Link to previous Chapter 8c
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Chapter 8d - 3,966 words
Traffic had increased and the satnav said it was going to be a three hour drive out to (place). Wilson turned onto (street) and joined the crawl of traffic headed for the freeway.
A bead of sweat trickled down his side, an uncomfortable rivulet which made him wish he’d thrown a spare shirt in the car before heading out. Getting the cars aircon fixed was on the list of things to get done when money allowed. The satnav flashed an update and now the three-hour driver was projected to be thirty minutes longer. Widening the view on the screen showed an accident icon a few miles along the freeway. As he looked the section of road flicked from amber, meaning it was heavy but generally moving traffic, to red, which meant slow to standstill.
It was already eleven and the day was stretching out further and further, the end moving further away every-time he looked at it. A small strip mall had an Italian restaurant as one of its businesses and Wilson pulled off to see if they did take-out.
They did and made him a home-made soft Italian sub filled with mortadella, provolone, pickles, and capers. He even paid for a couple of cans of imported Italian soda flavored with grapefruit.
Waiting for the sub to be made up gave time to look at alternative routes. Just sliding down a parallel one wouldn’t work because they’d fill up quickly and be just as slow. Heading east towards (place), then looping round (place), would take less time even if it was (number of miles) longer. With the three thousand Harry had paid getting gas wasn’t an issue.
Back in traffic it took twenty minutes to move side-ways enough to get out of the traffic caught up in the crash on the freeway. He got into a flow, driving behind an old F150 that seemed to be heading in a similar direction at a similar speed. It gave him time to think over what had happened at the apartment. Corrina had been observant, but he worried about how easily she’d told him things, and what that would translate to if someone else went looking for Earl, especially if the someone else was police.
The obvious guess as to who had broken the door in was some of Harry’s guys. He’d have thought one of them could have picked a lock, but then finesse wasn’t an over-riding aspect of Harry’s nature and it probably wasn’t a surprise that reflected in the people who worked for him.
The timeline also fitted in. Corrina said they’d been their Monday. From what could be pieced together so far, he disappeared sometime between Thursday and Sunday. A print off of Earl’s bank statement – and it was better not to try and figure out how Harry had access to that – showed cab charges in Cleveland Wednesday afternoon, and an Uber charge in LA in the evening, being picked up from LAX. According to Corrina he got home and beat the crap out of Allison.
By Monday he was already missed enough for goons to be sent to his apartment and, when they couldn’t track him down, for Harry to drag in Earl.
So where was he? And why was Harry so desperate to find him? Earl was some kind of finance guy so there were obvious guesses to be made. Probably some fiddle where he skimmed off the top from both sides of the deal between NUMEAT and the business Harry was hiding behind. And it must have been a sizeable skim for Harry to be hunting him.
Based on his own experience of making Harry annoyed about lost income, Wilson didn’t like Earl’s prospects when he was found.
As the miles went by, and urban gave way to suburban and then exurban, the prospect of Earl’s future weighed heavily. To find the man as an unlicenced investigator was already beyond the edge of where Wilson knew he should be. To find the man and know that doing so would lead to grievous injury coming his way put things so far beyond the line that Harry would have an undeniable hold on him.
The route finally turned and headed in the direction of (place). With the window down there was an almost cooling airflow in the car, thought it was more than offset by the extra noise. It’d be easy to assume the burgeoning desert off to the left would help absorb the constant thrum of tires on hardtop, the growl of an engine that had done over a hundred-thousand miles with too little care an attention. It didn’t.
He stopped at a gas station which doubled as local store and filled up. They had a few racks of clothing, jeans and plaid shirts differentiated into men’s and women’s racks. He picked up a pack of wifebeater’s from a shelf, a pair of Levi’s and a red plaid shirt. For the second time in the day, he bought a fresh made sandwich. This one was home-made pastrami and Swiss cheese and felt big enough in his hand to throw through the window of a jewellers in a ram-raid. He wasn’t hungry yet but planning ahead for the return trip. A day of eating on the go was almost like being back on the force, except he wouldn’t get chewed out by (name) for leaving crumbs everywhere, or for the damp which would come from the bag of ice melting on floor of the passenger side. One of the wife-beaters sat above the bag and on that the sandwich sat, hopefully remaining cool, dry, and edible on the drive back into L.A.
The NUMEAT production facility, they didn’t like to call it a factory, sat at the far end of what had once been an air force runway which faced into the desert. Many of the buildings were also left by the military but there were a few new constructions and NUMEAT’s was one of them. An unimaginative but practical box shape that could have been sat in any out-of-town retail site and had Target, Walmart, or the like emblazoned on the side. Even the glass front entrance on the right side of the building maintained the box store aesthetic.
On the left side there was a large, fenced, compound with sliding gates for delivery and collection vehicles. Further left still were a dozen or fifteen cars and trucks in what he guessed was factory worker parking. On the right designated parking bays at the front edge of the building ensured the folks in charge didn’t have to walk far and, extending out from there, a few rows of bays were marked out on the old runway in white paint.
There were only three cars parked on this side of the facility. Wilson guessed at the shift production manager, a person covering reception and phones, and some salaried employee putting in some time to get essential paperwork completed without a constant barrage of phone calls and meetings which could have been emails. He thought of times he’d gone into the station on days off or stayed after hours to sit and do paperwork dressed in civies so he could ignore all requests for assistance while getting caught up.
He parked in the second row of spaces, pulling up and turning round so when he came out it was a straight pull away back towards the road and home. A quick look at his phone confirmed the zero calls and messages expected had registered. He headed for the entrance.
There was a smell of iron and bleach in the air, not overpowering, but enough to be noticeable. The day’s heat was at full extent and after ten steps he regretted not parking closer, hoped there was AC inside, and that he’d be allowed in. The door was operated by keycards. Wilson stepped to the intercom at the side and pressed the call button.
‘NUMEAT. How can I help?’
‘Hi, I’m looking for Earl (name).’
‘Mr (name) isn’t in. Please try on Monday.’
‘No, I’m actually trying to find him, what with him being missing. I was hoping someone-‘
‘Sorry, Mr (name), isn’t in the office. Please try on Monday.’
Wilson stood and stared at the intercom, willing there to be someone less obdurate on the other side, knowing that wasn’t going to happen.
He turned and walked along the front of the building, wondering if he was being watched through the polarised glass that didn’t let him see what was happening inside. Soon the glass gave way to metal sheet walls and finally the fenced compound. He walked all the way around looking for a way in, or for someone taking a smoke break to try and talk to. There was no one.
Maybe he’d have to wait until the shift changed or ended. He headed for the car, intending to move it over by the vehicles of the production folks.
‘Hey, are you the guy looking for Eric (name)?’
Wilson turned and saw someone who reminded him of his high school history teacher, though the thick Louisiana accent was different. He waited as the man drew closer.
‘Hi, I’m Franklin look, it’s hot as balls out here, you wanna come in where the AC is good? You can have a soft drink to cool down and, when the AC has got you chilled we’ll have coffee.’
Wilson said, ‘I’m Wilson, and all of that sounds terrific, Franklin.’
Franklin turned and headed back to the door. He waited for Wilson to arrive before swiping his key card and opening the door. The waft of air which came out was so cold condensation formed on Franklin’s steel rimmed glasses. He took them off and wiped them on a cloth from his pocket, then turned and grinned at Wilson. He said, ‘Man, I hate that. But it’s better than the alternative of sweating to death at home, where the landlord figures AC as advertised is actually an optional extra. C’mon, the break room’s this way.’
They walked across an area that had a combination of open desks and cubicles. One of the desks had a laptop open on it, several legal pads, pens, a cup and an old-style voice recorder. The materials spread across to take up space on the adjacent desk.
Franklin said, ‘The other great thing about working at the weekend is I get to spread out.’
‘I figure you get fewer calls interrupting you as well,’ Wilson said.
‘That’s not too bad for what I do anyway, but there for sure are fewer distractions without the staff here.’
They crossed from industrial carpet to industrial linoleum and a kitchen area. Franklin opened a tall fridge and asked, ‘What do you like to drink? Don’t bother saying beer, they don’t stock it.’
‘Is that an Arizona Iced Tea there?’ Wilson asked. ‘I’ll take one of those.’
Franklin handed it to him and went over to a coffee machine. He opened the cupboard above it and took out two mugs. He opened the cupboard next and there was a display of coffee capsules. ‘What coffee do you like? I’m a two pod guy, a latte and then a double espresso, it gives me the right caffeine boost.’
‘Black and sweet for me. After the drive I’ve had, hit me with a couple of the double espresso pods and point me at the sugar.’
Franklin took four pods out the cupboard and started making coffee. He said, ‘These are recycled pods. There’s a guy comes by once a week and takes the old ones away and restocks the cupboard. There’s twenty or so people who use this kitchen, have a guess how many pods they go through.’
Wilson thought about it. And while one part of his mind played surprise math quiz, another part noted that was the third time Franklin had spoken about the company as if he wasn’t part of it. He said, ‘Six hundred and fifty to seven hundred.’
‘Hey, that’s pretty good. Most weeks it’s about six hundred. You must have not figured on there being a couple of devout Mormon’s on staff – they don’t drink caffeine.’ The second coffee finished brewing and Franklin lifted both cups. ‘C’mon, we’ll go have a seat and we can quiz each other about the disappearance of Mr (name).’
This caught Wilson mid-swig of his iced tea, and he spluttered. It took a moment to gain control of his airways but when he did, he turned and followed Franklin, confused as to who the man might be.
Franklin sat at the desk where the laptop and papers were out. He put the cups down and used a foot to push the chair at the adjacent desk out. ‘Take a load off,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing Harry Albarn has got you looking for Earl. I know it’s not NUMEAT. Everyone’s kind of wondering why he hasn’t been here this week, but then some weeks he isn’t here. Though that’s generally on the calendar and this absence isn’t.’
‘He doesn’t actually work for NUMEAT, does he, is he some kind of consultant? By the sounds of it you are as well.’
‘We’re kind of similar. Neither of us are actual NUMEAT employees, but we have a lot of access. But that’s pretty much it. I’m employed by (founder) directly - well, by an LLC he has. Earl is…’ Franklin paused and thought for a moment, ‘I’m not sure exactly how Earl is employed because I don’t see the financials, well, not at that level of detail. But I reckon he does at least as much, if not more, work for Mr Albarn’s business.’
‘So what do you do for (founder)?’
‘What do you know about NUMEAT?’
Wilson shrugged and said, ‘As much as I know about any of these pretend meats. I’ve had those Impossible burgers at a couple of places, and they taste good.’
‘Oh, don’t let (founder) hear you compare NUMEAT to vegan pretend meats – he gets really animated. I’ve seen vodou priests show less passion offering to Bondye. NUMEAT is real meat, but instead of raising a herd of cows with all the time and cost involved, they use bioengineering to create cultivars which are grown in vats and formed into the kind of protein that makes up muscle mass, or fats. It’s really kind of genius.’
‘Is that what you work on?’
‘Me? No, I’m no scientist. I’m a journalist. I’m writing the official history of NUMEAT and the (founder)’s genius in taking it from bootstrap startup to multi-billion-dollar company and him becoming a doyen of Wall Street.’
‘You sound like you don’t really believe the copy you’re writing.’
‘Oh, I believe in NUMEAT. I reckon we need some way to cut down on the massive consumption of animals. And that’s from someone who loves a nice porterhouse with peppercorn sauce and shoestring fries. The land and water and resources a ranch uses to raise a cow for us to mince up into burgers for fast food joints to sell at a couple of bucks a pop just isn’t sustainable. If we can pop those patties out of a factory – sorry, production facility – like this on the edge of towns then that’s got to be for the good, right? So, I believe in the project, in the product.’
‘But you’re not sure (founder) is the guy that will really do it.’
‘I never said that. Now tell me about Earl. Why does Mr Albarn want him?’
‘I never said he did. Maybe his girlfriend is the one looking for him.’
Franklin thought for a moment then said, ‘Allison, right? I met her a few weeks ago at a thing Albarn hosted in some ex-dance studio he’s turned into a small club in (location). It was the first time he’s brought her to anything and there have been quite a few of them. She and I ended up sitting with a few of the NUMEAT folks, most of them are here Monday to Friday, and I’ll be honest, the vibe I got from the two of them was that she would be better of leaving him before he screwed around, if wasn’t already doing it.’ He took a drink of his coffee. ‘Do you know when Earl disappeared?’
‘No. Do you have any idea where he might be?’
‘Have you tried Cleveland? Anytime he’s not in the office here for a week or so he’s up in Cleveland for Mr Albarn.’
‘Driving out here when the (freeway) was shut with wreck was bad enough. I’m hoping to avoid going to Ohio, not that I’ve got anything against the Buckeye State.’
‘The (freeway) is shut?’
‘When I left the city, it was. I’m hoping it wasn’t both ways, and it’s cleared by now.’
‘No wonder you looked wrecked. Sitting in traffic for hours must have been a bitch. But I guess once you’re out on the freeway it gets to a point where it’ll take as long to get back as go on.’
‘Oh, I detoured out via (place). But it was a hell of a drive.’
‘You really thought you’d find out where Earl was by coming out here this afternoon?’
‘It was worth it. I figured there’d be someone out here who might have a clue where he’d be. And you confirmed my nastiest of suspicions. It looks like I’m headed up to Cleveland.’ Wilson drained his coffee. ‘But at least I got and iced tea and a big caffeine boost to see me through the drive back.’ He reached a hand out and said, ‘Thanks for having me in, the person on reception almost made me give up believing in the human race.’
‘Lisette’s okay but she’s from just up the road and I think the furthest she’s been is LA, and that was an adventure. She’s talking about trying Vegas this year.’
‘They’d better lock up their sons if she goes. The charm and wit are devastating.’
Franklin laughed. He said, ‘C’mon, I’ll walk you to the exit to make sure you don’t steal any company secrets.’
‘How do they know that’s not what you’re doing working away by yourself here at the weekend?’
‘Because I have an NDA a foot thick, and golden handcuffs in the shape of money I don’t get until the stock goes public and the book is published.’
‘What if that doesn’t happen?’
‘Then there’s a healthy severance fee and the part of the NDA about never discussing the project kicks in.’
Wilson paused at the door and took his phone out. He looked at Franklin and said, ‘I’m going to check the roads before I go back into the heat. And if I take your number, we can let each other know if Earl appears.’ He waited for Franklin’s nod of agreement and opened his travel app. The freeway was cleared and although the backed up traffic was still making things bad eastbound, heading back west was the ninety-minutes which the outbound journey should have been. ‘Way back looks clear,’ he said. ‘Right, what’s your number?’
Franklin read out the digits. Wilson typed them into his phone, and then hit call. Franklin’s phone rang.
‘Got it,’ Franklin said. ‘If he appears Monday morning, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thanks. Okay, time to hit the heat.’ Wilson reached for the pad to trigger the door lock. Before hitting it he asked, ‘What’s the strange smell. I guess it’s to do with production, but the mix of iron and bleach is kinda weird.’
‘Hmm. You know I don’t notice it anymore. The iron smell is regular, there all the time. The bleach smell is because the weekend is when production vats all get cleaned out, scrubbed, and prepared for starting a new lot on Monday.’
‘I bet it’s a good early warning system for pregnancy.’
‘Huh?’
‘Well, most ladies get sensitive to smells and tastes in the early stages. Can’t think working with this smell will be good for the enciente.’
‘Nearly a year I’ve been coming here, and I’ve never thought of that. But it’ll go in the book, published or not. I’ll make sure to give you a credit.’
‘I’ll look out for it.’ Wilson pressed the door release and pushed the door out. The heat was instant. He headed for the car.
Franklin called goodbye, and let the door shut, remaining in the cooler office.
Wilson headed down the old runway, paused just past the old guardhouse with its entry barriers locked upright and weather worn. He turned left, and hoped the road signs to the freeway would be frequent.
After a few minutes the heat in the car was almost debilitating and Wilson needed to take his mind off it. Thinking through the strange conversation with Franklin wasn’t working, he needed time to process that and then put down notes. By the time he got back to the city the sub-conscious would probably have worked things through to a stage he could make sense of it. But right now, it was just hot. The air flowing through the vents was outsides hot air accelerated by the fan. He turned the fans off as it felt like sitting with hairdryers blasting at him.
He put the radio on and let it search for a station with good signal. The auto-search tuned in to a place that was just finishing it’s news.
‘Stay tuned for the traffic and weather after these messages,’ the announcer said. The ads came and went without recognition and then weather was a brief comment about it being dry and hot and remaining hot and dry for hours and days to come. They moved to the travel and ran through local roads which were, in the main, running clear. Then they moved to the (freeway) leading into LA and talked about how west-bound was clear, but eastbound was still a little slow, and then that they were handing back to the news-team. ‘We’ve breaking news from colleagues at (LA news service) about the vehicle in the wreck which caused earlier delays. The blue Mustang, owned by LA resident Earl (name), crashed at high speed into the back of a fuel tanker. While the tanker retained integrity the front of the Mustang burnt out, and the driver was killed. Shockingly this was not the worst news from the crash. Unconfirmed reports suggest body parts were found in the trunk of the vehicle and speculation that the (location) cannibal may have finally been found are rife.’
Wilson couldn’t prevent himself looking down at the radio console, as if the screen displaying the station frequency and name would suddenly have pictures of the crash scene.
He had a sudden feeling that his hunt for Earl was over, but also a suspicion that him being dead wasn’t going to be sufficient as far as Harry Albarn was concerned. But would Wilson be required to look into whatever Harry suspected the man of having done?
The radio station carried on with it’s normal program and when the next news came round half-an-hour later little was added to the information other than that ‘police were not making any statement at this time’.
As the towers of LA grew on the horizon Wilson comforted himself with one thing. If Earl had been in the car, either as the driver or in the trunk, then there’d be no need to go up to Cleveland.
He reached down and picked up the wax paper wrapped sandwich he’d bought on the way out and was relieved that the water from the melting ice had been kept out of it. As he ate he promised himself a nice cold beer at the nearest bar when he got back.
Chapter Break
I wrote this post about a story where I had a first chapter written. I'm trying to push on and finish a first draft in 2024.
If you'd like to be tagged in for future chapters, let me know.
Thanks
Stuart
Link to collated chapters HERE
Link to the short story which is the seed for this is HERE
Any LA based or knowledgable folks who want to pitch in on local things I get wrong, please do. I've never been and there's only so much I can learn on the internet.
words by stuartcturnbull pic by igorelick on Pixabay