Chapter 5

Jeff winced at the sudden shock of light.  He buried his face deep in his pillow.  He felt the steady, light tapping of his wife’s finger on his shoulder.  He did his best to ignore her and pretend he hadn’t woken up.

“Honey?” he heard her slight whisper.  “Are you up?”

He didn’t answer, hoping she would give up and turn off the light herself.  Chivalry was good, but sleep was sometimes better.

“Honey?”  Her whisper was a little louder.  “The electricity is back on.”

She continued poking him on the shoulder, slightly harder with each poke.  For Jeff it became a test of wills.  How hard would the pokes get and how loud would her whispers become before it was obvious he was no longer asleep.

“Hey!” she only half whispered.  “Hey!” one more time louder still.  Jeff resisted any movement.

Lisa stopped her tapping, leaving her hand on his back.  Jeff did his best to remain as still as possible.  She slowly moved her hand down his spine.  Jeff thought it might be advantageous to wake up, but he remained suspicious.  As her hand reached the small of his back, it drifted gently to his right side.  He was curious, but thought it still might be a trap.  He purred slightly to show some interest, but still give the impression it was an involuntary reaction of a man who was very clearly and most definitely asleep.  The shock rocketed through his body as his wife grabbed him on the side just above his hip bone and tickled as hard as she could. 

“Damn it!” he shouted, flailing to escape like a cat tied to a string.  He turned and bounced trying to get as far away from the tickle-attack as he could.  He twisted and turned until he rolled himself off the side of the bed.

“Oh, are you up?” Lisa asked with caustic concern.

“I am now,” he grumpily protested as he began to stand.

“You were before you big liar.”

“No I wasn’t.  I was sound asleep, no thanks to you.”  He did his best to express his indignity.

“I’m not sure you understand how much you really snore,” she laughed.  “It wasn’t the lights that woke me up.  It was the fact someone turned off the chainsaw sleeping next to me.  You had either woken up or died.  I thought it would be a good idea to make sure it wasn’t the latter.”

“Ha, ha.  Very funny.”

“As long as you’re up,” she smiled demurely, why don’t you go check the rest of the house for what was left on.”

“Oh, I thought you’d had something more interesting in mind,” he gave her an overly-obvious wink. 

“I did.  I was thinking you could go turn the dishwasher on too.”

“Nice,” he quipped, grabbing his robe from the back of the bedroom door.  He switched off their bedroom light, and began his rounds.  Although the hall light was on, the Lilly’s bedroom remained dark. 

Jeff made his way downstairs.  Only one of the kitchen lights was on.  He poured himself a glass of water stepped out to the front porch to see if anyone else was up doing the same thing.  He listened to the cicadas rhythmically chirping in the nearby trees.  Although the night wasn’t particularly cool, the night air was a welcome respite from the unrelenting heat of the previous day.

Between the houses across the street, Jeff could see movement of lights, which he recognized as headlights on a vehicle slowly making its way through his neighborhood.    The lights stopped at one intersection, and then proceeded, turning right.  The lights faded from view, but he could still hear the occasional acceleration as the vehicle maneuvered through his streets.  The sound of the engine became louder and the cicadas started to fade into background.  Jeff saw the headlight illuminate the neighbor’s houses one at a time as the vehicle started to make its way around the broad curve toward his home.

Jeff stood and walked toward the front of his property to look around the houses to get a better view.  When he saw the headlights he recognized the vehicle as a pickup truck.  He retreated to the darkened shadow of a fruit tree so he could observe without being observed.

The truck pulled in front of Jeff’s house and slowed.  Jeff squinted in the faint glow of the neighborhood house lights.  The truck pulled into his driveway and the engine cut.  Jeff moved closer while trying to remain in the shadows.  The headlights went black, giving him an opportunity to move even closer.  He recognized the gold letters on the side of Henry’s truck.  He relaxed and began walking toward it. 

Henry exited the truck and started walking up the path to the front door.  Jeff realized Henry hadn’t noticed him yet, so he started to close the gap between the two.  Jeff got to within fifteen feet of Henry.

“Halt, who goes there,” he said in his deepest voice.

By the light of his front porch, Jeff saw Henry spin, gun drawn and pointed right at his chest.

“Jesus Henry,” Jeff shouted, his hands immediately thrown in the air.  “What the hell are you doing?”

“What are you, nuts?” Henry protested in a high squeal.

“Is that thing loaded?”

“Damn right it’s loaded.  I could have shot you asshole.  Why would you sneak up on me?  This isn’t exactly a great time for that shit Jeff.”  Henry turned abruptly and continued up the front walk toward the house.

“I didn’t know you’d be carrying a gun!  It was a joke, Henry.  It was just a joke.”  He said to Henry’s back, following in through the front door.

“I need a drink,” Henry said, as he stepped through the door.

“You need a drink?  I need a drink.”  Jeff followed his brother-in-law into his house.

Marcus paced in front of his parked car in the empty lot in front of the desolate strip mall.  He was angry at himself for being chased away, but he knew there was no way he could have stood his ground.  His mind wildly speculated on the identity of the intruder. 

He thought of the options he failed to take.  If he were in the building he could have written down the license plate, and even caught a glimpse of the man’s face.  He could have observed the man from the shadows of his boss’s office without being seen.  He might have even set up a hiding place in the shadows of the parking lot, close enough to do some good.

If he were armed with something more than a baseball bat, he would have been able to better protect himself.  He could have laid in wait in his car and let the guy have it when he got close. 

His juvenile pride began to plague his conscience.  He felt he let his boss down.  He felt he let himself down.

He decided he would not resume his look out tonight.  He figured if the damage were done, there would be nothing he could do about it.  He would drive by on his way home at 7 and survey the property in the light of day.  Until then, he would have to waste the next four hours.  He would catch some sleep if the adrenaline began to subside.  Until then, he was forced to pace.

“Stop a second Henry. You’re racing,” Jeff implored his brother-in-law.

“Maybe they were just watching the place to do something later.  Maybe the guy was up to no good.”  I don’t know.” Henry sat on the edge of the leather coach, bouncing his right knee nervously.

“Maybe it was a couple of kids making out.”

“There was only one guy.  I only saw one guy in there, and he was definitely watching me.”  The ice in Henry’s crystal tumbler rattled with his nervous movement.  He took a quick drink of scotch and continued.  “I don’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t good.”

“Well one thing is for sure,” Jeff began in a scolding voice, “you never, and I mean never, drive with a loaded weapon in your hand.  Are you nuts?”

“I’m sorry,” Henry set his drink on the glass top coffee table and turned toward Jeff.  His left knee immediately took over the mad routine of bobbing up and down.  “I didn’t want to stand in the lot and take it apart.  And what if they came back?  I just,” he stammered for words “I just freaked.  I’ve never pulled a gun on anyone.”

“You’ve got to think things through.  Is the case in the car?”

“Yeah.  Passenger seat I think.”

“I’ll get it stowed right now.  Give it to me.”  He held his hand, palm up, toward his brother-in-law.  Henry placed the weapon in Jeff’s hand, happy to be rid of it for the moment.  “Tomorrow,” Jeff hesitated briefly, “well today I guess, we’ll head down to the shop.  We can check things out.  If everything is fine, you and I can do a little firearms training.”

“Good idea.”  Henry’s shaky right hand reached out for his glass. 

“Lonely?” Henry heard Lisa’s voice from the darkened hallway leading to the stairs as Jeff left the room.

“Hi Lisa.  No, just completely freaked out.”

“What happened?” she asked, dropping lazily in the armchair opposite him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I went to the shop.  There was a guy, or some guys, or whatever, watching the place.”

“Wow,” Lisa leaned forward.  “What did you do?”

“Well, I think my showing up just sort of scared ‘em off,” he lied.  He knew she would eventually tell Karen and he didn’t need any more lecturing.

“Powers back on,” Lisa said, rubbing the sleep away from her face, “why don’t you call Karen?”

“Think she’s up?” Henry welcomed the new topic.

“Well, let’s see.  Tom left about two-ish probably.  Five hour trip, so that’s 7:00.  Maybe some messing-around in hooking up with her.  Then at least five back to mom and dad’s.  I’ll bet she got in around 1 am.  If I know mom, she was probably waiting up for her.  I’ll bet they’re up drinking coffee.”

“Yeah, good idea.”  Henry said.  Karen passed the phone and he dialed his in-laws number. 

After two rings, his mother-in-law answered with some urgency in her voice.  “Lisa?”

“No mom, it’s Henry.  Is Karen there?”

“Not yet, no.  She hasn’t shown up.  The power just came on here.  I called Tom’s house and got no answer.  I was going to try his cellphone. And then you called.”

“Your power was out too?”  The concern in Henry’s voice tipped Lisa off that there might be trouble on the other end of the line.  “Let me call them mom.  I will call you right back.”

“Okay Henry.  Please don’t forget about me.”

“I won’t.”  He hung up the phone and let his shoulders slump.  “That’s really weird.”

“Not there?” Lisa asked, sitting upright in her chair.

“No, and they haven’t heard from them.”  Henry’s voice cracked slightly.  “I’m tryin’ Tom’s cell.”  He punched in the number from memory and waited.

“Hi Lisa, what do you need?” Tom answered curtly.

“It’s Henry Tom.  Your mom is waiting for you.  She’s pretty worried.  You guys should have been there by now.”

“No shit Henry.  Don’t think we aren’t trying,” the frustration in Tom’s voice was clearly audible.  Tom’s attention seemed focused on something else, indicating to Henry he was probably still driving.

“Can I talk to Karen?” Henry thought it would be best to get the story from her and leave Tom to his task.

Tom shifted the phone to his big sister without word.  “Henry?” 

“Karen, where the hell are you?  I talked to your mom and she’s a little concerned.”

“We’re trying to find a way up to the cottage.  Every road heading north off 29 is closed.”

“What do you mean closed?”

“It’s really weird Henry.  Soldiers on every exit.  You can get off the highway.  You can head south, but you can’t go north.  They won’t let us go by.” Karen sounded like she was on the verge of crying.  “Out by Thorp going the other way on 29, there was an Army truck rolled over in a ditch.  We could see two other trucks stopped in the middle of the highway.  We thought they had an accident and were helping the guy.  Tom slowed down to see if we could help, and I’m not kidding, it looked like they were fighting with each other.  When we saw their guns out Tom just took off.”

“What?” Henry tried to visualize the situation.

“What happened today Henry?  What’s going on?  I want my babies.  I’ve got to get home.”  Karen’s words were beginning to get swallowed by the wave up tears building up.

Henry could tell his wife was nearing the end of her ability to cope.  “Tom will take care of you honey.  I’m sure the kids are fine.”  Henry doubted his own words.  “Put Tom back on would you?”

Henry could hear the phone being passed back to his brother-in-law.  “We’re giving up for the night,” Tom said, with obvious frustration.  “Karen says she lost cell coverage when she was talking to Lisa from the airport.  I lost cell coverage about the same time.  Obviously we haven’t been able to call my mom.  I didn’t know we had it again until you called.”

“It’s been out everywhere.  It just came back here too.”

“Seriously?” Tom bellowed.  “This is really weird Henry.”  Tom’s concern was palpable.

“What’s your plan?” Henry asked.

“We were planning on giving up for the night.  Get some rest at my house, then make our way up to the cottage tomorrow.”

“What about the road blocks?”

“They can’t have all the roads covered.  Twenty years of driving up there nearly every weekend.  They’ve had those roads torn up so many times, I know every possible detour.  I’ll get there,” Tom concluded with obvious braggadocio.  “Hold on,” Tom drifted off.

“Tom, what’s up?” Henry said alarmingly.

“Here, take this,” Henry heard him say as he apparently handed the phone over to Karen.

“They’re looking at us Tom.”  Henry heard Karen over the line.

“Karen!” Henry shouted into the receiver.

“Henry?” she answered back.  “Hold on a second.  Tom, that one is pointing at you.”  Henry could hear his wife and her brother arguing.

“Well let me just sit here for a second and see what they do.”  Tom said.

“Karen!”  Henry shouted at his wife again.  “What’s going on?

“We just got to 41.” Karen returned to the phone call.  “There are two big army trucks blocking 47.”

“Appleton might not have been a great idea tonight,” Henry heard Tom faintly in the background.

“You can’t turn around Tom,” Karen said sternly.  “No!” she urgently blurted at her younger brother.

“Okay,” Tom said in a measured yet clearly concerned tone.  “What now.”

“Just sit here for a second and let’s see what they want us to do.”

“What’s going on Karen?”  Henry asked again for a clearer play-by-play.

“There are two trucks just north of the off-ramp for 41.  There’s a guy there who is waiving us to come through.”

“I think once we’re in Henry, we’re stuck.” Tom shouted to his brother-in-law through the phone in Karen’s hand.

Karen indignantly retorted, “Well what are you going to do, out run them?”

“Maybe they won’t follow us,” Tom tried. 

Henry interrupted the argument, “Run Karen!  Tell Tom to turn around and run!” He shouted in the receiver.

Karen burst into tears.  “We can’t!” she screamed at her husband.

“Calm down!” Tom admonished both of them.  He grabbed the phone from Karen “Knock it off Henry” he barked sternly down the line. 

Henry took a deep breath and reached for his scotch.

Lisa shot back into the room from the kitchen, her eyes were wide with fear, the home telephone receiver in her hand.  “I gotta go mom.” She said absently, hanging up on her mother.  She sat down on the sofa next to Henry and stared into his eyes looking for some indication of what was happening. 

Henry took another deep breath and asked his brother-in-law in a much calmer measured tone, “can you run Tom?”

“I’m not sure.  We’re about a hundred yards,” he guessed.

“Oh wait!” Henry could hear his wife exclaimed nervously, “he’s coming!  Tom he’s coming,” she frantically implored her brother to act.

“Well now I can’t do anything,” Tom said to his brother-in-law.

“He’s got a gun Tom!”  Karen’s voice became higher as the panic set in.  Henry could hear his wife sobbing, full panic having taken hold of her.  “Henry, he’s got a gun!” she shouted over her brother’s shoulder into the phone.

“Calm down.  Just relax,” Tom did his best to speak slowly and calmly despite the fact that he was beginning to panic too.  Tom handed the phone to Karen.  “Talk to Henry.  Calm down please.  Everything will be fine.”

“Honey?”  Henry asked softly.

“Yes,” Karen said with a slight whimper.

“You’re going to be fine.  Just relax.”

“He’s coming to the car Henry.”  She whispered.  “He’s got a gun.”

“Your bother is going to take care of you.  Everything is going….”

“Hold it,” she whispered, cutting him off midsentence.

“Where are you headed?”  Henry heard the disembodied voice of the unknown man.

“Appleton.”  Tom responded calmly.

“Why’d you stop?”

“We saw your road block and thought we weren’t allowed through, “Tom lied.

“I was waiving you through,” the soldier said with some irritation in his tone.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tom feigned ignorance.  “Say, I was planning on grabbing a few things and heading up to my family at their place up north.  Will I be able to get up there tonight.”

“No sir.  Travel north is restricted for now.”

“But my family is up there,” Tom continued.

“They should be joining you soon,” the soldier interrupted.  “Get going,” Henry could hear his voice fade as he apparently stepped away from the car.

“I guess we’re going to Appleton,” Henry could hear Tom’s tone was to express his dissatisfaction to the soldier.

“What happened?”  Henry asked Karen.

“You heard it, we’re going through the road block into Appleton.”

“We’ll get to my house and I’ll pack what I need.”  Henry could hear Tom say resolutely.  He was all business now.  “We’ll get up there tomorrow.  No sweat.”

“Henry, can you please come up here,” Karen said meekly.  He could tell she was on the verge of returning to tears.

“I’ll leave tomorrow honey,” he said soothingly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow night.  It’s 3.  I’m gonna get some sleep, you do the same.” 

“Thank you.”  Henry could hear her breathing hard, doing her best to hold back hysterics.

Henry continued reassuringly, “I will call you tomorrow to see how you and Tom are doing.  If all else fails, I’ll at least be in Appleton with you.”

Her voice quavered, “Please be……”

Karen’s voice was interrupted by a three tone signal.  “This is Martin Spears,” began a pleasant but authoritative recording of a man.  “United States Secretary of Homeland Security.  Pursuant to Executive Order for the Assignment of National Security and Emergency Preparedness Functions, cellular communication has been suspended.  The National Terrorism Advisory System has elevated the threat level to imminent.  Cellular communication will resume when the alert has been lifted.  The Department apologizes for any inconvenience and appreciates your anticipated cooperation.”  The three tone signal sounded, “This is Martin Spears……..” the message began again.

“Karen?!” Henry shouted into the phone.  “Karen?!”  She did not answer.

Chapter 4

The large banks of overhead fluorescent lights went dark.  Henry shot a concerned look toward Marcus who was directing another employee on a tow motor into a small space near the overhead doors.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Marcus shouted, waving both hands over his head.  The employee on the tow motor abruptly stopped.

After a few seconds of darkness, the emergency lights turned themselves on.  “Marcus, once you guys get that thing parked, run outside and see if anyone did anything to us to cause this.”

“Sure thing Mr. McRoss.”

“The rest of you, let’s get this done so we can get the hell out of here,” he shouted into the expanse of the metal building.  There were still two pickup trucks, one enclosed trailer and one skid-steer parked outside on the gravel lot.  They had managed to arrange the shop to fit all of the company’s equipment.  There remained three prominent aisles through the equipment that ran the length of the shop.  Henry was impressed with his organizational skills.

Henry stood in front of the skid-steer as it was backed into the last open space on the floor.  He moved his arms forward and back, like a ramp agent at an airport, directing his plane to its gate.

Marcus stood beside his boss waiting for him to complete the task.  “Are you going to stay here tonight?”  He asked.

“Hell no,” Henry shot back.  “I’ve had my fill of these people.  This is just stuff Marcus.  We’ll do our best to secure it in here, but it’s just stuff.”

“Well it’s not fair Mr. McRoss.  Am I gonna be docked pay for the time off?”

“You’ve got vacation time Marcus.  But don’t worry about that.  I’ll cover you guys,” he said, turning his attention from the skid-steer, patting Marcus on his broad shoulder.

“Well what about after?” Marcus continued to press.  “What if they don’t stop?  What if they do something?  I need this job Mr. McRoss.  I’m making it, but it’s tough for me and Christy.”

“I don’t think they’ll do anything, but let’s not tempt them.  If something happens, we’ll sort it out.  I have insurance.  I have contracts with a lot of folks.  We’ll be fine.”  He smiled at his young employee, “You’ll be fine.  Now get home and make sure your family is alright.”

“I told Christy to get to her parents.  She shoulda got there before the power went out.  How’s your family?”

“Well, my wife and kids are up at her parent’s place in Wisconsin.  I’m assuming they’re doing fine.  She had some airport trouble this morning, but I think her brother should be bailing her out about now,” he said, while removing his cellphone from his pocket.  As he looked at the face of the phone he shrugged and said, “huh, no signal.  I wonder if it’s just our park without power or if I’ll have nothing at home.”

Henry was not greeted by the customary beep of his security system when he entered his house.  He instinctually walked to the answering machine to check for messages.  Suddenly realizing his folly, he shrugged, locked up the house and jumped back in his truck to drive to Lisa and Jeff’s house.

“Honey, I’m home!” he shouted as he walked through the garage door. 

“I think your dog shits more than it eats,” Jeff said, removing a beer from the darkened refrigerator and handing it to Henry.

“Stop opening that,” Lisa admonished her husband.  “We don’t know how long the powers going to be out.  Hi Hen, have you been able to get through to Karen yet?”

“No, have you?” he asked following his first swig of beer.

“I got her at about 2:30, but then the power went out.  Weird, because my cellphone had juice, just no signal.”

“Yeah,” Henry said “towers must be out for quite a ways too.  I drove around a bit to try to get a signal, but nothing.”  He took another drink of beer.  “Mind if I join you for dinner?”

“We kind of figured that,” Jeff answered.  “We’re having a very special meal called ‘whatever’s in the freezer.’”

Henry took a seat at the marble counter and set his beer down.  The bottle dripped sweat in the extreme humidity.  With no air conditioning their house was stiflingly hot. They had the windows open, but the breeze was light and hot.  “Has Max been alright?”

“Other than copious amounts of shit, yeah he’s been fine.”

“Jeff!” Lisa scolded, slapping her husband on his shoulder.

Henry had a hamburger and two hotdogs.  Jeff tried to grill some unknown cut of pork they found in the freezer, but it did not turn out well.  He and Lisa ultimately joined Henry in hamburgers and hotdogs.  Jeff tried in vain to heat up fish sticks on the grill, but Lisa wouldn’t let him serve them to Lilly.  She eventually settled on a hot dog too.

Following dinner, Henry joined Jeff in his basement study, more appropriately described as “Jeff’s hiding place.”  Jeff sat in the swivel chair behind the desk.  Henry laid out lazily on a couch on the adjacent wall.  Normally they would be watching sports, but with no power they just sat and chatted.  The only light came from the deep window well on the outside wall above the sofa.

Behind Jeff was a vanity wall of shelves, bearing photos and trophies.  There was a photo of Jeff in full dress uniform as an ROTC cadet at the University of Wisconsin, where he first met Lisa.  Another photo showed him in his Army Lieutenant uniform, full dress.  He had various photos of himself in battle fatigues, holding a myriad of intimidating weaponry.  Henry wondered to himself if Jeff often brought his wife down here to get her in the mood. 

One photo showed several men in desert fatigues, Jeff smiling broadly with his captain’s bars on his collar.  He remained a member of the Georgia National Guard, conducting firearms training for new recruits.  Jeff didn’t need the money.  Henry assumed he continued his service so he could continue to play with the big guns.

That wasn’t to say Jeff didn’t have his own personal armory.  To the left of Jeff’s desk stood a large black safe.  Henry had seen inside only a few times, but he knew Jeff had quite a collection.  In addition to several weapons common to hunters, Henry had seen at least six handguns.  He also had several scary looking rifles. 

“You know Jeff,” Henry cautiously changed the subject from their plan for the following week, “is there any possibility you might let me borrow a gun tonight?”  His last word raised by one pleading-octave.

Jeff leaned forward, elbows on his desk, assuming the more serious side of his personality.  “Umm,” he hesitated.  He knew Henry had taken no interest in firearms.  Although their wives came from a family of avid hunters, Henry remained the odd-man-out, never expressing any interest.  “I’m not so sure about that Henry.  They’re not toys.”

“Obviously,” Henry guffawed.  “Look, I’ve got no power, there are no cops, we reside in Loot-Me-Heights up here.  I’m just a little concerned.”  Henry looked intently at Jeff as his brother-in-law considered the situation.  “I’ve fired a shotgun once with Tom.”

“If I recall, you said you’d never do it again because it hurt your shoulder.”

“Look Jeff, just give me something that doesn’t require a lot of skill.  I want something I can keep near me tonight.  I’ll bet you have something by your bed.”

Jeff let out an audible laugh, “Well of course I do,” he said, placing an exaggerated emphasis on the “I”.  “Look,” he said, turning to his safe, “I have a 9 I can loan you.  Very easy to handle.  Slightly less kick than a shotgun,” he said with a grin to his brother-in-law. 

Jeff opened the safe and pulled out a black plastic case.  As he opened it, Henry saw a medium-sized black semiautomatic handgun fit into the precut foam.  Beside the trigger, under the barrel were two black metal magazines approximately 4 inches in length.  Jeff turned back to the safe and looked up and down the shelves until he found what he was looking for.  He emerged with a small box of ammunition.  Removing the one magazine from the foam, he pushed the rounds in one by one.  Once complete, he removed the handgun from the case and slid the magazine into the bottom of the grip.

“Now,” he began in his instructor voice. “obviously I can’t give you a full lesson.  If we go outside and practice, we might freak a few neighbors out.  Start a riot of our own.  So all I can do is give you some basics.”

“Fair enough,” Henry said, coming to his feet in front of the couch.

“This is a Ruger SR9.  It is a 9mm semiautomatic pistol,” he said, holding the gun in his open right hand.  “The magazine is full, pull back on the slide, one round enters the chamber.”

Henry nodded nervously.

“Here’s the safety.  Up you’re safe, down you’re ready to roll.  Once you fire,” he paused, “empty brass is ejected, and a new round enters the chamber, fire again, etc.  Very simple.”

Henry continued to nod.

“Now, this is not a rifle.  With you, I would expect this is only useful at about five to ten yards.  I’d do everything to avoid having to use it, okay?”

“Yep.”

“Last resort Henry, got it?”

“Yep.”

“Now,” Jeff deftly removed the magazine, letting it fall into his left hand.  He set it on his desk and quickly drew back the slide.  The unspent round jumped out of the pistol and bounced on the glass desk top.  “we should be clear now.”  Jeff pulled the slide back and look first down the back of the barrel, then down the empty grip.  “I hate to dry fire any gun but you need to get a feel for what it takes to pull this trigger.”  Jeff pointed the gun at the base of his office wall and pulled the trigger.  The gun clicked.

“Okay,” he calmly handed the weapon to Henry. “one hand up here on the grip, cup your left hand at the bottom here.”  Henry fumbled to get both hands securely into position.  Jeff continued.  “Now even though we know 100% there is nothing in the chamber, we never act like we know 100%.  Always, and I mean always assume this thing is loaded.”  He indicated with his hand   “Point it at that wall.  If we have an accident all you’ll do is kill my hot water heater in the next room.”

Henry chuckled nervously while he raised the gun.  “Two hands secure,” Jeff instructed from the side.  Henry held the gun, straight-armed pointing at Jeff’s framed aerial photograph of Lambeau Field.  “Safety off,” Jeff reminded Henry.  “Now gently but steadily, pull back the trigger.”  Henry heard the click of the gun and flinched as if he expected something more.

“Yeah,” Jeff said sarcastically, “it’s gonna be louder than that when it’s loaded.”

“Sorry Jeff,” Henry shrugged apologetically, “I’m a little nervous.  You know, break-down-of-society; every-man-for-himself and all that stuff.”

“You’re forgiven.  Now, let’s go through loading the magazine.  Do you want to take the case home, or would you like some way to carry it?”

“Let’s stick with the case for now.”

When twilight began to set in, Marcus Tanner kissed the forehead of his infant son as he slept in the crib the boy’s mother once occupied.  His wife sat in the kitchen of her parents’ home happily chatting with her mother and father across the flickering light of a scented candle on the center of the dining table.

“I should be back by seven,” Marcus said as he walked through the kitchen.

“Since when are you working nights?” his father-in-law asked. 

Marcus casually filled a small thermos with water from the tap.  “My boss just wanted me to hang around and keep an eye on things.”

“I don’t like this at all,” Christy’s mother interjected.

“It’s fine,” he assured his wife and in-laws.  “I’m just going to sit in my car and take down license plates of anyone coming or going.  No biggie.”  Marcus rummaged through his mother-in-law’s desk drawer for a pad of paper and a pen.

“Why can’t he do it?” his wife complained.  “Why not someone else?”

“I’m low-man.  I get to do things no one else wants to do.”

“You’re not low-man Marcus,” Christy protested.  “You’re a crew chief.  Get someone on your crew to do it for you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, cutting the argument short.  Passing through the attached garage, he opened his father-in-laws steel cabinet against the back wall.  It contained gardening tools, car care supplies, and Christy’s bother’s sporting equipment.  Quietly, Marcus search through the contents until he found a wooden baseball bat.  He deftly slid the bat to his right side and walked to the car, concealing it in his profile in case anyone decided to watch him through the front window.

Reaching his small foreign car, he pushed the bat under his front seat, started the car, and left for his all-night vigil.

Henry reached over the side of his bed and felt blindly along the floor.  He felt his shoe, then the other, finally reaching the cold cylinder he recognized as the flashlight.  Turning it on, he reached for his watch on the bedside table.

Quarter to two, frustrated by his inability to let his mind rest enough to fall asleep.  Well, he thought to himself, no point in this.

He placed the flashlight on the bed stand, light facing the ceiling, illuminating the room in a dim glow.  He shifted his legs off the edge of the bed, stretched his arms over his head, and stood to get himself dressed.

Once downstairs, Henry used the flashlight to rummage through the pantry for a snack.  Finding a half-eaten bag of potato chips, he reached in for a handful and sat at the kitchen table.  He propped his flashlight against the bag so it illuminated the wall across the room.

After he finished his handful of chips he retrieved his work boots from the back foyer and returned to the kitchen to put them on.  Once on, he grabbed the flashlight and the chips and headed for his truck parked in his garage.  He threw the chips in the car, and pointed the flashlight up at the garage door opener assembly.  He pulled the release spring and raised the door manually. 

After he backed the truck out of the garage, he returned to lower the door.  When he reached the door, he paused for a moment, thinking about the handgun Jeff had given him.  He retrieved the flashlight from center console of his truck and reentered his house.

With the truck idling in the drive, he emerged from the garage with the flashlight in his hand, and the case containing the K100 under his arm.  He returned the flashlight to the center console, placed the plastic case on the passenger seat.  He then began the short journey to the shop on McFarland.

Marcus Tanner had parked his car near the entrance of the gravel lot, across the street to the south of the McRoss building.  Through his driver’s side window, he had a view of the front parking lot and some of the rear yard.  He had been sitting in silence scanning the property, relieved to be bored.

On three occasions, that night, we saw the movement of headlights reflected off the trees down the curvy boulevard.  Once from the east, two others from the west.  Their seemingly slow approach made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  As the shadows of the trees moved across the white façade of his company, he would reach his right hand below his seat to touch the bat, and assure himself it was still there.  All three times, the vehicles passed without incident.

Last time he checked his watch, it was 2:10 in the morning.  He considered that he might be wasting his time.  Anger, and perhaps childish pride prompted him to take this task on his own initiative.  He really did intend to limit himself to observe and report.  He only brought the bat along in case he needed to protect himself.

Marcus reached to his left, pulling the seat lever up, allowing his body to recline slightly.  His eyes had adjusted to the darkness to the point where he could see the building in the moon light and could make out the edges of the fence surrounding the yard. 

He reached into the cars ashtray and removed a quarter.  He first held the quarter between his right thumb and index finger, displaying it to the imaginary audience on the ceiling of his car.  Bringing his left hand up, he vigorously rubbed his right fist, then opened his hands to reveal that the quarter had disappeared.  He of course could see the quarter pinched between his index and middle finger jutting out over the back of his hand.  But the pretend audience was none-the wiser; he thought, anyway.  He turned his palm to his face, squinting in the darkness to see if he could see the edge of the quarter poking out between his fingers.  Unable to see the quarter he ran his left index finger over the crack to feel if it protruded at all.  It did, but only slightly.

Again, he returned the quarter to his thumb and index finger and began the trick again.  Each time he franticly rubbed his fist, he ended with a wild extension of his hands and a flash of a coy smile, challenging the imagined audience to figure out where the quarter had gone.

For the fourth time that night, a faint light began to materialize through the trees.  Shadows became more prominent on the shop across the street.  Initially staying put, but eventually beginning to move as the approaching vehicle changed its relative position along the sweeping boulevard. 

Marcus dropped the quarter on the floor, and reached down with his right hand to feel the reassuring texture of the smooth varnish of the bat.  He left his seat in the lowered position, peering up over the edge of the driver’s side window.  He hoped this vehicle would pass too.

Approaching from the west, he noted the truck begin to slow at the entrance to McRoss.  He shrunk further in his seat, suddenly regretting his decision to act as company watchdog.

Henry’s headlights lit up the front of his shop, reflecting off the white steel, illuminating the entire parking area.  He stopped his vehicle in no particular parking space, turned off his lights, and switched off the truck. 

He quickly scanned his empty parking lot and thought to himself he probably should have stayed in bed, giving himself another chance to fall asleep.  He grabbed another handful of chips and slowly began munching them, one at a time.  He stayed in the vehicle, waiting for his eyes to adjust.  As more of the parking lot became visible in the dark, he finished his chips and dusted off his hands over the floor of his truck.

Marcus watched the darkened truck sit in the shadow of the building.  The occupant did not emerge.  Marcus slowly became aware of the beating of his heart in his temples.  He did not raise the bat, fearing any movement might bring him unwanted attention. 

He suddenly saw the dome light go one in the truck as the occupant opened the driver’s side door.  Unfortunately, Marcus was facing the passenger side door.  He imagined the fat thug emerging from the truck.  He strained to make out any feature of the man, but the truck blocked his view.  He could see the silhouette of the man’s feet under the truck, but the cab blocked the rest.  He assumed it was the little loud mouth, but could not tell for sure.  His imagination filled in the details in the ugliest of ways.  Suddenly the light went dead and the man was invisible.

Henry stepped away from his truck and walked toward the shop.  He cupped his hands up over his brow and pressed up against the window to look into his office.  He could see the small red indicator lights on the emergency spot lights in his office, and through to the shop.  They blinked occasionally.  He next went to Jeff’s window and did the same.

Marcus could see the faint silhouette of the man approach the building and look in the windows.  He still could not distinguish any identifying features. 

He didn’t know what he could do from the position he chose.  He could not see the license plate.  The description of the vehicle was simply “truck.”  He didn’t know what make, what model, couldn’t tell the color and had no other way to identify it.  He cursed himself for not parking in the shop lot.  The unknown man might have seen his car and simply moved on.  He considered the fact that he could have used his company key and positioned himself in the second story office.  That would have made for a more effective, more discrete vantage point.

Henry didn’t really know what he was looking for through the windows.  He stepped away from the building and began walking to the gravel drive leading to the yard.  After he cleared the corner of the building, he removed the bulky key ring from his pocket and unlocked the two large padlocks from the hasps on the gate.

Henry walked around to the rear of the building and surveyed the empty lot.  In the dim cloudy moonlight, the emptiness reminded him of when he and Jeff first toured the place.  This shop was a vast improvement over the shop they shared with a small construction outfit.  Even after moving in, they had so little equipment of their own, the place looked unoccupied.  Now, they had so much they could barely fit it all inside and tucked away.

Marcus considered running across the street, getting the plate number and running back to his car before the guy came back.  He also considered the fact he couldn’t see the guy, so he had no way of knowing when he would be back. 

What was he doing back there? He frantically thought.  I’m such and idiot.  I’m useless over here.

Henry could see the entire back of the building in the moonlight.  He tested the knob on the service door, which was securely locked.  He gave the handle on both overhead doors a tug, which were also secure.  Seeing no reason for concern, he began his slow walk back to his truck.

After securing the gate, Henry rounded the corner and walked toward his truck.  Facing full-on south for the first time, he noticed the small car parked in the vacant lot across the street.  He squinted into the darkness, his arms resting on the bed of his truck. 

The car looked fairly harmless, but Henry wondered why it would be there.  As far as he knew, the lot had never been sold by the developer.  He kept it roughly graded so he could show it to prospective buyers, but that was it.  There was no reason for anyone to park there.

The top of Marcus’s head extended over the sill of the driver’s side window just enough for him to see outside.  He saw the man emerge from the back of the building, and thought he saw him pause slightly.  Because he could only see a silhouette, he couldn’t tell if the guy was facing him, or facing away.  Then he saw the man lean on the bed of the truck.  He was fairly confident the guy was looking at his car.  He cursed himself for the umpteenth time, but stayed as still as possible.

Then he saw the man stand upright and come around the back of the truck.  He saw the man begin to cautiously walk toward Marcus.  He did his best to stay still, keeping an eye on the threatening silhouette. 

As the man reached the end of the paved parking lot, Marcus looked up at the shadow of the darkened street light.  When the man reached the boulevard in the center of McFarland, Marcus slowly reached down to retrieve his only means of defense.

Henry slowly stepped onto the curb of the boulevard.  As he placed his left foot on the grass, he thought he saw movement in the vehicle.  What he thought was the shadow from the back of the driver’s seat seemed to dip slightly.  He stopped his forward progress and shifted his perspective back and forth to see if he was imagining things. 

Unable to recreate the movement from his perspective, he stood still and stared intently at it.  Suddenly he noticed, just ever so slightly, the shadow rose.

Fear suddenly shot through Henry.  He remembered he had the handgun on his passenger seat.  He turned and quickly retreated to his truck, glancing over his shoulder every other step.  He entered the truck through the driver’s side so as not to have his back turned to the suspicious car.  He stepped up on the running board and leaned over the center console to retrieve the gun from the case.  He inserted the loaded magazine into the butt and drew back the slide once.  He heard the first round click into place.

He took a deep breath, did his best to steady his wobbly knees and quickly liquefying stomach, and began his slow walk back to the empty lot.

By the faint glow of the truck dome light, Marcus could see the man frantically fumbling with something in the cab of his truck.  He assumed the man had become suspicious and would now make his getaway before he was identified.

The dome light abruptly turned off, and Marcus again squinted to readjust his night vision.  As things came better into focus, his eyes widened with fear as he saw the guy again approaching.  When the man reached the middle of the McRoss parking lot Marcus could see he was moving one slow step at a time, both arms raised, pointing directly at Marcus. 

Marcus’ ears filled with the sound of rushing blood.  He realized the man was coming at him with a weapon drawn.  He considered charging him with his bat.  He considered running him over with his car.  Then the obvious finally hit him.

Henry’s chest pounded.  He reached the midpoint of the parking lot and it suddenly dawned on him he had made a very bad decision.  He’d never even fired the weapon before.  He had flinched at the click of the dry fire.  Jeff’s words “five to ten yards” repeated in his mind.  If he actually did set off a round, it would probably be his only. 

While he considered his retreat, the mystery vehicle suddenly growled to life.  Henry reflexively stepped back.  His mind raced as he considered what was happening.  He could run back to his truck, but the sinister vehicle would probably run him down before he reached it.  He could stand Dirty-Harry-style and fire round after round into the windshield.  Or, more likely, he could simply remain indecisive and be run over.

Before he could make any decision, he heard an explosion of gravel as the car shot from its parking space, across the empty lot, across the grass, cutting a straight line over the curb and east down McFarland. 

Henry began to lose sight of the car.  Then he saw the taillights suddenly light up and the headlights illuminating the trees lining the street. 

His arms dropped to his side in relief.  In a matter of seconds, Henry had expended all the energy he had left.  He suddenly longed for his bed.  He stood slump-shouldered, gun dangling in his right hand at his side.

With the first flicker of light, Henry assumed he had given himself a stroke.  He looked up for lightening, but instead saw the street light flicker off and briefly back on.  One more time on and off, then it returned.  As the hum of the sodium vapor became constant, Henry raised his face to the sky to watch the stars fade into the rapidly advancing light pollution.

Chapter 3

“I’ll call you back,” Henry said to his wife, dismissing the call without waiting for her response.  “Hey,” he shouted to the bartender, “could you please turn one of these to a news station?” he said, pointing his finger at the wall of screens above the bar.  The urgency in his voice sent a ripple through the lunchtime diners, causing everyone in the bar to turn their attention first to Henry, then to the bartender.

The tall slender young man scrambled to find the remote control for the bar’s satellite system.  As far as he could remember, no one had ever turned the televisions from their various sports channels.  Once he found a remote, he began pressing the changer both up and down, pointing it to the different corners of the bar, hoping to eventually find it’s matching receiver.

The bar patrons now sat quietly; their gazes quickly shifting from screen to screen, to the bartender, to Henry, then back to the screens.  All had done their best to hold the belief that the violence in the city was a temporary state.  Henry’s demand brought their fears back to the surface.

After 15 seconds of scrambling, the large screen in the rear began to change one channel at a time.  “Channel 45.” Someone shouted off to Henry’s right.  The bartender quickly keyed in 45.

There appeared to be a panel discussing something.  The byline read Washington D.C.  A red banner was plastered across the bottom of the screen with white letters reading “SPECIAL ALERT.”

“Get the sound on.” Someone else shouted.  Play-by-play of a European soccer game corresponding with one of the screens in front of the bar continued to drone on.  The bartender scrambled below the bar to find another remote.  He resurfaced holding two, clicking buttons wildly in different directions.  Patrons looked impatiently to the front of the bar and to the rear screen with the news report.  They cut to a correspondent in front of what appeared to be an empty airport security check point.

Suddenly the play-by-play audio was replaced by a cooking show.  The bartender dropped one of the remotes and quickly keyed in 45 on the remaining.  “…..at 12:15, Eastern Time.” The correspondent finished midsentence.  “There is no word from representatives when the strike is expected to end.  We have off-the-record reports that we are looking at days rather than hours.”

“Thank you Keith,” the anchor said.  “We’ve been told the President will make an appearance in the press room shortly.  We will be prepared to break away for that.  Charles,” he said, turning his attention to the analyst sitting beside him, “what are we to make of this?”

“This is troubling. This is troubling” the analyst repeated, buying himself time to gather his thoughts.  “In the past two months this country has seen the bankruptcy of 15 cities with populations greater than 100,000.  Hundreds with smaller populations have also sought bankruptcy protection.  In efforts to avoid insolvency, Los Angeles, Denver, Atlanta and Detroit have all cut civil service pay to federal minimum wage.  We’ve seen the result of that.  The workers have, for the most part, walked off the job.”

“But what’s left to do?”  He continued.  “There is no money to pay these people.  The cities have borrowed to their limits.  They can’t print money like the federal government.  There is just nowhere to turn.”

“But what is extremely unsettling is the organization of this response.” He continued in measured sentences, “It appeared overnight across the country.  Claiming benevolence, but teaming with violence and intimidation.”  He removed his glasses and stroked his right temple with his free hand.  “I believe the government has underestimated the ability of these groups to organize.  I believe they have underestimated the effectiveness of these new forms of communication.  I think we were getting used to the nearly perennial appearance of these protests, generally harmless.  We’ve faced these economic issues before.  Perhaps not to this extent, but this response snuck up on us.  Long term, I’m not exactly…..”

“I’m sorry Charles,” the host interrupted his analyst, “we are getting word the President is about to speak.”  The screen switched from the anchor desk to a view of the Presidential podium in the White House press room.  “The press is assembled.” The anchor said, filling in the silence.  “We are expecting the President any moment now.  Looks like we are holding on for a moment.  That might have been a false alarm.  Any way Charles, you were saying?”

“I was saying, I’m not exactly sure what the end game of this is.  In an election year, the President will certainly have to walk a thin line.  He obviously cannot be dismissive of what has occurred.  Much of this movement is his base, but certainly not a majority.  He cannot lose the center.  He cannot write off the moderate vote.  He needs it desperately.”

“Will he force an end to the strikes?  Will he bring in the national guard to fill in for the absence of police presence?” the analysis asked rhetorically.

The shot remained of the press room.  The bar patrons continued to poke at their meals robotically, eyes fixed on the large screen above the bar.  Members of the press corps milled around in front of the camera.  Men frantically placed recording devices near the front of the room, and then quickly retreated to their assigned seats.

“He might, but these are not all government employee unions.  Obviously, these people are free to assemble.  It will be difficult to sort out the peaceful protestors from those who are looking to cause trouble.  He could flex some muscle, but again, he needs to walk a thin line.”

“Oh, here we go,” the anchor jumped in excitedly, cutting off the analyst again.

At the left of the screen, the President emerged from the hallway and walked to the podium.  The sound of clicking of shutters and the whir of recording equipment filled the background.  There was no pomp and circumstance to this appearance.  The President was all business. 

He placed a few pages on the podium and shuffled through them while the press and the world waited for him to speak.  He fidgeted briefly then looked up regarding the crowd of reporters.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began haltingly.  “what initially began as a general strike yesterday in Los Angeles has now developed into a nationwide movement.”

Los Angeles? Henry thought to himself.  He largely ignored the news while he was at his in-laws cabin, but he thought he might have heard something about problems on the west coast before now.

“Our nation has a long, very healthy tradition of respect for our labor movement.” The President continued.  “Our nation understands that this tradition of organized labor has guaranteed generations of working men and women a place in our democracy.  Without organized labor,” he continued, looking down at his notes briefly, and returning his wizened gaze to the camera, “our economy would collapse under the demanding plutocratic rule of big money and corporate interests.”

Henry worked hard to process the lead up to what seemed to be a very concerning announcement. 

“For that reason, my administration will not act to disrupt this exercise of our most basic rights.  My administration will respect this strike.”

“Is he fucking nuts?!” a man one table over exclaimed. 

Another man in the rear of the bar stood and began to clap slowly.  A man at his table turned, looking incredulously at his friend, asking in disbelief, “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s about time we finally stood up to these corporations,” the standing man shouted angrily at his friend. 

Annoyed at the disruptions, Henry turned back to look at the apparent friends, now locked in a heated argument.  He turned back to the screen and attempted to absorb the President’s words.

“We have been informed by strike leadership in New York that they will be prepared to commence negotiations in 48 hours.  My administration will meet with organizers and assess their demands.  It is our intention to use this opportunity to help usher in a new, more equitable economy.  Although this process may result in some inconveniences, it is our sincere hope we will emerge a stronger, more just nation.  We will not squander this opportunity.” He stated with conviction looking almost straight through the television set into Henry’s eyes.  Henry shuddered.  “We will not return to injustice.  We will not back down from our duty to history.” The President concluded, folded his few sheets of paper, ignored the jabbering press corps and return to his sanctuary.

Henry frantically fumbled for his phone.  He punched his wife up on speed dial and held the phone to his ear, ignoring the explosion of conversation around him.  Jeff sat across the table from Henry, staring at the television in amazement.

“Karen?” Henry said frantically.

“Did you see that?” she asked. 

“Was it on in the airport?”

“Yes.  What do I do?  48 hours?”

“Karen, get to a car rental company quickly.”

“I did that an hour ago.  They left already.”

“How about a taxi?”

“Nope.  No busses, no taxis, no rentals.  Nothing.”

“What about Tom?  Have you called him?”

“Good idea.  He’s gonna be pissed, but what else can I do?”  Henry heard a click on the line.  “Oh,” she chirped happily, “he’s calling me now.  Can you hold on?”  His line went dead.

“Jesus Henry, this is not good.” Jeff said, slowly shaking his head side to side.  Henry did not respond.

“Okay,” Karen was back on the line.  “He’s coming to get me.  I guess I’ll just hang out here.  I won’t be back until very late.  I’ll call mom.”

“Be careful Karen. I love you.”

“Be careful?” Her voice cracked slightly in response to her husband’s admonition.

“Leave me at the shop.  I’ll take care of everything there.  You get home to Lisa and the kids.  Please make sure Lisa got Max this morning.”  Henry sat in the passenger seat of Jeff’s company truck.  He was scrolling through emails on his phone.  The correspondence varied between customers cancelling, and inquiring whether McRoss was going show up.

“Are you sure.  I want to get home, but I don’t want to dump you with the shop.  I assume we’re taking a few days off until this gets wrapped up?”  Jeff asked.

“I’m not taking our equipment out again.  Doesn’t sound like Atlanta has any police protection.  I don’t know what’s going on in any of the suburbs.   I think we had enough fun yesterday, true?”

“True.” Jeff conceded.  “Are you just getting the guys at the shop organized and heading home?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing else?  You’re not going out anywhere else are you?  Karen will kill me if I let you do anything other than get your ass home.”  Jeff scolded his older brother-in-law.

“Nothing else.”

As they pulled into the parking lot in front of the shop, Jeff stopped the truck and let Henry out at the front door.  “See you tonight.” Jeff said.

Henry gave a dismissive waive and shut the truck door. 

The shop was situated on an industrial lot just off of McFarland Parkway.  It was a steel building, painted white with a large dark blue sign bearing the name McRoss in their signature gold letters.  There was a small blacktop parking lot in front of the building with a gravel drive on the north side of the building leading to a rear gravel lot.  Under the company sign was an industrial door leading to the front offices, which took up two stories at the front of the building.  There were windows in each of the offices overlooking the front lot.  Jeff and Henry occupied the two offices on the first floor just off the small lobby.  All other office staff, bookkeeping, sales, etc. shared a common space above them.  Henry and Jeff’s offices each had a window and a door directly attached to the large rear shop.  There was also a hallway between the shop and the front lobby. 

As Henry entered the lobby he could hear raised voices in the shop.  He walked through the lobby to his office and looked through the back window.  There was a group of his men huddled near the large overhead door at the rear.  They seemed to be engaged in a very heated exchange. 

Henry prided himself on the great team he had assembled.  Each and every one of them put in a full day’s work.  He was quick to recognize toxic personalities, and eliminated them from his employ quickly.  The McRoss team worked well together with very little conflict.  For that reason, he was surprised to come upon what appeared to be a very aggressive argument.

Marcus Tanner was a 19 year old high school graduate from Cumming.  He joined McRoss last summer following his graduation.  When he joined the company he was living with his parents.  His pregnant girlfriend Christy was then still a junior.  She lived with her parents, also in Cumming.  Within one year after starting with McRoss, Marcus had been promoted to crew chief, found an apartment in Alpharetta and married Christy.  With the exception of the day his son was born, Marcus never missed a day of work.  He would have worked through the birth of his son, had Henry not insisted. 

Marcus was a great employee, and Henry admired his drive.  He knew Marcus would not be satisfied to remain a crew chief.  Henry thought with some experience, he would make a very good salesman for McRoss.

But now, Henry could see the young man uncharacteristically aggressive, voice raised, finger pointing at some unknown target.  Henry opened the door and walked through.  “Marcus” he shouted, to no effect.  “Marcus!” he yelled as loud as he could. 

The crowd was immediately quiet as all heads turned to see Henry marching toward them.  “Mr. McRoss?” Marcus said with both surprise and relief. 

“Mr. McRoss?” said a slightly deeper voice from behind the crowd of his men.  The voice brought chills down Henry’s spine.  He exploded in a cold sweat.  He couldn’t place the voice, but it triggered an immediate Pavlovian response.  Henry stopped midway across the shop, and craned his head looking through his employees to make contact with the eyes that fit that voice.  He could see movement in the group of men, as one forced his way from the rear of the crowd. 

Out of his employees emerged a very bad memory.  The stocky thug from Mitchell Street gave Henry an evil grin.  “Mr. McRoss.”  He said again, this time taunting, like a cat with new-found prey.  “So I think you and I have met.  I didn’t realize you were the ‘big guy’.”

“You know this guy Mr. McRoss?” Marcus piped up from over the thug’s right shoulder.

After a brief hesitation, Henry suddenly realized the guy was on his turf, surrounded by his men.  His demeanor eased a bit, and he resumed his slow pace to the rear of the shop.  Henry observed another man in a suit and tie struggling through the group to stay near the thug. 

“Hey, looks like your face messed up my boot,” the stout man said with an evil smile, pointing at Henry as he chuckled.  “I had to hose your blood off when I got home.  Thanks a lot.  You know you guys almost ran over one of my friends.”

“I’m glad to see you again.” Henry said, now with the confidence his majority status gave him.  “I was wondering if I was going to be able to find you guys again,” Henry continued toward the man, extending his hand in feigned courtesy.  “I’m sure the police will be interested to meet you as well.  And your name is?” he ask, leaving the sentence to be completed by the thug.

“Ericson.  Joey Ericson.”  He ignored Henry’s extended hand of mock friendship.  “What police?  I am the police.”

Henry considered his words.  “You know, I wouldn’t consider you a very bright man, coming down here.”  Henry’s eyes scanned his men, non-verbally communicating that Ericson was greatly outnumbered here in Henry’s shop.

“I’m not concerned,” Ericson said, lifting his t-shirt slightly to expose the grip of a handgun.  “So you’re the boss, huh?”  He continued,  “I didn’t know that yesterday.  Interesting.”  Ericson rocked back on his heels surveying the shop, taking in every corner, and all its contents.  “So, one truck, one lift, the trailer ain’t much of a trailer anymore either.  Lot of good stuff in here still.  You keep a clean shop.”

“Can I help you Mr. Ericson?”  Henry asked, his frustration evident in his tone.

“You take good care of your equipment, but not so much your people.”

“Listen, you asshole,” Marcus stepped toward Ericson.

“Hold on Marcus,” Henry stepped to Ericson’s side and extended his left arm to block Marcus.  “Hold it.  Stop.  Let me deal with this guy.”

Ericson turned toward Marcus.  “Listen little boy, shut up sit back and let the adults talk.”

Marcus looked at Henry, nodded, and receded back to his place next to his coworkers.

“Mr. McRoss?” said the man in the suit, quickly stepping toward Henry.  “My name is Anthony Renovitch.  I represent Mr. Ericson’s organization,” he said, extending his hand toward Henry.

“Which is?”  Henry asked, this time ignoring Renovitch’s courtesy.

“EJC, Economic Justice Collective.  We are made up of several NGOs, non-profits, workers organizations.  We work with these groups to ensure fair representation of the lower and middle classes in the economic power structure.  We act as a coordinator for these various groups.  We make sure there is a good use of resources, no duplication in their efforts.  You know,” he continued with a smile, “we organize people.”

“Whatever,” Henry spat dismissively.  “Get to your point.  What are you doing here?”

“After your altercation with our grassroots volunteers yesterday, Mr. Ericson alerted me that your employees may not have proper representation, and….”

“And you wanted to come down here and get your pound of flesh,” Henry interrupted.  “Get the hell off my property,” his voice raised as he pointed to the rear door.  “Get the hell out of here and do not come back.”

 “I’m sorry Mr. McRoss,” Renovitch continued.  “We are conducting a survey today.  We will have our vote tomorrow.  We are not going anywhere.  Now if you will just instruct your men to cooperate we can get this done and let you all get back to work today.”

“No one here is cooperating with you.  Get the hell out of here before I remove you myself,” Henry said sternly.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me Mr. McRoss.”  Renovitch said without moving.  “We will leave when we are ready.”  He turned his back to Henry and faced the group of employees.  He pulled a small stack of papers from a folder and extended them to the gathered men.  “If you will please each take one and answer each question to the best of your ability.”

Henry took three steps to Renovitch and shoved him toward the rear door.  Renovitch caught himself, but the forms slipped from his hands, scattering on the pavement of the shop floor.

Ericson lifted his shirt and removed his weapon, pointing it at Henry’s face.  “Do it again,” he challenged. 

Henry grimaced, considering his options.  He stared at Ericson trying to size up his intent.  After an extended standoff, Henry reluctantly turned and walked back to his office.

Renovitch was on his knees, gathering up forms.  Henry’s employees turned away from Renovitch and Ericson, slowly retreating to their respective tasks.  Marcus stood next to Renovitch watching him reorganize the papers.  “This survey will help us help you,” Renovitch shouted to the retreating men.  “Like it or not, there will be a vote tomorrow.  It is better that you are informed.  It’s better if you complete these surveys.”

“Some people are too stupid to be helped,” Ericson taunted loudly, waving his pistol wildly in the air.  “How about you?” he chided Marcus, returning his gun to his waistband.  “Smart enough to take what’s been taken from you?”

Marcus briefly stared down Ericson then turned to follow his boss to the office.

“See you tomorrow boys,” Ericson taunted his prey.  “See you all here.  9:00 a.m..”  He chuckled, retreating through the large overhead door with his suited-cohort.  

Marcus found Henry seated at his desk on the phone.  He gave him a quizzical look.

“I’m calling the police,” Henry said, answering Marcus’ eyes.

“Are there any?”

“We’re going to find out,” he answered.  “Oh,” Henry quipped, pleased to hear someone pick-up at the other end of the line.

“911,” the lady said, followed by a brief pause, “What is your emergency?”

“Great,” Henry continued.  “I was worried there for a second.”

“How can I help you sir?” the lady asked with some impatience in her voice.

“This is Henry McRoss on McFarland.  We’ve got some problems over here today.  I need an officer to stop by and remove some trouble makers from my property.”

“What happened sir.”

“Two gentlemen are in my shop.  One has a gun,” he continued, “maybe the other one does too, I don’t know.” 

“Have they discharged the firearm?”

“No ma’am.”

“So there are no injuries?”

“No ma’am.  I just need an officer to come by and have these people removed.”

“Do you know who these people are?” The dispatcher continued.

“One’s named Ericson and the other was some Russian sounding name.”

“He was a Russian?”

“No ma’am, just a Russian sounding name.  He is an American.  Well I think he is.  Is someone coming?”

“No one has been injured?”

“Not yet,” Henry answered curtly.  “Are you going to send an officer?”

“I’m sorry sir, you are calling from Alpharetta?” she asked her equipment.  “Yes you are.  I’m sorry sir, there are no Alpharetta patrols today.  At what time did the altercation begin?”

“What do you mean there are no patrols?”

“Alpharetta is on our log-only schedule.”

“What exactly is a ‘log-only schedule’” Henry asked, adding air-quotes for the benefit of no one in particular.

“This week there will be no officers in your community.  We are only logging incidents, and if there is time when we have personnel available an officer will follow-up with you.  What time did this incident occur?”

“But Alpharetta isn’t bankrupt, is it?”

“We are following a regional directive sir.  Based on some issues with other municipalities, the metro counties have taken over direction of law enforcement,” the dispatcher continued dispassionately.

“So our police are in Atlanta fighting the riots?” asked Henry, exasperated with the response he was getting.

“No sir, today your officers are in Fairburn.  There should be some coverage by the middle of next week.”

“So what’s the point of talking to you?”

“Well sir,” she continued patiently, “you can give us some details of the incident and the officers will investigate when coverage is returned to your area.”

Ericson was right, Henry thought to himself, he was the police.  “Thanks, but I don’t think you’ll be able to help.”  Henry hung up the phone.

Marcus was standing patiently across the desk from Henry.  “What’s going on sir?”

“I was kind of afraid of this, but it looks like we don’t have any police in this city.” 

Henry stood and walked through the shop doors.  Marcus followed closely behind him.  “Listen up everybody,” he shouted to his men.  Ericson and Renovitch had apparently left the property.  “Anybody in the yard?” he asked the assembling men.  “Bring them in here.  I want everyone to hear this.”  A couple men scrambled out through the overhead doors to assemble the men working in the gravel lot out back.  Marcus ran upstairs to alert the office staff that the boss was calling an urgent meeting.

Henry waited for the flow of people to stop.  There were about 25 laborers surrounding him.  The five office girls came out through the lobby following Marcus.  When everyone settled, Henry began.  “That’s everyone, right?  No one is out on jobs?” He asked the assembled employees.

“Just Jeff,” one of the office girls answered.

“So, if you hadn’t figured it out yet,” Henry began, “that fat mouthy SOB was one of the guys who attacked Jeff and me yesterday.  Who talked to him?” Henry watch several hands go up.  “What did they tell you guys?”

“They told us they were going help us transfer the company to employee-owned.”  Steve Kohn, a forty-something employee spoke up from Henry’s left side.

“What?” Henry laughed in disbelief.

The other employees turned to Steve, deferring to him and his tenure with the company to communicate the full story to their boss.  “He didn’t tell us he was the guy who beat you up.  He just came in and said he and that other guy could help us make the company employee-own.  He said if we worked with them we could take the place over.”

“How the hell….?  What are they talking….?”  Henry stumbled around trying to make sense of the story.  “What’s the vote he was talking about?” finally settling on a question.

“He said the survey was first.  That was to assess the company’s fairness in use of assets, whether we’re paid enough as a percentage of your profits as stated in your tax records,” Steve paused for a moment, then continued uncomfortably.  “He had those with him.  Nobody looked though boss.  He wanted to show ‘em, but nobody looked.” 

Henry scanned his employees, and all shook their head somberly, yet vehemently.

Steve continued on with the story.  “He said after the surveys were reviewed, they would determine if our company qualified.  They said there was a new program that could force you to sell.  They had money to fund our purchase and said we could pay them back out of the profits.  That’s what they said the vote was for tomorrow.  They said you couldn’t stop the vote.”

Henry silently surveyed his troops.  He debated how to proceed.  He believed that his employees were happy with him as their boss and would remain loyal.  He thought he treated everyone fairly, but recognized it was impossible to know for sure.

The silence eventually became uncomfortable to the point Marcus could no longer be contained.  “We wouldn’t do that Mr. McRoss,” he blurted out.  A flurry of muffled assents quickly followed.

“That’s what was going on when you came in,” Steve continued.  “We were telling them to take a hike.  The guy never showed us the gun until you came.  Shit, Ted just about jacked the guy,” he chuckled, indicating to his coworker on the other side of the assembled employees.  “Glad he didn’t.”  Everyone chuckled, imagining to themselves how nice it would have been to see Ted stomp on the bully that beat up their boss, yet thankful he didn’t do anything rash.  Ted pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow.

“Well you say you don’t want to work with those guys,” Henry began, “but I don’t want to have any ambiguity about where we all stand.  I don’t know what rules they are operating under.  I don’t know if they can do what they claim they can.  I’ve never hid the fact from you guys that I am proud of what I did here,” he said, placing a great deal of emphasis on “I”.  “I’ve never pretended that I don’t make a lot of money.  I do.”  He paused again, considering his next words.  “But this is my company.  I worked hard for this company, and started it from nothing.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate every bit of work you guys do, but I think I show you that by paying you well.”  He turned to his right and demurred, “well I think I pay you well.  You all seem to stick around.”  The gathered employees let out a collective good natured laugh at their boss.  They knew he paid well, and they respected the fact that he was never hesitant to get his hands dirty with them. 

“Although I can assume I’m doing good by you, I can’t know it for sure.”  He paused, thinking again about his next words.  “I’m gonna assume that if you want to vote to steal my company from me, those guys are going to be very pleasant and very helpful to you tomorrow.”  He briefly looked around the room, trying to read into the eyes of his people.  “If, on the other hand you want to tell these guys to get lost, I think it is going to be very ugly for all of us.”

“There’s no way…….” Steve piped in, and was quickly interrupted by his boss.

“Hold on,” Henry held the palm of his hand up to Steve to silence him.  “If they want a vote, we’ll have a vote, but we do it on our terms, not theirs.  Anyone who wants to do what these guys are suggesting, raise your hand right now.”

The room was silent.  All heads slowly turned from side to side as coworker cautiously locked eye with coworker.  Man to man, to office staff, to laborer, they peered at each other, confident there would be no raised hands, but fearful of any unexpected crack in loyalty.

Henry waited, giving his people ample opportunity to weigh their options.  “And those that want to continue as we have?”

In response, all hands were raised.

“Great,” Henry announced, “then none of us are going to want to be here tomorrow.  911 dispatch told me there is no police protection in the city.  I’ve got no idea what’s going on.  Who has family at home right now?”  Henry saw several hands go up.  “Okay, you guys get out of here.  The rest of you, please stick around and help me batten down the hatches here.”

“We are closed until next Wednesday.”  He started to walk to the yard to begin securing the property.  “One more thing,” he shouted to get everyone’s attention.  Please check with Kim to make sure she has your most current phone numbers.  If things don’t get sorted out, we may be off more than a week.  Kim, put that list on my desk before you leave.  And call the other shifts and tell them what’s going on.  You guys,” he said pointing at the Marcus and two other coworkers, “start organizing in here.  Everything in the yard has to fit in here before we leave.”

Lilly Grant stared intently at the large puzzle pieces scattered across the coffee table.  She bounced up and down and hummed to herself as she considered how they all fit together.  Two and a half years prior, Jeff and Lisa Grant adopted Lilly with the help of an agency near Birmingham Alabama.  Lilly’s birth mother was 17 years old at the time.  The identity of Lilly’s birthfather was unknown, or at least that is what the birthmother claimed.

During the first year of their marriage, Jeff and Lisa held off having any children.  Lisa wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom, and Jeff whole-heartedly approved.  In order to do that, they knew Jeff had to reach a point in his career where he could support the entire family.  Luckily for the couple, Jeff excelled at McRoss much as McRoss excelled in the market.  After their second year of marriage, they were both ready for the transition.

Unfortunately, after two years of trying, nothing happened.  Lisa became dispirited, and Jeff could only console her.  They tried procedure after procedure, to no success.  Eventually they recognized that if parenthood were a role they were meant to play, they would have to accomplish it through adoption.

On Lilly’s arrival, any doubts the couple had about their ability to welcome the new addition to the family were quickly allayed.  Lilly immediately captured her adoptive parent’s hearts and each member of her extended adoptive family.

She had deep brown irises that blended nearly completely with her pupils.  Her eyelashes were cartoonish in length, elegantly curled to perfection.  She had perfectly smooth mocha skin.  And almost from the day they held her, she seemed to bare a perpetual, calm loving smile.

When Lilly heard the garage door open, she lifted her head from her task and cheerfully exclaimed, “Daddy!”

Jeff met her in the kitchen, coming to one knee for his welcome-home hug.  “Daddy,” she said matter-of-factly, continuing on with complete gibberish that obviously meant something to her.  She gesticulated and pointed in varying directions, telling a very complex which was completely lost on her father.

“You’re kidding?” Jeff asked, responding with as much importance as she infused into her incomprehensible report of the day’s activities.  “Give me a kiss?” he cheerfully asked.

“No,” she answered coyly.

“Then I’ll steal one,” he playfully warned.  Jeff lifted her in the air, tickling her midsection as she writhed and giggled uncontrollably.  “Come on, give me a kiss,” he chided.

“What are you doing home?” his wife asked as she entered the kitchen.

Jeff lowered Lilly and shifted her over to his right hip.  “Did you watch any news today?”

“Nope.  Hey, Max is out there peeing all over my rose bushes.  When is Hen coming to pick him up?” she complained while organizing the daily mail on the marble countertop.

“I don’t know.  Soon.  The news, did you watch it yet today?”

“I said no, what’s up?” She set down the mail and looked at Jeff.

“It’s getting weird out there.  Apparently a lot of things are shut down.  Did you hear from Karen?”

“No, why?” she asked, concern suddenly entering her voice.

“No flights today.  Henry said she’s stuck in Minneapolis.”

Lisa grabbed her purse from the kitchen table, removed her cell phone and punched up her sister’s number. She paused for a moment.

“Hi Lisa,” Karen answered.

“Karen!  Where are you?”

Jeff set Lilly on the kitchen floor and walked to the sliding glass door to watch Max digging up his wife’s flower bed.

“I’m still in Minneapolis.  Tom is on his way.”

“What happened?” Lisa asked her sister, ignoring Jeff standing at the window with all the information she sought.  He opened the door and headed out into the garden to try to cover up the evidence.  He shooed the young lab out of the dirt and tried to conceal the hole by wood chips over it with his boot.

“Jeff,” a concerned Lisa emerged from the kitchen sliding glass door.  “the power just went out.”  She was holding her cellphone up for Jeff to see.  “I lost Karen.”