Darlene
Adapted from the diary of Cheyenne Warrington
I’m trying to picture you now in Newark, pulling your little ruse on Maude. You walk down the exit ramp until she disappears, then double back and catch a ride on the same route you were on. A gleaming, glamorized 18-wheeler, “Darlene” airbrushed on the door, stops to pick you up. You climb aboard and find yourself in a real posh setup; leather seats and door panels, and wood veneer on a dashboard arrayed with electronics. It seems more like a Rolls Royce than a working woman’s cargo hauler, and the lady in the driver’s seat introduces herself as Darlene. She has a face that suits a woman for her soul’s screen and long luxuriant hair like yours. She’s dressed in camo coveralls from the Army Navy store, and doesn’t seem so out-of-place driving that big Mack tractor.
“This is quite a rig,” you say, once you’ve gotten acquainted.
“That a scanner?” you ask.
“Yep. Sure is.”
“That pick up the police band?”
“Why would you want to know that?” she demands.
“There was a bust, up on the Skyway, helicopters, police convoy. It seemed like it was a real big deal.”
“I think I did hear some of that chatter. Wasn’t much to it though, just a lot of positioning data.”
“I was caught in the middle of it and I’d like to know more about it.”
“You don’t say. Have a look at my laptop, then,” Darlene says.
You look around for the laptop.
“Just push that blue button there,” Darlene says, “it’ll slide out of the dock for you.”
“Lady who picked me up at the tunnel seemed to know a lot about it. You should have seen the look in her eye watching them take that guy away.”
“You think she had something to with it?”
“Hard to tell,” you say, “but she sure raised my downy hairs.”
You push the button. The computer slides out on a robot arm that holds it solidly in front of you. You turn it on and wait for it to boot.
“Fuckin A! What a setup. Do all the drivers get this treatment?”
“No, just me and my dad. We run the business from the road.”
Darlene peeks at the screen and offers you advice.
“There you go. Just google in ‘police blotter’ and take your pick of jurisdictions.”
“Damn, nothing on it yet. Seems they’re several days behind.”
“Tell you what, I’ve got an even better idea, you think she’s all that suspicious, send a message to crime stoppers. They keep it confidential, so you’re in no danger as a witness.”
You find the website and start writing. I hitched a ride out of… said her name was Maude Barker… Alabama plate number… seemed like it added up to no good.
You finish typing the message and hit the send button.
“There, that does it. Thanks a lot, Darlene. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
“I was meaning to ask you,” Darlene says, “if you need some cash for the road, I’d be glad to have your help today.”
“What kind of help are we talking about?”
“You know how to use a pneumatic wrench?” she asks.
“No, but I’m pretty handy with tools.”
“Nothing to it, then,” she says. “You’ll do fine. All you do is loosen the bolts. The forklifts will do the rest,”
“Telephone, call Dad,” she says. It seems to be voice activated, maybe through the computer.
“Hi, it’s me, Darlene, you there yet? I’m about an hour away. Listen, no need to go by the labor pool, I’ve got someone who can give us a hand. See you when you get there.”
A picket line is outside the gates when they arrive at the shut-down plant. The signs the picketers carry have a unified message: Don’t take our jobs! The people are peaceful but the mood is tense and it’s clear they won’t let anyone past the plant gate.
“Telephone, call Dad,” Darlene says once more. “Hi, it’s me again, we’re at the plant but the gates are blocked. Someone tipped the workers off. I’ll call Jeff and have him call the Sheriff’s office.”
Darlene turns to you and says, “You’re not from a union family, are you?”
“No, but I can see why some people are.”
“Yeah, well, you may be right, looking at things from their perspective. But we don’t see it that way. Do you?”
“How do you see it?” you ask.
“To us it’s creative destruction. We’re clearing the arteries, so to speak, of whatever slows the circulation. It keeps the body healthy, you know.”
“So we’re here to tear up the plant, then. Is that what you’re talking about?”
“You got a problem with that?” she asks.
“I might if didn’t need the work. But a body’s got to eat.”
“That’s the spirit, girl. Cuz once the Sheriff’s Department comes things are gonna get dicey.”
“We’re not gonna stick around for that, are we?”
“No way, we’re outta here,” she says. “Just as soon as I call Jeff. Then, I’ll take you to lunch. Sound good?”
The truck stop lunch is nothing special, but Darlene is a revelation. She’s proud of her accomplishments and seems to like having her brains picked, and you’re on them like a zombie. It appears what Maude was talking about — gutting the economy for profit — is exactly what Darlene does. Hearing her talk about how it’s done, it’s clear why she asked about union ties.
“I don’t get it,” you say. “How did a famous brand like that end up going bankrupt?”
“I don’t know all the ins and outs of this particular case, but usually the way it works… The firm that buys the company sees that it’s undervalued, has a store of cash and a large pension fund. Getting control of the company means getting control of the cash and the fund for further acquisitions. You with me?”
“Yeah, sounds like a good investment.”
“Exactly,” she says. “The acquiring firm borrows money to buy out the stock. Then, it cuts expenses, uses the cash flow to pay off the debt, and the assets to fund further acquisitions. Once they’ve gotten their desired return they can either resell it, if profitable, or liquidate the assets.”
“So they take a going concern,” you say, “and turn it into one that’s not. What’s the benefit of -?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“I would if I was working there. So where do you come in?
“We buy up all the machinery, and sell it overseas at a tidy profit.”
“How do you get to bid on that?” you ask.
“My brother and I have the inside track. He works in private equity, and I was at Lehman before it folded.”
“And the people who work there?”
“At Lehman?” she says. “They -”
“No, the ones at the plant. What about them?”
“My dad was just a teamster before we got into this business. Had nothing but his tractor and his work ethic. Now, two years later, he’s a millionaire. If he can do it, so can they. Anyway it’s time to go. We have to meet him at the plant.”
Blood, stones, and broken pickets are all that remain of the protest you saw outside the plant gate before you went to lunch. They’re wide open now and a fleet of trucks can be seen inside as Josie rolls over the litter making her way to the plant. You wonder why people’s heads were broken to allow some Wall Street bandits to strip a community asset, but you go with her anyway because you need the money.
The plant is huge. A lot of work, but nothing to it. You apply the pneumatic wrench to the bolts and let it do the work for you. You build a good lead on the forklifts before you run to take a break.
You’re just washing up as you hear the sounds. The racket of a million ravens abruptly taking flight. The muffled cries and shouts. Some in Spanish. Some in English. Occasional plunks of lead on steel. Silent guns in massacre raging. Cries and groans of men dying. You can’t help. You can’t go out. You rush back into the stall. You step onto the toilet seat, knowing you can’t make noise. You hear footsteps coming closer. Another shout. A heavy thud. Dead weight sriking against a door you had to pull to open. Maybe that will keep them out.
The light. They’ll come. They’ll see the light. You pull out your knife, step down, step out. You douse the light. Spanish voices. Ugly voices. Ugly laughter. Coming closer. Small shocks one after another. One just outside the door. Just for good measure. Footsteps running. Engines revving. Wheels spinning. Then dead silence. Gone.
You set your back against the door. You push with all your strength. The dead weight slides away. You look about. Machinery. You listen. Not a sound. You step passed the body. You keep low, moving among the machines. Among the blood. Among the dead. You find Darlene’s headless torso. They came for Darlene’s head? You wonder. Why would they do that? Or was it yours they wanted? Was it Maude that wanted it? How did she find out so soon? Will she know she wasn’t me? Will she come after me again? You do your best to keep a cool head. Should you find a phone and call it it? What if Maude found out? You decide it’s better to walk away. But your stuff is in her truck.
You rifle Darlene’s pockets for the keys. You head out to the loading dock, take what’s yours plus the cash from her wallet, leaving some behind, to make it look like she wasn’t robbed, and you go.