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Several trucks and a couple white vans were parked in the lot next to the main warehouse room. Men stood around outside in hard hats and work clothes, idly milling around and drinking coffee and talking to each other, and I frowned as I pulled my truck into the lot. They made way and let me park, and I spotted Nicky coming over with a sour look on his face.
“This isn’t good,” I said and stepped out.
Jude followed. Nicky waved a hand and the other guys watched, a motley group of construction workers, some of them young, some of them old, but all them experienced. I knew Nicky would bring his best crew on his job.
“What’s going on?” I asked as he approached.
“We got locked out,” he said, gesturing toward the doors.
“What are you talking about?” Jude asked. “I don’t think we even have a key right now. The doors don’t lock.”
Nicky shook his head and I saw the look in his eye. Something was happening, and something bad. “Come take a look,” he said, and walked off.
I followed, with Jude on my heels. “What the hell is this?” she asked softly.
“Zeke,” I said, and shook my head.
Nicky gestured toward the main doors. A thick chain was slung across them with a padlock holding it all together. I yanked at it, and the chain was heavy and solid. “What the fuck is this?” I said, staring.
“It was here when we showed up,” Nicky said. “The other doors are all the same. All of them chained up. These are the ones we really need opened though, them and the main garage doors in the loading bays so we can get equipment and materials inside.”
“I didn’t put this here,” I said.
“I didn’t either,” Jude said. “Although I doubt you guys were wondering.”
I kicked the door out of frustration and walked off a few paces. Fucking Zeke must’ve come in the middle of the night and chained it shut. My mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. I couldn’t call the bastard and beg him to unlock it—that would only show weakness, and anyway, he’d refuse.
I turned back to Nicky and gestured at him. “Get me bolt cutters.”
He frowned a little bit, but nodded at an older guy standing close by. The guy turned and walked off toward one of the vans, then returned with the cutters. They were heavy and long with black handles and a wicked sharp end to them, like pruning shears, but made for a giant.
“You sure about this?” Nicky asked. “I mean, if you didn’t do it, someone did.”
“We know who did it,” Jude said. “It’s just some stupid dispute. Don’t worry about it.”
Nicky held up his hands. “Look, guys, if there’s some illegal stuff going on—”
“There’s nothing illegal going on at all,” I said, and placed the cutters around the bolt of the padlock. It was thinner than the chain, and I figured it’d cut easier. I worked the cutters, pushing hard, and I felt the metal slowly give way, inch by inch. I strained, arms flexing hard, and finally the lock gave way with a loud clatter. I handed the cutters to Jude and tore off the chain. I tossed it onto the ground and kicked it for good measure.
Nicky gave me an uncertain look as Jude handed the cutters back to one of the workers.
“I’m just saying, I don’t want to get involved in nothing, you know what I mean?” Nicky said, and rubbed at his face. “I know you’re on the up and up, but still, this chain shit’s got me a little nervous.”
“Nicky, we’ve done business before, and you know my reputation. I don’t mess around. I don’t play games. And I don’t do stupid illegal shit. This chain’s a misunderstanding, that’s all. I’ll straighten it out.”
He sighed and gestured at the guys. “All right, fuck it,” he said. “Let’s get building.”
I stood off to the side with Jude as Nicky directed his people. They carried in tools and materials in a steady stream, and I watched their practiced dance for a while before grabbing the bolt cutters again. I went around to each door and recovered the padlocks, until I had a nice little collection of them.
I stood in the shade of a tree that grew behind the factory and stared down at the gathered broken metal. Jude wandered over, arms over her chest, looking back at the parking lot with a worried stare.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “I mean, Zeke did that. I’m guessing it was a warning.”
“I’m sure it was,” I said, and stood up. “So what do you want to do? Let him push us around?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But there’s got to be a better way.”
“There’s not.” I leaned against the tree and watched her. She didn’t totally get it—she didn’t have that kind of trouble with her parents. My dad, he was a drunk, and an abusive one. He hit me my whole life, and even though I could fight back as I got older, that never stopped him. He seemed to relish it when I struggled against him, and that only made him more vicious. I learned that it didn’t matter if I was quiet, or if I was aggressive in return, either way he was going to get his licks in, and I might as well dish it back if I could.
