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.