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“Cupcake, everyone you know has a gun.” He sat up and squinted at me. “Your nose is red.”
TWENTY
MONDAY MORNING I presented myself at the ice cream factory and was assigned to the floor. I was back at the cup dropper and filler machine. I felt comfortable doing this since it had a big red button.
Three Rangeman techs were on the floor adjusting and programming the newly installed cameras. Their purpose was to keep everyone safe, but I suspected their presence was a constant reminder of danger.
I was relieved at ten-thirty, and I went to the break room for coffee. Three women were at one table, and two were at another. I didn’t know any of them. No one looked up and invited me to join them. The atmosphere in the room was subdued. Two murders and an explosion were taking a toll. Things were no longer so jolly. I got coffee and a candy bar and sat by myself. I didn’t want to intrude on the women, and I didn’t think they would tell me anything useful.
Bogart’s assistant, Kathy, found me and told me I was being reassigned to the loading dock. A truck needed loading and they were short a man.
I stripped off my yellow floor outfit and stuffed it into my locker, checked my email, grabbed my sweatshirt, and made my way to the loading dock.
Butchy was packing a small truck with shrink-wrapped orders of assorted ice cream. He stopped packing and ambled over when he saw me.
“I’m guessing you’re my helper,” he said. “Play your cards right and you might get to be foreman, being that I don’t want this job.”
“Why don’t you want the job?”
“Too much work. I’m an easygoing guy. I’m a responsibility shirker.”
“But for now you’re the foreman?”
“Looks that way. I got Noodles helping me load this truck, and when it gets loaded there’s a big rig coming in. Meantime, I need someone to load the Jolly junker over there by the guardhouse.”
I looked toward the guardhouse and saw the old, rust-riddled, faded-glory Jolly Bogart truck.
“We pulled her out of retirement,” Butchy said. “Bogart had her sitting on a hill looking out at Route 1 for the past ten years. Like an antique billboard. We put a new battery in her, and damned if she doesn’t still run. There were some squirrels living in her, but we cleaned it all up except for the one seat that’s a little chewed.”
“Who’s driving it?”
“Stan’s driving it.”
“Does he know this?”
“I didn’t talk to him personally, but someone told him to come to work, so I guess he got it figured out.”
Oh boy.
“Anyway,” Butchy said. “We gotta get the old girl filled with Kidz Kups and Bogart Bars.”
“I’m not going to get locked in the freezer, am I?”
“Hard to tell around here what’s gonna happen next.”
I grabbed the hand truck and pushed it down the hall to the freezer. I punched the code in, and propped the door open with the hand truck. A lot of frigid air was rushing out of the freezer, but I didn’t care. I was taking precautions. I loaded the hand truck and exited the freezer. The door closed with a click behind me, and I gave an involuntary shudder.
I had the Jolly truck almost filled when Stan burst out of the loading dock door. He wasn’t in his clown suit, but his nose was bright red and his hair was every which way. He was waving his arms, and his eyes were bugged out of his head.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” he yelled. “Goddamn, motherfucker, holy shit, and fuck me. Where is it? Where’s the piece-of-shit truck they dragged out of hell to make my life an even worse misery?”
“By the guardhouse,” Butchy said. “How come you’re not in your clown suit?”
“I’ve been reasonable about this,” Stan said. “I went out and did my job while I patiently waited. Well, no more. The gloves are off. No more jolly, jolly, jolly. You want to see jolly? Jolly fucking this!”
He pulled a gun, I ducked behind the guardhouse, and he fired off about fifteen rounds at the truck.
“That’s whack-a-doodle,” Butchy said to Stan when he stopped shooting.
