equipment and highly trained drivers. She could’ve sworn the brutish man she met at the state park lodge to receive the company’s cash deposit had no neck, an overlarge forehead stacked on a jaw squatting on broad muscular shoulders.
To alleviate a stuffy feeling, Melanie unlatched and extended the upper glass inward an inch. Alerted by a distant air horn, she watched the lead truck grind relentless toward the gate. Stupid picketers. Get squashed. Serves you right.
Was Jonas leading the truck? She screwed up eyes to be sure. Who else? Oh, Sgt. Anderson. Startled by storage door squeak, she inhaled Barry Chesterton’s musky cologne before she twisted, heard footfalls behind stacked file boxes, and heard him speak. “Thought I might find you here.”
“Our first deliveries almost docked for unloading,” Melanie said proudly.
She felt his arms encircle her waist, and then a teasing squeeze. Around them file boxes with employee records and order invoices, old steel desks, a crank adding machine, and broken chairs piled high and random in a spider’s delight, except for one corner. Cleared floor space permitted one dorm-sized metal spring bed with a six-inch mattress for the night security guard.
“I see.” Chesterton’s right hand fingers widened a slat row while left arm cradled her shoulders. “He and that other guy present a commanding presence. You call the sheriff?”
“No.” Melanie still hadn’t relaxed from the reluctant Sheriff’s kitchen visit early that morning. Surprised a tad Jonas showed up, his total unwillingness to devour what she offered irritating and pork link sausages represented the last thing on her mind’s menu. Regrets didn’t outlive the passage of hours nor blot out the reality Chesterton would shortly command her body, if never her soul. She understood what he craved. His lowered left hand rubbed in a circle, and a dropped right hand’s pressing fingertip teased bellybutton protrusion signaling he’d lost interest in parading strikers and slow-moving trucks maneuvering on the asphalt below.
She’d indulge Chesterton in a farewell encore after she determined the name of the plaid-shirted striker tossed to the ground to the right of the gate? The uniformed officer was Sgt. Anderson. Ouch. Anderson’s shoulder swatted with a picket sign. A tightening ring of maybe twenty men surrounded the two fighters. Knocked to one knee by the picket sign’s second blow, Anderson swayed; rose to both feet. With two hands squeezing the baton’s rubber grip he thrust its blunt end into the striker’s stomach. The blow catapulted the man’s shoulders forward, and hips backward.
“That’s got to hurt,” Chesterton said. His right hand tried to separate Melanie’s thighs.
“No. I’m okay.” Melanie laughed when Chesterton’s contorted expression told her he’d spoken about the fight, not her comfort. Before Anderson could thrust baton a second time, two strikers grabbed the officer’s arms and wrestled it away. The plaid-shirted striker, given new life, swung a right fist, missed. A left may have connected. Melanie’s view obstructed as the two combatants circled each other. Anderson struck a right-left fist volley to the striker’s head. She thought she saw blood splatter above and below the man’s mouth, but couldn’t be sure.
Oooh. A bent knee landed in or near Anderson’s groin and shoulders collapsed. The striker pounced forward pounding two fists to the crown of Anderson’s bowed head. Anderson’s left arm flashed upward to deflect a third blow. He dived straight into the striker’s midsection with observable force although distance didn’t allow Melanie to hear any uttered groan.
Both twisted and crashed to the ground, the striker prone with his face eating dirt. Anderson rose first and stomped. His swinging boot toe struck above the striker’s belt near a kidney.
Six fanned-out semi-trailer rear bumpers thudding into loading docks momentarily distracted Melanie. She steeled abdominal muscles to Chesterton’s tickling fingers to glimpse Jonas sprint across the gate entrance. With flying elbows he burst between two men; the ring expanded. Jonas responded to Anderson’s extended arm point. The Sheriff lifted striker by grabbing plaid shirt collar at the neck’s nape, forced striker’s nose into the link security fence, and, with a knee to the small of the back, clamped on wrist handcuffs, spun man around, and with baton pinned neck to the fence.
Anderson picked up his baton and preceded Jonas and prisoner to Paul’s squad car. The sergeant’s strength and resilience impressed Melanie. He’d bought her a drink or two at community fund-raisers, but she concluded by the lack of follow-up he acted polite to create goodwill for a run against Jonas in the upcoming election. She hoped the knee that landed hadn’t damaged his fatherhood future. If Jonas proved uncooperative, a lawman alternative existed.
Chesterton nuzzled her neck. With the strike, normal business office attire abandoned in favor of sweats or blue jeans. Who knew when executives would be required to unload trucks? Her prior forklift joy ride stained a pantsuit with black grease smeared into a cushioned cloth seat. His fingers on skin under Melanie’s sweatshirt tickled above and below an “outee” belly button.
“It’s been a long time,” Chesterton’s coarse guttural voice whispered into Melanie’s right ear.
“It’ll be even longer once you’re transferred.”
“Between you and me, it’s not going to happen.”
Melanie gulped. She counted on the transfer to succeed him as president. If not transferred, he’d have to be fired, a convoluted process. He’d get credit for all her hard work in humiliating the union. She couldn’t rely on profit loss because of the strike. The investors would surely credit him if Local No. 1 decertified. The long-term priceless value of devised efficient scheme to hire minimum wage non-union replacement workers nullified. “But your plans? A bigger operation.”
“On hold. But let’s not discuss that.”
Her left hand clasp halted his stomach tapping. “What about someone at the door?” Neck pores absorbed his hot, panting breaths. While the clerical bargaining unit honored the picket line, staff still roamed the three floors, especially computer technicians manning the large IT center at corridor end. A creaking elevator door jolt probably meant one or two in the hall this very moment.
“Fixed that. New deadbolt installed. Only keys are in my pocket.” His hand slipped from her stomach, and warm fingers cupped Melanie’s chin. Her sneakers squeaked as he rotated head and body towards him before joining lips. He kissed long and hard until elongated tongue parted her moist lips to slide in. His knee nudged Melanie to the security guard’s bed.
When he faced her, bulging manhood strained against denim fabric. She knew he invigorated a six foot, one inch lean body by three morning jogs a week. She reached forward, undid belt, pulled snap apart, and separated zipper teeth. Like a warehouse pallet jack, his handle sprang free with tension for the task ahead. “You want a ride bareback?”
“Why no condom? You always insisted.”
“Got an after pill.” Melanie lied. “Will allow me to give you a hotter ride.”
Previously she insisted upon a condom to collect his sperm, never fearing pregnancy. Puberty for her lasted until the day the cold stainless steel of the operating table joined with the glaring lights that branded fear into ever-present memory. In the dim shadows beyond an open surgical room door a masked nurse handed her mother a paper to sign for she’d been but fourteen.
“Here, let me help you.” Chesterton lifted sweatshirt high above her head. “What, no bra?” His raised bellybutton-toying fingers lowered to two grapefruit-sized former playmates.
At
