“Welcome, folks,” Bobby Bo beamed. His smile revealed several gold molars. “Coats to the little lady and please help yourself to champagne.”
Music and gay laughter floated out from the living room; the Sorensons and the Websters were not the first to arrive. In contrast to the outside mariachis, the inside music was more restrained and emanated from a string quartet.
After the coats had been taken, Gladys and Hazel strolled arm in arm into the thick of the party. Bobby Bo held back Everett and Daryl.
“Sterling Henderson’s the only one not here yet,” Bobby Bo said. “As soon as he is, we’ll have a short meeting in my library. Everyone else has been alerted.”
“Jack Cartwright’s a bit delayed as well,” Everett said. “I’d like him to sit in on it.”
“Fine by me,” Bobby Bo said. “Guess who else is here?”
Everett looked at Daryl. Neither one wanted to guess.
“Carl Stahl,” Bobby Bo said triumphantly.
A shadow of fear fell over Everett and Daryl.
“That makes me feel uncomfortable,” Everett said.
“I’d have to say the same,” Daryl said.
“Come on, you guys,” Bobby Bo teased. “All he can do is fire you.” He laughed.
“I don’t think getting fired is something I want to joke about,” Daryl said.
“Nor I,” Everett said. “But thinking about it is all the more reason we have to nip this current problem in the bud.”
FOURTEEN
Saturday night, January 24th
The windshield wipers tapped out a monotonous rhythm as Marsha rounded the final bend and got her first view of Higgins and Hancock. It was a sprawling, low-slung plant, with a vast, fenced-in stockyard in the rear. It looked ominous in the cold rain.
Marsha turned into the large, deserted parking lot. What cars that were there were widely scattered. When the three-to-eleven cleaning crew had arrived, the lot had been jammed with the day workers’ vehicles.
Having visited the plant once during her orientation to the district, Marsha knew enough to drive around to the side. She recognized the unmarked door that was the employee entrance. Above it was a single caged light fixture which dimly lit the area.
Marsha parked, set the emergency brake, and turned off the engine; but she didn’t get out. For a moment she sat and tried to bolster her confidence. After the conversation with Kim, she felt nervous about what she was about to do.
Prior to Kim’s mentioning physical danger, Marsha had not considered it. Now she wasn’t so sure. She’d heard plenty of stories of the industry’s use of strong-arm tactics in its dealings with its immigrant employees and with union sympathizers. Consequently, she couldn’t help but wonder how they might respond to the kind of threat her unauthorized activities would surely pose.
“You’re being overly melodramatic,” Marsha said out loud.
With sudden resolve, Marsha unhooked her cellular phone from its car cradle. She checked its battery.
“Well, here goes,” she said as she alighted from the car.
It was raining harder than she expected, so she ran for the employee entrance. When she got there, she tried to yank open the door but found it locked. Next to the door was a button with a small plaque that said: AFTER HOURS. She pushed it.
After a half a minute and no response, Marsha rang the bell again and even rapped on the solid door with her fist. Just when she was thinking of returning to her car and calling the plant with her cell phone, the door swung open. A man in a brown-and-black security uniform looked out at her with a confused look on his face. Visitors were obviously a rarity.
Marsha flashed her USDA card and tried to push into the building. The man held his position, forcing her to remain in the rain.
“Let me see that,” the guard said.
Marsha handed the man the card. He inspected it carefully, even reviewing the back.
“I’m a USDA inspector,” Marsha said. She feigned irritation. “Do you really think it’s appropriate to make me stand out here in the rain?”
“What are you doing here?” the man asked.
“What we inspectors always do,” Marsha said. “I’m making sure federal rules are being followed.”