Cemetery Strike Read online

  “Yeah, well.” She touched my shirt again, using a little more pressure this time. “It was a weird time for me,” she said. “I was adjusting to getting Chris back. I miss you.”

  “So.”

  “So I wanted to see you,” she said. “I came last night to see you, but, um.” She licked the side of her lips. “Can you believe the goddamn president said your name?”

  “If you want to talk, I can give you call later. I really have to get back to work.”

  “I know what you’ve been doing,” she said before I could even turn away fully.

  As confused as I was, I knew I didn’t want to hear what else she had to say. “Go home,” I said. “I think I hear your kid calling you.”

  “He’s safe.”

  “Go home, Crystal.”

  “I slid under the gate last night,” she said quick. Only her skinny ass could fit. “I thought maybe I’d surprise you back there while you cleaned up some blood or dug some holes.”

  “We can’t dig holes. That’s the whole point. And it’s not a murder scene. It’s a cemetery.”

  “I followed you to that dead guy,” she said. “I saw you.”

  “You’re talking too loud.”

  She said, “I saw what you did.”

  I was nervous as hell, hating what she was about to tell me. I said, “You saw me eat Chinese.”

  “Yeah,” she said, and laughed. “He was Chinese?”

  Then Crystal leaned her whole body into me and put her hands in my pockets. She’d painted her eyes pink, and her hair was pulled back to show that amazing neck of hers. She stood up on her toes, whispered into my ear, “I saw you on that dead body, snorting its insides. I saw you get high off it. You had no goddamn idea I was right there, and you were in it for hours. I tried to wake you, but you ran.”

  I said, “Crystal, I’ll see you after work. I can’t stand around all day talking like this.” I stepped back so that her hands slid out of my pockets.

  She said, “Come straight to the apartment, if you know what I mean.”

  “I fucking know what you mean.”

  I stood there not really wanting to look at any of the guys. I didn’t know if they heard her confess that she’d snuck into the cemetery and saw me there. I must’ve looked like I’d just had my heart broken, because right after Crystal left the Hole of a Bitch came up to me and said, real slow, “Who’s that stank ass bitch?”

  “Crystal Meth,” I said.

  “That’s her name? She’s disgusting. I wanna punch that bitch in the tit.”

  The best thing I ever had, something that didn’t leave me sick and desperate in the morning, something that opened me up instead of closed me, and Crystal was about to change it. For the first time, I was content, healthy, not supporting anyone else’s addictions, and not taking from anyone living, and it was about to be made different by a girl.

  “Did she threaten you?” the Bitch said. He was genuinely pissed off. “If you want me to go slap her let me know.”

  I just wanted her as far away from me as possible, so I didn’t say anything.

  Sonny came next. He said, “You know I’m supposed to report anything suspicious to your counselor or it’s my ass.” Sonny rubbed his eyes. “I’m not gonna call him this time, because I think that was some kind of lovers’ quarrel. It don’t concern me or anyone else. My advice to you, however, is to stay away from her.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Good idea.” But she knew about my secret, and she was the type of person who would show up wherever I was until she got a piece of it.

  “Anyway,” Sonny said, “what I really needed to talk to you about is that our great and powerful union leader wants to see you after work. I have no idea what it’s about. But as the union rep I can sit in on the meeting.”

  “He wants to see me? Did I do something wrong?”

  “He doesn’t know about all the breaks you take, if that’s what you mean.”

  I said, “I’m kinda busy tonight.”

  “He said he’d be here right before we close the gates, and if not to just wait in the trailer.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  So I was stuck having to meet with yet another person I didn’t want to see. You appear on the news next to the president and all of a sudden everyone wants a piece of you.

  ––––––

  Me and Sonny sat in the trailer after work waiting for Mr. Slippery Peters to arrive. Sonny kept rubbing his eyes and massaging his temples. I kept looking out the window, hoping Crystal wasn’t going to show up because I was taking too long to get to her apartment.

  When Mr. Peters finally showed, he said, “Oh, Sonny. Thanks for keeping our man company. You can leave now. I have the keys to lock up.”

  Sonny just rubbed his eyes. He said, “I feel compelled to stay. I’m the union rep, and I can sit in on any meeting, be it disciplinary or otherwise.”

  “I’m the union leader,” Mr. Peterdick said.

  “And I’m John’s district rep,” Sonny said. “I’m staying.”

  Mr. Peters turned to me like that whole exchange did happened. He said, “John! The Man Who Said Too Much. How have you been?” He said it like we’d tag teamed girls in high school.

  I knew how he’d been. His tie almost nipped the floor, the tip brushing the ground, getting nice and perky.

  “You’re quite a celebrity,” Mr. Slippery Peters continued. “The whole country has seen your face. The whole world.”

  Sonny said, “What is this meeting about?”

  Mr. Dick started doing that politician point with his knuckles. And he was pointing his knuckles at me. “The union and the board have finally scheduled a meeting to negotiate terms. I have a feeling it’s because of that interview they saw.”

  Sonny just held his head, rocking it back and forth.

  Mr. Slippery Dick went on. “John, I want you to attend this meeting. I feel that you are the face of this strike. The president has seen you. The board. You’d be an asset to our negotiations. Now, the meeting is tonight.” He looked at his diamond-studded watch. “Actually, in a little over an hour.”

  Sonny said, “Why do you want to involve John in your politics? He’s a good man.”

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. I’m busy tonight.” I had Crystal to deal with. I knew I was gonna have to show her how to huff, and I didn’t want to. In fact, I didn’t even want to think about it.

  “You’ll be compensated,” Mr. Slippery Dick said. “Compensated greatly. I can give you a bonus out of my own pocket. How’s a year’s salary sound? Cash. No taxes. No social security. You don’t even have to pay union dues.”

  Sonny leaned forward. He said, “What are you asking him to do?”

  “John,” Mr. Slippery Dick said, “I simply need you to sit in on the meeting and say one word when the time is right.” He wiped his lips. “When the board gives me a number to consider, you stand up, look out the corner of your eyes, and say one word: ‘More.’ That’s all you have to do. I’ll give you half the money now, half after.”

  That was money I could use to get my own apartment. To get clothes. Shoes. Food that tastes good. And all just for demanding what I wanted my whole life anyway. I said, “How long will it take?” I had to know, because I still had Crystal Meth ready to snatch everything away from me, even this.

  “An hour, tops. The best part is it takes place right here, in the Woods Edge trailer.”

  “Alright,” I said, standing, putting out my hand to shake the sweatiest, slipperiest, snakiest hand I’d ever touched.

  Sonny said, “John, you should consider this a little more.”

  “Go home to your wife,” I said. “I got this.”

  Sonny rubbed his face. He shuffled some papers on the table. Then he got up, put on his coat and hat. It still didn’t look like he was going to leave, though, even after he put on his gloves and flipped up his collar. Finally, he said, “I really wish you wouldn’t get mixed up in all this. I understand why you gotta do
it, all that money. It could change your life for the better, if you use it the right way. But I wish you didn’t have to do it.”

  With Sonny gone I thought about what to tell Crystal. Going over it in my mind made those devil horns pulse. It felt like a lie, telling her the truth. It felt like something my Moe of a father would say. Hey Crystal, I have to stay late at work. I really do. I know I said I’d be there, but I’m still at work. The boss’s boss needs me to stand up and say a word after he gets slipped a piece of paper. Oh, and I’m gonna make a year’s salary on it. It’d be a tribute to my father, saying that. So I didn’t even call her. I just hoped that she wouldn’t show up in the middle of the meeting.

  With us alone in the trailer, Mr. Peters said, “I guess you want that money now. I’ll get it. I also have a suit for you to wear. Straighten up the trailer while I’m gone.”

  Alone, my adrenaline started feeding me. “More,” I said out loud. I wanted to practice. “More.” I sat down, pulled my seat in, scooted it back, stood up, looked across the table, said, “More.”

  I was getting giddy as the money got closer. I couldn’t believe my job was to demand more. “More, motherfucker.” I felt like a gangster saying that shit.

  Mr. Peters came back with two canvas tote bags. One had the suit. The other had half the money. There were stacks of bills. I didn’t count it, but it was definitely more money than I’d ever seen before.

  I must’ve stared in the money bag for a long time, because Mr. Peters said, “Put on the suit. We don’t have that much time left.”

  “You got the keys for the bathroom?” I asked.

  “Get changed here. The rest of the men should arrive shortly.”

  So, in a corner of the trailer I got undressed in front of Mr. Peters right after he put a bag of cash in my hand. I did it as quick as I could, just in case he was trying to sneak peeks. With the suit on, I said, “You mind if I don’t wear the tie?” I couldn’t tie that fancy knots, and I didn’t want him making mine while it was on me.

  “The tie is a must,” he said. “It makes you professional, strong, secure. And it makes us all uniform. Here.” He wrapped the tie around my neck, looped it around the front. I was worried about him tying it too long, but he ended up tying it on me so that the part that showed was above my bellybutton.

  After that we moved the table into the middle of the room and put six folding chairs on our side and six on theirs. Mr. Peterdick brewed a pot of coffee and then put it on the table with some styrofoam cups and sugar packets. He also put a stack of index cards and a handful of pens on the far side.

  Then the union Moes started showing up. Somehow they knew which side of the table to sit on. None of them even looked at me. They all just sat around like props, waiting patiently to be told what to do. They looked around quietly. They adjusted their ties. They looked at their watches.

  Then the board Moes came, all dressed in the same navy blue the union wore. And that I wore. The most amazing thing about it, just as amazing as me being there with a bag of money, was the last guy who walked in.

  Guess. Guess who sat across the table, right in the middle of the other board members, directly across from Mr. Slippery Dick. You know who he is. People all over the world know him. Most people in the city work for him. It was Mr. City, the guy with the dead son, the first to be sent away when Woods Edge first locked its gates.

  Think about it. The cemetery strike started right when Mr. City had to bury his son. It couldn’t be a coincidence. And there’s so much more to it.

  Mr. City looked at me and shivered a thought. You could tell he was trying to figure out something, like where he knew me from or why I was there.

  Once everyone sat, Mr. City formally addressed Mr. Peters. He said, “First, I’d like to thank you for meeting under such short notice. We understand how an ambitious person such as yourself doesn’t have time like this to take out of his busy schedule. We also appreciate you unlocking the gates to host this meeting.”

  “We aim to please,” Mr. Slippery said.

  And for some reason it wasn’t until then that I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. Like I had said, “We aim to please” to a man whose dead son didn’t get the respect that a little bit of dirt could give. All of a sudden, it felt like I was on the wrong side of the table, even with the money underneath my chair.

  Mr. City said, “I’m going to try to keep my personal feelings aside, but as you know, very well, perhaps, that at the time of the first meeting I was grieving the untimely death of my son.”

  Peterdick may as well have been jerking off both himself and me under the table. That’s the type of grin he had.

  Mr. City continued. “So, all personal feelings aside, the board still feels that your demands are unreasonable.”

  Peterdick blinked hard. He said, “Then what are you willing to offer?”

  Mr. City took out his phone as if to look at notes he typed. Without even pressing the screen, he put it back in his pocket. Then he took out a handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket and put that back in without doing anything with it. Then he rubbed his hands together and said, “Nothing. We’re prepared to offer you nothing.”

  Seeing both sides, I finally thought of what was really going on. These two men had some kind of private feud in which they would not give in to each other. And, because of it, they had desecrated death beyond even what the devil was capable of. They reduced human decency to pennies, and not even their own, all for some kind of mutual vendetta.

  “We’re not giving in to your demands,” Mr. City said, clarifying himself since Peters still owned the shadow of a smile.

  “Then why are we here?” Mr. Slippery Dick said, fully cringing.

  “The reason I’m here is because I received a phone call from the president asking me as a personal favor to reach out to you. I told him I would. However, that does not mean I am giving in. If you have anything to say on your part, you can do so now, since I did say I would report back to him.”

  I was on the wrong side of a table that had no right side. And I had done it for money when my drug was free.

  “You can end all of this,” Mr. Dick said.

  “Make no mistake. We are not giving in to your demands. Not now. Not ever.”

  Mr. Slippery Dick scratched his head. He dug in, picking that soft spot that babies have, like he wanted to dig out piece of his brain. He said, “The smell of death and disease is ruining tourism in the city, isn’t it?” Mr. Slippery said. “It’s a shame our strike is affecting your hotels and restaurants.”

  “I won’t lose this,” Mr. City calmly said. “I don’t have anyone to pass my legacy to anymore, and even with all the losses we’re taking, my money won’t run out for another few lifetimes.”

  Witnessing this, it was quite unlike watching warm and wet public sex.

  Mr. City said, “I’ve come to terms with my son resting in a beautiful cemetery upstate instead of at the family plot. Somewhere much more spacious and more prestigious than Woods Edge. You are aware that my son was run down by a dark sedan, aren’t you? Come to think of it––you have a dark sedan, don’t you?”

  “Make a real offer!” Mr. Peters demanded, his face red as sin. “You wouldn’t want the media to find out that you called a meeting so you can make horrendous accusations that can’t be proved.”

  Mr. City took out something from his inner pocket. It looked like a piece of a Mercedes that had been perfectly molded into a pen. Mr. City wrote a word on an index card, folded it in half, and slid the card in front of him out of arm’s reach. A man on our side of the table got up to retrieve the card.

  My heart started pounding like I had to perform some great soliloquy in front of the entire United States. The man with the card handed it to Mr. Slippery Dick, who unfolded it.

  “Murder,” it said.

  And I said, “More!” I fucking yelled it. Then I stood up and did it right. “More!”

  The whole room just looked at me. The Moes were h
uman, after all.

  “Can you tell the Too Much Guy to take a seat,” Mr. City said. “I think he missed his cue.” Mr. City took the stack of index cards and put them farther from himself, closer to us, like he wanted us to cut a deck of cards, like the game hadn’t already begun. “I came here as a favor to the president,” he said. “Not to offer you the power you’d kill for.”

  Mr. Slippery Dick’s face glowed red. He had that card between his pinched fingers. He stood up, stormed halfway across the table, stopped, and picked up the coffee pot. The thing was full of dark black coffee. No one had touched it or been offered any since the meeting had begun. With the pot in his hand, he shook so much that it splashed on his sleeve. I don’t know what the hell was with him and coffee pots.

  One of the suits on the other side of the table, a big bodyguard-looking Moe with chest muscles so big it looked like he had a bulletproof vest under his suit, stood up like he was gonna jump in front of Mr. City if the pot came their way.

  Mr. City leaned back and said, “It’s your move.”

  I didn’t feel like being in a trailer in a cemetery with dead bodies all around when bullets or scalding coffee started flying, so, as everyone stood there glaring at each other, I grabbed the money bag from under my chair and slipped out of my seat. I went to the door, opened it, half expecting to see Crystal there with blood dripping down her chin, all sexy like a vampire that just bit somebody. She wasn’t there, though, so I ran to her apartment, the bag of money swinging in my arms, my short tie ticking like a pendulum, escaping like I’d just killed some kid.

  ––––––

  When I got to Crystal’s apartment, I banged on the thing like there was a dead body inside. She didn’t answer. I tried to kick the door in, but couldn’t. Then I heard crying.

  “Hey. Open the door. It’s me.”

  The crying sounded small. Different from Crystal’s. It was Chris crying.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said.

  From the other side of the door, the kid kept pouring out tears. I wanted to buy him a lollipop or something.