhead fluorescents hummed to life, throwing off barely enough light to navigate without barking my shins. A few ragged aisles had been carved out, and I used those to examine the microscopes for model numbers, checking them against the numbers I had written down at Shirley's station.

  I pocketed a few eyepieces that looked like they might fit, knocking over a stack of soldering irons in the process. A light was harder to come by, and it took me another ten minutes to find one. I used a wall socket to make sure it worked, playing the light into all the corners of the room, sending eerie shadows cascading along the dark walls.

  At the far end, there was another door that I hadn't noticed before. I propped up the light to illuminate that side of the room, then went over and tried the knob. It wouldn't budge. Then I remembered the keys and began trying them one at a time.

  "Who the hell are you?" said a voice from behind me.

  Startled, I dropped the keys to the floor and shielded my eyes against a powerful flashlight beam that momentarily blinded me.

  “McCann," I said. "Stuart McCann. I..."

  "What in Christ are you doing snooping around down here?" The beam took another step closer. My eyes were watering, and I rubbed at them with the back of my hands.

  "I wasn't snooping. I'm getting some spare parts for microscopes." I fished the eyepieces out of my pocket and held them up for inspection.

  "Not in there you ain't. That room's off limits.”

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm new. I just started today. On the loading dock."

  "Gimme the keys," said the voice. It was a low, no nonsense rumble that was meant to intimidate.

  I bent down and groped on the floor until my hands closed over the ring. I offered them up and they were snatched away from me.

  "I didn't know..."

  "Lock the friggin' door behind you. Send that shitbum Gertling up to see me." The man turned and strode toward the door, and for the first time, I got a sense of what he looked like. Big, at least six three or four, with wide shoulders and a bowling ball for a head. He looked powerful, yet he picked his way through the tangle of equipment with ease. I heard him stomp up the stairs and then he was gone.

  I unplugged the light and made my way back over to the door, pausing to make sure I had everything I came for. I locked the door behind me and went in search of Shirley. She was elated with her replacement eyepiece and new light. At least I had made one friend today, I thought.

  I found Hugh Gertling in the stockroom, filling some internal orders for office supplies. He broke into a broad grin when he saw me.

  "Thanks a lot, Hugh," I said.

  "For what?"

  "I almost got killed down there."

  He cocked his head at me and I retold the story, including the description of the giant and his order for Hugh to go see him.

  Gertling chuckled and climbed down from the stepladder he was balancing on. "Sounds like you met the Baby Step," he said.

  "That's the baby? What the hell does the old man look like?"

  "Just as tall, not as bulky. Even more intimidating. But really, he's a pussycat
."

  "Why the hell was the Baby Step so mad?"

  "Probably because you're new and he didn't recognize you. He guards everything around here like he owns it. Which I’m sure he will someday." Gertling scratched a few marks on a form that said STOCK REQUISITION and put everything in a clear plastic bag, then handed it to me.

  "What?"

  "You may as well meet the big boss, too. This is for Rose, his secretary. Remember when we took the tour, and I told you where the offices were?"

  "Yeah," I said. "I'll find it."

  "While you’re up there you need to fill out some forms. You know, tax stuff, so you can get paid."

  I took the bag from Hugh and tucked it under my arm. "Don't forget about the Baby Step. I don't want him to come looking for me." Gertling chuckled and slapped me on the back. I left the stockroom and walked through the assembly area until I found a door that led to the offices up front. It only took a minute to find the door marked Stanley Stepkowski. I twisted the knob and pushed it open.

  Behind the door was the most organized desk I've ever seen. A nameplate advertised the owner as Rosemary Lastella. A computer hummed quietly in the middle of all the order; a banner that read GONE TO LUNCH scrolled by every few seconds.

  I placed the office supplies on Rosemary's chair and turned to leave when I noticed another door, this one labeled STAN, that was slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over and tapped lightly on it.

  No one answered. I debated a second, then pushed it open and slipped inside. My heart thumped against my ribcage like a bass drum. Stanley's office was the opposite of his secretary's, with piles of paperwork strewn everywhere. Electronic circuit boards, all in various stages of fabrication, were stacked on every horizontal space, including the floor. It was hard to walk without crunching them to bits, and I noticed a few of them had already suffered that fate.

  Even the walls were chock full, displaying awards and certificates, fancy plaques, and framed pictures. I began reading through some faded and curled newspaper articles. In most of them, a man whom I could only assume was Stanley Stepkowski was standing

  alongside some local dignitary, shaking hands and smiling and reaching for his latest award. The Rotary Club. The Small Businessman's Association. The Boy's Club. The local YMCA. Clearly, the man was a pillar. A moral titan.

  The office door creaked behind me, and I froze where I was. Then an all-too-familiar voice shattered the silence in the overstuffed office.

  "What the hell are you doing now?"

  I turned to face Stanley Stepkowski's son, the Baby Step.

  He looked pissed.

  Chapter 16

  Baby Step filled the entire doorway. He glared at me with coal-chunk eyes that seemed to be smoldering. He moved inside and began clenching and unclenching his fists. I swallowed hard and shoved both hands into my pockets.

  "I, uh, I was just dropping off some office supplies." I gestured toward the outer office. "No, but, hey listen. I think we're starting out on the wrong foot. I'm Stuart McCann." I stuck out my right hand and took a step toward him, crunching a circuit board under one sneaker.

  Baby Step looked at my hand, then down at the board I had just demolished and shook his head. "Well, McCann," he said, ignoring my peace offering, "you don't have any business snooping around in my office. What in the hell are you looking for?"

  "Oh, nothing in particular. Just trying to get acquainted with the place, is all. Like I said, it's my first day."

  "You keep screwing around, it's gonna be your last day. Did you tell Gertling I want to see him?"

  "Yes, but I think he went to lunch. I'm sure he'll..."

  "Tell him again, and make sure it's before two o'clock." Baby Step glided through the maze and fell heavily into a high-backed leather chair, swiveling around and propping his feet on the desk in one smooth motion.

  "So I guess you'll be going now?" he said.

  "Yeah. I left the office supplies out on Rosemary's chair."

  "I doubt she'll notice. Tell Gertling what I said."

  Out in the hallway, I bumped into a tall man who looked like an older, slimmer version of the Baby Step. I nodded and he slapped me on the back with his free hand, balancing a sixteen-inch pizza box on the other. I paused by the door for a moment, listening intently.

  "Great, pizza," said the Baby Step.

  "Get your fat ass out of my chair, Stanley. Who the hell was that?"

  "Some guy Gertling hired."

  I heard the inner office door click shut, blocking off further eavesdropping. I chuckled to myself, wondering how fast the Baby Step, Stanley junior, could move when his father spoke. The old man looked distinguished and had a confidence about him that commanded respect. Not like his son, who relied on sheer intimidation.

  I made a wrong turn on the way back to the loading dock and ended up on the manufacturing floor, wandering in and out of a maze of equipment. It was noisy and hot, a cacophony of machinery and voices and stilted movement. I stood off to the side, as out of the way as I could be, and just watched for a few minutes, feeling more than a little out of place. When I couldn't take the smells any longer I climbed a short set of steps and wormed my way back to the dock.

  Gertling had his feet propped up on a bench with a Boston Herald open on his lap. He was trying to shove a meatball sub down his throat, but so far his shirt was taking the brunt of it.

  "Hey, Stuart," he said. "Where you been?"

  "I was delivering office supplies, remember?" I pulled up a chair and slumped into it. "Oh, and I ran into the Baby Step again. He still wants to see you, and this time he supplied a two o'clock deadline. Where'd you get that sub?"

  "Two o'clock? What's with two...? Oh, shit." Gertling took a monster bite from one end of his sandwich, sending a meatball squirting out one side, and swung his feet off the bench. He wrapped the rest of the sub in the Herald and dropped the whole mess into a nearby garbage can. "I almost forgot."

  "Forgot what?"

  "We got a hazardous waste truck coming today, to haul away the stuff they generate when they're making the PC boards. Baby Step handles most of it, ever since Melvin Addson died, which is probably a mistake. Anyway, I'm responsible for the paperwork, on account of I don't think Baby Step can read, and I have to make sure everything is in order."

  "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "After you get something to eat, you can pull stuff from stock and make some more deliveries. We still got a stack of requisitions I haven't been able to get to yet."

  Gertling disappeared into the stock room. I found my phone and punched in the number for Sal's without looking it up.

  I ate a seafood salad sub sitting in the bed of my truck, staring out over the Town River. The sun was merciless and finally drove me back inside. Hugh Gertling shoved a stack of paperwork at me and pointed me to the cavernous stockroom. I spent about an hour trying to figure out his organizational techniques, and another one pulling various electronic components and other day-to-day necessities from the overflowing shelves.

  I made my deliveries while Gertling pored over paperwork at a cluttered desk, scratching his head and flipping through a huge white spiral binder, filling out forms and making sure everything was in order.

  I was in the stockroom at 2:05 when I heard the Baby Step bellowing.

  "I thought I told you to come see me, Gertling. Didn't that dude tell you?"

  "I've been buried, Stanley. I haven't had a chance."

  "Ah, bullshit. Is everything ready?"

  "All the paperwork's done," said Hugh, dropping a thick sheaf of forms on a bench by the door. "Where're your boys?"

  "They'll be here, don't worry. Hey, about this guy we hired..."

  Baby Step put his arm around Gertling's shoulder and steered him toward the far end of the loading dock. From where I stood, I could see him poking his finger into Hugh's chest, trying to make his point. Gertling winced as the Baby Step leaned in close to his face.

  I heard a
truck rumble into the parking lot. The driver crunched the gears before finding reverse, sending a thick cloud of exhaust rolling toward the bright blue sky. On the driver's door was a label that said Enviro-Joe Waste Hauling, with a picture of a stream that had birds and deer in the background. The truck emitted a series of bells and whistles that caught the Baby Step's attention as it snuggled up to the loading dock.

  I watched from the stockroom as Stanley Junior bounded down the loading dock steps and shook hands with the driver. They talked for a few moments while Gertling shuffled paperwork, standing back at a respectable distance. Then Baby Step leaped back up onto the dock, barking orders at Gertling.

  Hugh Gertling and the driver conferred for a few moments, mulling over the papers Hugh had prepared. The driver signed while Hugh pulled the paperwork apart, keeping some for himself and stuffing copies into a folder for the driver. In the meantime, Baby Step used a pallet jack to maneuver three pallets that each contained four barrels destined for disposal.

  It took about fifteen minutes for Baby Step to load the truck. He spoke with the driver for another five, then hopped back up on the dock as the truck lurched away. He stowed the pallet jack and shot me a dirty look, then disappeared through a set of double doors.

  "I don't think he likes me," I said to Gertling.

  "Don't let it worry you. I don't think he likes many people. How are you doing on those reqs?"

  "Two more deliveries to make. I left all the paperwork on your desk there." I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the stockroom.

  "Good. After that, we'll start getting ready for tomorrow.

  You can assemble some boxes while I do more paperwork. Fun, huh?"

  "I've had worse jobs. Tell me something, Hugh. Was that real, live hazardous waste?"

  "You bet. We generate our share when we fabricate the circuit boards."

  "How often does the truck come?"

  "Basically, I guess it depends on when we call them, but I suppose you could say it's about every two weeks. We can only store so much on-site, because of the size of the operation we are, and then we have to get rid of it. You wouldn't believe all the rules and regulations."