She pointed to where the conversation-interrupting car had entered. “We’ll close off two or three of the specialty warehouse gates. Limit deliveries to daytime hours. The truck gate with the guard shack should be the main picket location.”
“You know we can’t prevent pickets, only police against violence.” His voice erupted strong and authoritative, right hand cupping left elbow of arms folded across chest.
“We know. My call today designed to give you a heads-up.”
Ms. Stark hesitated; stare riveted to the cruiser as she skirted the rear bumper. As they resumed, he positioned body to block her view of Webster’s nose pressed to a rear side window. He needed to think of something positive to salvage this visit, break the lingering tension. Jonas swiveled head left and right searching for a reason to put his vehicle out of sight.
“Does that gate lead to the shipping docks?” She bobbed head. “I’d like to see those. Once I’ve seen the physical layout. I’ll expect you’ll stay in touch.”
“Most definitely.”
“Maybe give me information before the daily paper.”
Emerging stare registered infinite degrees colder than an iceberg’s core temperature. “Follow me.” Ms. Stark marched forward.
Jonas hustled to walk side-by-side as she explained matter-of-factly to an attentive mind the height of cyclone barbed wire fences and rail spur length leading to the multi-block warehouse complex. The information’s neutrality didn’t square with right hand often covering mouth. He would leave unsaid he scheduled an office internal planning meeting for later that afternoon to review strike violence control guidelines. Jonas squinted at truck trailers and employees hustling past raised loading dock bay doors. No repetitious vehicle or people pattern presented itself as he gazed across expansive asphalt paved yard to what looked like a car wash, only bigger truck-sized doors.
“If you’ve seen enough,” Ms. Stark interrupted.
His head-to-toe scan of Ms. Stark with arms folded across chest and nylon-covered toes in open-toed heels curled inward blatantly broadcasted the answer she expected.
“Yes, I think so.”
“I need to get back inside where it’s warmer.”
“Of course. I can refresh my memory with the assessor’s Internet site aerial map.” Jonas retraced steps to a fence gate that led to the front parking lot. With head cocked sideways, he watched Ms. Stark stroll toward metal stairs he presumed entered the warehouse. An imprisoned Webster’s low-pitched barks erupted across the parking lot as Jonas slid into cruiser’s driver seat.
* * *
The eight a.m. Monday morning sun escaped between two billowy clouds to warm Noel Henderson’s face. He stood idle in an open Jove Foods warehouse bay door waiting for a yard spotter to maneuver a fifty-three foot trailer for unloading. Despite aching muscles, and less than normal sleep before night shift start, he welcomed the extra two hours of overtime pay.
“Mr. Henderson.” The high-pitched feminine shout startled him. Within twenty seconds he heard his name repeated, “Mr. Henderson.”
From afar he recognized the gray, pinstriped suit of VP Stark. She, since last month, had become a daily vision. When within two steps of him, he watched her stretch shorter five-foot-four body vertically and walk on tiptoes as she tried to engage him face-to-face. Standing six-foot-one, Noel’s downward gaze noticed the front bottom jacket corner appeared ripped.
“May I speak with you a moment?”
The constant hum from banks of outdated overhead fluorescent tubes intermingled with braking and bumping sounds of near and distant forklifts to make words hard to decipher. “With whom?” Right hand set invoice clipboard on a loaded, wrapped pallet.
“With you. Are you on the clock?”
“Yes, ma’am. Foreman ordered three of us to stay and help unload the extra trucks.” He gazed at still emotionless facial expression. She unbuttoned jacket. To his unobstructed view, the lacy white blouse frills framed deep exposed cleavage, enough to make him uncomfortable. He heard a digestive tract gurgling from within. A yearning for a crate to sit on went unfulfilled.
“I’m curious. Did you attend the union’s meeting yesterday?” She glanced behind and to both sides. “You weren’t scheduled to work. I checked.”
No one lingered or lurked within earshot to his knowledge. “I don’t know...”
“Mr. Henderson. May I call you Noel?”
“Okay.” He shifted weight to left leg.
“Well, Union President Dino Vikolas spoke up for you when you were hired.” She buttoned the two jacket buttons to cover bosom cleavage. “I assume you’re friends and I’m not here to destroy friendships. If there’s any turmoil between the warehouse workers and the company, Mr. Vikolas couldn’t alter your job standing. You must guard your own interest.”
He failed to understand what she meant. Seniority controlled job assignments. The union contract spelled that out. Neither he nor Dino had personal control any which way. Noel sighed.
She stepped forward and back. Two fingers fidgeted with a jacket button.
He whispered, “Yes, I was there.” He shifted weight onto right foot.
A loud crack caused both to flinch. Noel, by instinct and with the hope VP Stark would depart, ran to the adjacent bay door to observe damage. He saw none. The spotter unhooked yard tractor and waved before departing. Noel unlatched the trailer’s rear door and heaved it upward. As the door rolled up on its tracks, he saw the closest two pallets had tipped inward.
VP Stark stepped to his side. “Visit me tonight at my house, say six o’clock?”
“I don’t know.” His stomach knotted. Guys snidely called her an octopus, and he didn’t want to become entangled. Besides, male or female, she wore a “suit,” and work buddies issued a caution not to trust any company executive. His body shift resulted in their being face-to-face.
“I’ll make sure there’s wine, spaghetti, and garlic bread for two.” Fingertips again hovered to undo a second jacket button. A loaded forklift zoomed by.
“I don’t know...” Stomach uneasiness gurgled at the back of his throat.
Melanie’s released jacket flapped wide to expose previously flashed cleavage. His eyes focused on a freckle below her throat. He began to feel like they starred in a cheap drama until the body warmth generated within rotated gaze to the forklifts.
“Noel, what can it hurt? If you’re worried about others seeing you, don’t.”
He gazed above her head. “I’m not. Really not. I might have plans.” He sorta lied. He didn’t have plans except to go fishing. No big deal not to fish. He could fish any day.
“My home driveway’s long. Park behind the house. Knock on the kitchen door. I’ll expect you at six.” She pivoted and departed with jacket sides fluttering.
He should have declined. His silence likely made Melanie expect him. He’d probably regret it if he honored
