Still, Carl
found himself staring blankly at the rather large screen in front of him, not
taking into account what was actually on, but just letting the low sound wash
over him as he thought longingly of being home sound asleep in his bed instead,
his wife’s light snoring in his ear as her hair got caught in his mouth or up
his nose. It’d been over three weeks since he’d been home early enough to eat
dinner with her and their daughters, to hear how everyone’s day had been, to
argue about whose turn it was to wash the dishes or just to sit in front of his
own TV, a beer in hand, and not pay attention to his own set as he listened to
nothing in particular.
“Want something?” one of his coworkers asked, stuck here late like him, and Carl looked up at Luke to give him a slight, tired smile.
“Nah,” he answered, waving a hand at the vending machine in the corner that housed a variety of sports drinks, flavored waters, and energy shakes. “Not in the mood for anything but a bed.”
Luke sighed in agreement, and made his selection. “Know what you mean. These late night shifts when the shipments come in kill me.” He opened his drink and took a long swallow. Then smirked. “And if they don’t, my girlfriend does when I finally get in the door.”
“She stays up?” the last member of their moving crew asked, coming back into the room from making a call to check on his babysitter. Carl knew George was raising a small boy by himself, the mother having run off with a younger man before the kid was out of diapers. George hated these long nights more than Carl and Luke combined, hated having to ask a babysitter to stay over practically all night and hated not putting his boy to bed, but the overtime they got paid during these few weeks was worth the hassle, just barely.
Carl was surprised himself. Sure, sometimes when he crawled into the bed it woke up Patti, but she barely did more than grumble and roll over. At that time of the night, after a full day at her own job and being the only parent in the house to sort out whatever their daughters decided to argue about that day, there was no way his wife had the time or energy to stay up waiting for him to come home.
Luke snorted, but was still smiling slightly. “Sets the alarm for when I’m supposed to get in, and then hits the snooze if I’m not there yet until she hears the car pull up. Then she comes out to berate me, heats up some food, sits there and yells at me some more while I eat it about how stupid it is to sign up for these graveyard shifts just to earn a few extra dollars that we really kind of need, and then makes me take a shower ‘cause I ‘smell like a bloated fish.’ Then I finally get to go the hell to sleep.”
Carl laughed lightly. “I think my wife’d smack me upside the head if I suggested she do the same,” he replied wryly, and George snickered. Luke saluted them both with the rest of his drink and then chugged it, tossing the empty can into the trash, where it missed widely enough that he and George laughed louder at the scowl on Luke’s face as he grudgingly stalked over and picked up the can again disgustedly.
The beeping of the intercom caused Carl to motion to one of the others to turn down the sound on the TV, even though it was already quiet enough to barely hear. Pressing the button on the side to talk into it, he cleared his throat slightly. “Yes, sir?” he spoke into the speaker.
As usual, the woman’s voice that came on the other end was perfectly clear, and sounded as crisp as though her day had started four hours ago and it was not the middle of the night. “The chairman says that the merchandise has now been unloaded from the docks. Please retrieve all the boxes in warehouse eleven and deliver it to storage room seven.”
The same instructions as every other night, and Carl was actually kind of impressed that the woman didn’t sound as bored saying her instructions as he was of hearing them. Pressing the button again, he replied, “Will do.” The line went dead and the intercom silent. He turned around and shared an exasperated look with the other two, shaking his head. “Come on, then.”
“So eager to freeze,” Luke grumbled, but only halfheartedly, and then they all left the room, glad that the last week of this season’s shipments was almost behind them.
“Want something?” one of his coworkers asked, stuck here late like him, and Carl looked up at Luke to give him a slight, tired smile.
“Nah,” he answered, waving a hand at the vending machine in the corner that housed a variety of sports drinks, flavored waters, and energy shakes. “Not in the mood for anything but a bed.”
Luke sighed in agreement, and made his selection. “Know what you mean. These late night shifts when the shipments come in kill me.” He opened his drink and took a long swallow. Then smirked. “And if they don’t, my girlfriend does when I finally get in the door.”
“She stays up?” the last member of their moving crew asked, coming back into the room from making a call to check on his babysitter. Carl knew George was raising a small boy by himself, the mother having run off with a younger man before the kid was out of diapers. George hated these long nights more than Carl and Luke combined, hated having to ask a babysitter to stay over practically all night and hated not putting his boy to bed, but the overtime they got paid during these few weeks was worth the hassle, just barely.
Carl was surprised himself. Sure, sometimes when he crawled into the bed it woke up Patti, but she barely did more than grumble and roll over. At that time of the night, after a full day at her own job and being the only parent in the house to sort out whatever their daughters decided to argue about that day, there was no way his wife had the time or energy to stay up waiting for him to come home.
Luke snorted, but was still smiling slightly. “Sets the alarm for when I’m supposed to get in, and then hits the snooze if I’m not there yet until she hears the car pull up. Then she comes out to berate me, heats up some food, sits there and yells at me some more while I eat it about how stupid it is to sign up for these graveyard shifts just to earn a few extra dollars that we really kind of need, and then makes me take a shower ‘cause I ‘smell like a bloated fish.’ Then I finally get to go the hell to sleep.”
Carl laughed lightly. “I think my wife’d smack me upside the head if I suggested she do the same,” he replied wryly, and George snickered. Luke saluted them both with the rest of his drink and then chugged it, tossing the empty can into the trash, where it missed widely enough that he and George laughed louder at the scowl on Luke’s face as he grudgingly stalked over and picked up the can again disgustedly.
The beeping of the intercom caused Carl to motion to one of the others to turn down the sound on the TV, even though it was already quiet enough to barely hear. Pressing the button on the side to talk into it, he cleared his throat slightly. “Yes, sir?” he spoke into the speaker.
As usual, the woman’s voice that came on the other end was perfectly clear, and sounded as crisp as though her day had started four hours ago and it was not the middle of the night. “The chairman says that the merchandise has now been unloaded from the docks. Please retrieve all the boxes in warehouse eleven and deliver it to storage room seven.”
The same instructions as every other night, and Carl was actually kind of impressed that the woman didn’t sound as bored saying her instructions as he was of hearing them. Pressing the button again, he replied, “Will do.” The line went dead and the intercom silent. He turned around and shared an exasperated look with the other two, shaking his head. “Come on, then.”
“So eager to freeze,” Luke grumbled, but only halfheartedly, and then they all left the room, glad that the last week of this season’s shipments was almost behind them.
Carl froze with the doors to the warehouse only partially opened, and ignored for the moment the quizzical looks he was sure Luke and George were sending him and each other behind his back. He was the one with the key, and so he was the only one of them so far who could see that their day, or night as it happened to be, was not going to go as planned.
Inside, through the small opening, Carl could see the gleam of the delivery truck’s headlights on the polished wooden floor of their employer’s personal warehouse. The light bounced off of a fluorescent bulb that had escaped from the ceiling, its plastic casing surprisingly not cracked from the hard floor, but one side of the bulb was darkened and dim from the damage of the impact. A sheet that he knew was normally used to cover the merchandise was half-draped over the bulb, as though it had slipped off a crate and fallen there. He could hear the vents in the walls heating the building to keep the merchandise inside from freezing, could see the spirals of warmth escaping now from the opening he was standing in front of, could even feel the warmth himself through his coat and on his face.
What Carl couldn’t see or hear was the merchandise, because it wasn’t there. A hand on his arm brought him out of his frozen state, and he turned his head mechanically to look at George, who was trying to glance around him. “What, we got a double shipment or something?” he asked, peering into the opening.
“It’s gone,” he answered. It wasn’t much of an answer, he knew, but Carl couldn’t seem to get his brain to work, the shock of finding the warehouse empty still making his thoughts and movements feel as stiff as a frozen corpse.
“What’s gone?” Luke asked, still behind both him and George. “Can we hurry up and at least get into the warehouse? It’s freezing out here. That wind coming off the water could turn spit into an icicle.”
George, ignoring both of them, opened the doors a little wider, and then turned back to Carl quickly in panic. Instead of the shock making him slow, George looked like he was about to jump out of his skin and run as far away as possible at speeds only an Olympic sprinter could match. “He means it’s gone,” George sputtered. He yanked his hands away from the door suddenly, as though afraid the metal would burn him. “The place’s empty.”
“Oh crap,” Luke blurted out, as he realized what George was saying, which was milder than what was running through Carl’s head but still summed up the situation pretty well. Luke strode up to where they were and peered through the gap as well, like he needed to see it to believe that their job really had gone that badly. Not that Carl could blame him.
It was a few minutes before any of them were willing to talk again. George wandered off, and Carl knew he was lighting up another cigarette. He was trying to cut back, usually only had the one before they left and then one after they were finished before heading home, but apparently their entire warehouse full of merchandise turning up missing was enough for the man to have another. It was almost enough for Carl to ask to bum one off him, even though he didn’t smoke. No time like the present to start.
When George came back, Luke reached over and pulled the doors closed, even though he’d wanted in there earlier. Carl looked at him askance. “We could at least warm up a bit before heading back,” he pointed out. Heading back wasn’t something Carl really wanted to think about too much; he could see the pink slip now.
But Luke shook his head. “Shouldn’t touch anything until police go through there,” he muttered.
After a second, George nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, Carl, they’re gonna want to call the cops about this, try and track the stuff down. Let’s just get back in the truck and explain what happened.”
He sounded about as enthusiastic about that as Carl was, and no doubt Luke was too, but Carl knew they were both right. He sighed, reached over to the padlock and locked it up again, not that it’d done much good anyways, and the three of them piled back into the truck, where at least there was a heater, and Carl started driving back to the company, agreeing with the quiet cursing he could hear from Luke in the seat behind him.
An idea came to him about halfway back, and he knew the other two were going to protest, but Carl figured there was no need for all three of them to be the messenger about this screw-up.
“Look,” he finally ventured, once they were pulling into the garage for the trucks, “why don’t you two just go on home, alright?” Naturally, they both looked at him like he’d confessed to stealing the merchandise himself.
Luke shook his head. “Of course not, man. Ain’t like any of us did anything wrong. We’re all grown men, I think we can survive the trip in the fancy elevator to tell the boss his stuff got stolen.”
George patted him on the shoulder as they got out. “Seriously, you didn’t think we’d let you feed yourself to the wolves while we scurried on home, did you?”
Carl snorted at that image in his head before speaking. “If it’s nothing, then there’s no reason for all of us to go up,” he pointed out reasonably, and then shook his head when George opened his mouth again. “Nah, listen. I’m the guy in charge of delivering the merchandise, I’m the senior employee, and I’m the one with the keys to the warehouse. They’re not going to hear anything from you two that I won’t already be telling them myself.”
He turned his head to Luke. “Get home early and turn your girlfriend’s alarm off so she can sleep through the night for once.” And then to George, “And tell your babysitter she can sleep in her own house tonight instead of on your lumpy, old sofa.”
They argued about it for another few minutes. George had been on the job almost as long as Carl, although he hadn’t signed up for the overtime hours until later, and Carl knew he felt just as responsible as Carl did about this mess. Luke looked like he was only protesting because George was after the first minute, but he still didn’t walk away until Carl had convinced them both that he was fine with delivering the news himself. After those few minutes though, both of the guys gave him nods of appreciation and started walking up the ramp to where their cars were parked on the level above. Carl turned instead to the door leading into the main building.
The ride up the elevator was too silent. Carl had half been expecting corny music to be playing, or some boring news station or something, but there wasn’t a peep. It occurred to him partway up to the top floor that it was still the middle of the night, and that the chairman might not even be in right then. Probably wasn’t. In fact, why was Carl wasting his time going up this elevator in the middle of the night when it was likely no one else was still here? He could be on his own way home early right now, maybe in time to catch enough sleep that he’d be awake before Sarah and June went off to school in the morning.
He’d almost convinced himself to push the floor for parking instead of stepping through them when the doors opened, but something made him sigh and get off the elevator to check. Pride in his job, maybe. It might not be a very exciting career, being a mover, not something he’d wanted to do with his life, but it was still his job and he had an obligation to inform his employer when he couldn’t complete his job, even if common sense told Carl the building was empty and that the merchandise would still be stolen in the morning.
There were lights on, and he could hear people talking to each other, or into phones, as he stepped out into the room. Huh. Apparently, the upper management of the company all turned into night owls or something during shipping season. Explained why the woman over the intercom always sounded so awake.
A little nervous now, but more relieved that he could just get this over with and go home knowing one way or the other whether he would still be employed in the morning, Carl walked over to the chairman’s outer door and knocked.
There was a pause of voices, and then the door opened. A woman, professionally dressed in one of those business suits most women who worked on top floors wore, looked at him in mild surprise. “Is there some kind of problem?” she asked.
Carl knew immediately from her voice that this was the woman he’d just been thinking about, who gave him orders on the intercom, and that she was giving him a look that said she knew exactly who he was and couldn’t understand why he was at the door instead of doing his job. Carl sighed internally, but simply said, “There’s a problem with the merchandise. Could I speak to the chairman?”
He got a raised eyebrow from her, but she nodded and ushered him into the office. “Wait just a minute while I tell him you’re here,” she replied, and then walked to the other end of the room, knocked lightly on the door there, and stepped through. Carl looked around while he was alone, but other than a picture of what looked like the woman and someone who was probably her sister on the desk by the computer, there wasn’t much else to look at. There was a spreadsheet open on the screen, but Carl didn’t really care enough to look closer and see what was on it. Some filing cabinets in the corner, and a few generic pictures on the wall, made up the rest of the décor.
The door on the other side of the room opened again, and she ushered him through without speaking, closing the door behind him while she stepped back into her own office, leaving him and the chairman alone.
Carl had never talked to the chairman in person before, only over one or two phone calls, but even in that short amount of time he’d come to understand the other man wasn’t someone who wasted time on anything but business. He’d barely started walking over to the desk and chair on the other side of the spacious room when the chairman started talking.
“What’s the problem?” he asked. His eyes were surprisingly sharp, and there were quite a few papers covering a large portion of the desk in front of him, but the chairman had set his pen down and seemed to be giving Carl his full attention. He wasn’t looking at Carl like he was a lesser person because of the differences in their job titles and salaries. In fact, Carl found himself liking the man, and wished he had better news to share.
Rather than waste any more of the man’s time, he responded in the same direct way and answered honestly. “The merchandise was missing.”
There was silence in the office for a few moments, and Carl tried not to sweat as he stood there and just let the man gather his thoughts. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Tell me what happened.”
Carl shook his head. “I don’t really have anything else to tell you,” he replied, apologetically. “We got the call from your assistant to pick up the merchandise from warehouse eleven, and everything was locked up as usual when we arrived, but when we opened the doors the place was empty.”
“Who has the key? Was the lock busted, or look tampered with? Did you or the others actually enter the warehouse?” The questions came rapid-fire, the man obviously upset, and Carl blew a slow breath through his nose before answering.
“I’m the one who was issued the key,” he admitted, feeling like he was signing his own resignation, and pulled the key out of his pocket to demonstrate and hand it over the desk to the chairman. “And no, nothing seemed wrong with the lock. It even locked back up like it’s supposed to when we left. All we touched was the lock and the doors, and we didn’t even open them all of the way,” he explained. “We thought we shouldn’t mess anything up for the police.”
The chairman nodded, looking thoughtfully calm now, and Carl held his breath. So far, the other man had seemed much more interested in getting information from him than blaming Carl for his warehouse being robbed. He began to relax, thinking he’d be spared his job after all.
The gunshot took him completely by surprise. He looked over at the chairman, but the man’s eyes were still calm and composed, and then he looked down at the puddle dripping onto the carpet beneath him. Suddenly, the office tilted and went fuzzy. And then he couldn’t see anything.
“…that’s fine.” Carl could still hear the other man talking, dimly, like a song coming through a bad station. “Yes, get the other… as well. Make sure they didn’t… anyone else…” He tried to listen, tried to speak, tried to think. “No, just like we wanted… Move the body… we’ll call the police… insurance will…”
He couldn’t understand whoever was talking. Carl thought dimly about how much he wanted to get home and crawl into bed next to his wife. He was so very tired.
