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“Morris is also interested in increasing security in his plant. He’s approached me to take a look. And he’s very vocal about playing no part in the problems across town. He’s agreed to let you come in undercover. All he asks is that he’s kept in the loop. He wants to know if we find hard proof that someone in his organization has gone to the dark side.”
“Does this mean I’m a double agent?”
“Think of yourself as an investigative operative.”
I thought the title was kind of fancy for someone who was probably going to be wearing a shower cap.
“How do I get started?” I asked Ranger.
“Park your car up front in visitor parking. Use the front entrance and ask at the reception desk for Vicky. She’ll be your inside contact. You’ll work the line today. Morris runs his plant six days a week, so Vicky will find a job for you tomorrow as well.”
“Did you ever find out who told Bogart about me and got me kicked out of the plant?”
“It was one of the women on the line. You went to school with her daughter and she knew you worked as a bounty hunter. She thought you were in there looking for a skip. Bogart was never comfortable with an undercover operative and used it as an excuse to get rid of you. Things should be different here. Morris was in favor of putting someone in place to look around.”
His watch buzzed, and he glanced at the message.
“I have to go,” Ranger said. “I’ll be in touch.”
He gave me a quick kiss and took off.
I licked my lips. I really was going to have to stop the Ranger kissing. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. I got back into my car, drove to the front of the building, and parked in visitor parking.
The front of Morris’s plant was nicely landscaped with flower beds and shrubs. The grass was green and perfect. I looked more closely and saw that it was artificial. Fake grass, fake flowers, fake shrubs. I liked it. It gave the building a theme park quality.
I pushed through the large glass door into the lobby and went to the desk. Everything was bright and colorful in the lobby. Orange couches, white tile floor, lamps that looked like six-foot ice cream cones. And an old-fashioned ice cream pushcart filled with ice cream cups that were free for the taking. The Mo Morris theme was written in large red letters across one of the walls. “Our Ice Cream Is Mo Better!”
There was a young man behind the desk. He was dressed in a white ice cream vendor uniform. I told him I was there to see Vicky, and moments later Vicky appeared. Vicky was also wearing the white ice cream vendor uniform. I followed her down a hall to the women’s locker room. She assigned a locker to me and gave me the key.
“I understand you have experience with the cup dropper and filler,” she said, “so I thought we’d start you there. That way you can look around without the pressure of learning a new job.”
I felt my eyes glaze over at the thought of the cup dropper and filler. I nodded and attempted a smile.
“Oh boy,” I said. “The cup dropper and filler.”
“Of course, everyone on the floor wears a sanitary uniform,” Vicky said. “You’ll find one in your locker. Once you’re suited up just go through the door labeled ‘Yummytown.’ It opens to the manufacturing area. I’ll be waiting on the other side.”
The Mo Morris uniform was almost identical to the Bogart uniform, but it was orange. The slogan printed in black over the door to Yummytown said “Orange you happy to be working in an ice cream factory!”
If I opened the door and saw Oompa-Loompas working the line I was going to run like hell and never come back.
I peeked out and saw that it looked a lot like the Bogart factory. One large warehouse-type room with a lot going on. No Oompa-Loompas in sight. Vicky led me to the cup dropper and filler machine and said she’d be back at ten so I could take a break.
After an hour of looking at the cups going by I found myself dozing off on my feet. I jumped around a little and I sang the Pharrell Williams “Happy” song. Vicky came over and asked if I was okay because she’d noticed I was clapping my hands and dancing. I told her I was being happy, and she went away.
Three cups came down crooked. I fixed them and realized that they were all coming down crooked. I couldn’t set them right fast enough, and down the line the ice cream was plopping onto the side of the cup and oozing over onto the conveyor belt and onto the floor. I looked for the red button that stopped the line and called the foreman, but there was no red button. There were a bunch of switches and a green button.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Yoo-hoo! Somebody?”
No one could hear me over the machinery. I held my breath and flipped the first switch. The line sped up. Cups were coming down one after another and moving along the belt at warp-speed. Ice cream was flying all over the place. The floor was inches deep in ice cream.
A large woman rushed over, threw a switch on the side of the conveyor belt, and everything came to a grinding halt.
“What on earth?” she asked.
“There’s no big red button,” I said.
A man hurried over. He was dressed in one of the white vendor uniforms, and he had a medal pinned to his jacket. He slipped on the ice cream and went down to one knee. He got up and I saw that the medal said “Big Shot.” I guess that meant he was a boss of some sort.
