A Matter Of Respect Ch. 13

I was so angry when I stormed out of Finch's office, I forgot to tell him he would be picking Ms. Merch up from the hospital when she was discharged. I got halfway back to my office when it came to me. I started to turn around but decided against it. I might have found him nose down on his desk with a few lines of nose candy in front of him. Then again he might not be. I didn't want him thinking he had me so rattled I wanted to come back and pick a fight. When I decide I want to take someone to task, I never try a foolish approach. Besides, the boy was hyped up on coke and no telling what else. I didn't think Ms. Merch needed to be riding with him in his fifty thousand dollar sport utility tank when he had a head full of the white stuff. I've worked with people who used cocaine before. Some of them were very subtle about it. It was difficult to tell when they were up on the stuff. Some people, however, you can tell in an instant. Some people let it convince them that they are ten foot tall and bulletproof. Come to think of it, I've had to show a couple of guys just how bulletproof they weren't. But that's another story altogether. I've never drawn my sidearm unless I thought it was an absolute necessity

Instead of returning to my office I took the elevator down to the mail room. Julia is a very keen woman. She would know I was hot under the collar. I knew she was nervous about what I was planning to do. I didn't want her second guessing me. When people are nervous they tend to make snap decisions, and I didn't want to be the reason for her doing that. For all she knows everything in my little world is just fine as paint. The mail room door was propped open. There was a small fan sitting on the floor by the open door. It was humming quietly as it ran. The older fella was there lugging some plastic crates of mail around. It was warm in the mail room. Sweat was beaded on his brow. 

Maybe this is silly to say, but I like watching older folks like him work. They have this determination in the way they move. Just standing there for a brief moment watching him move those plastic crates of mail from one place to another gave me this mental image of Noah working on the Ark. I imagine his hands weren't moving all that fast, but brother you can bet his hands were sure of what they were doing. I knocked on the door jamb and he looked up, greeting me with a smile. 

"I see the young bucks got you doing the dirty work partner." I said, smiling. 

"T'days their short day. They all got other things to do once they get that check in their pockets." He replied. 

"Ain't that the truth." I answered. "I remember what it was like. Get paid on Friday, be broke by Saturday morning." 

He just laughed a little in response.

"Is the air conditioning broken?" I asked, motioning toward the fan. 

"Has been since Easter." He responded with an obvious touch of distaste. "We're on a separate budget than everybody else. Somethin' bout a spendin' cap or some mess like that."

"Well that ain't worth a damn, now is it?"

"No Sir it ain't." He replied. 

The fella had a big crate in his arms. He took on an apprehensive look, then set the crate down. He nodded toward the door. It was propped open with a small wedge of wood. I pushed it aside with my toe and shut the door.

"Is everything alright in your part of the world Sir?" I asked him.  

 "No Sir." He said. "No Sir it ain't."

"Anything I can do something about?" I asked. 

"I don't know Mister. It may or may not be alright for us to be having this talk here at work."

"Who's your immediate supervisor?" I asked him.

"Mister Segrest, then the super in the comptroller's office." He replied glumly.

"Well now, that simplifies things. I like Segrest and don't think he'd bat an eye if I was taking my break down here while we played a friendly game of dominoes. ( In the south it's often pronounced dah-mee-nos) Does that sound about right to you?" 

"So long as I'm caught up tain't no problem I guess." He answered. 

"In that case," I said, removing my jacket and hanging it from a hook on the door. "You show me how you're situating these crates and we'll cut this in half quick like."

He lit up with a big white smile. I guess it's not too often that someone outside that cramped little mail room offers him a hand. People get all too caught up 'it's not my job' these days. I'm sure the young guys pull their weight, but the second they get their hot hands on their paychecks, looking out for the old man goes right out the window. I noticed his eyes kept going to my guns.

"Damn boy. You come prepared don't ya?" He said. 

"You know it brother. These dogs bark here and bite way the hell over yonder."  I answered him. There are times when having a southern accent is such a treat. 

"Them's forty fives, right?" He asked. 

"No sir, forties."

"Is there much difference?" 

"I'm not sure." I told him, once again accentuating the statement with my natural drawl. "I know I saw a fella get shot in the elbow with a forty cal once, and the end of his index finger popped like a water balloon. I shoot trap with these two sometimes, and with some discipline you can part a bastard's hair with 'em." 

"You ever had to put down on somebody with 'em?" 

"I'm not about to lie to you Sir, so I'm just going to pretend I didn't here you ask." I replied with a wolfish grin. 

He cackled and clapped his hands together. 

"Like I was about to say Mister Nails, you take those three stacks of mail there and divide them into them crates. The department's stamped on the envelopes and the crates. Once you've rifled through the whole bunch you set the crates against the wall here so the runner boy can get them to haul around." 

"Consider it done my man."

We spent about half an hour shuffling mail. We made small talk as we worked. He seemed to be alot more comfortable around me, and to me that meant alot. Turns out his name was Willie Wallace, short for William Randall Wallace. That Mel Gibson movie Braveheart immediately came to mind. Every time I think of that movie I hear that line 'If William Wallace were here he'd stand seven feet tall! He'd consume the English with his eyes and shoot lightning bolts out his arse! I am William Wallace!'. That's one of those lines you'd love to use but never can. So from that day forth I always thought of the old fella in the mail room as Mel. Before long we were finished sorting the mail. He pulled a fold up card table from behind a copying machine and set it up. I got two folding chairs and set them out. He reached in a filing cabinet and pulled out a battered looking box of dominoes. 

"Y'want double sixes or twelves?" He asked.

"Sixes will do." 

He opened the box and turned it upside down on the table. We turned the face up dominoes down and shuffled them. Once the bones were dealt the real game started. 

"So." I said. "What's the word?"

"Seems your boy Finch has been rattling some folks. He's been on one of my guys pretty hard. I can't get it out of him, but I get the idea that he's clampin' down on him to keep him hushed."

"Is his name Lamar Jordan?" I asked. 

"That's the one. How'd you know that?" He asked, a bit suspiciously. 

"I keep my ear to the ground. Saves my ass alot." I replied. 

"I bet you do then. Lamar told me yesterday he was going to come up and talk to you about Finch riding him. He said he wanted to from the day you come in here. I don't know why he waited about doin' it. He had himself all pumped up about talking to you, then Finch came behind here yesterday afternoon and him and Lamar went off for a little while. When Lamar came back he wouldn't say shit to nobody."

That actually made alot of sense to me. I've been on both sides of the bars, and I've been on both sides of the system. Lamar knows this place is high dollar when it comes to security. Common sense says it would be hard for him to come pay me a visit without Finch seeing him. Maybe catching sight of him on a closed circuit camera, or have a flunkie spot him leaving my office and alert Finch to it. Either way, coming up to see me was a big risk for Lamar if Finch was hard timing him. He was willing to chance it, though. That told me it wasn't a casual matter. I knew Finch enough to deduce that he was the type to keep tabs on people. I also felt like if Lamar was somehow guilty of something, he damned sure wouldn't be coming to me. All the indications were pointing to Finch holding this boy under his thumb to cover his own ass. 

"Do you have any idea where they went?" I asked. 

"Oh yeah." He responded immediately, a little to my surprise. "Finch has a buddy on the second floor that runs some kind of music studio. He has a soundproof booth he uses for recording people whilst they sing. He lets Finch use the booth whenever he wants to talk to somebody in private. More than one of my guys has been there. They won't tell me shit what happened but I know about it. I'd bet my next three paychecks that's where he took Lamar."

Every time I hear the word buddy, old Edsel Freeman comes to mind. He has this joke he springs on the guys at the city when he hears them use the word 'buddy'. He'll ask them 'Do you know what a buddy is?' Then he'll say 'A buddy is somebody who goes to town and gets two blowjobs, then comes back and gives you one.' That always knocks the young guys right out of their seats. Yep, I can imagine Finch having a few buddies.

"So he has a nice comfy little place to work people over, eh? Nobody can hear a peep and he can play little Mister Badass all he wants."

"You got it Mister Nails."

"You know if he has been leasing from this building long?" I asked. 

"Couldn't be. That wing was empty a few months back. I used to clean up at night til my gout got so damn bad." 

"Oh man, gout's a killer. It'll make you want to chop your own feet off. Do you drink?" 

"Not any more. That shit broke me from it quick. Drinking with gout is like putting gas on a fire." He replied. 

"I've never had it but I've worked with people who have. They say it's a real double barrel son of a bitch." 

"They ain't never lied." He answered. 

"So, if this cat who owns the recording studio is relatively new here, that might mean Finch has some money tied up with him somehow. If his buddy had to suddenly pull up stakes and move to another building it might hit Finch in two ways. He'd lose money out of pocket and piss off a business partner. When you're dealing with dirty bastards like him there's no such thing as friends in business, either. He also wouldn't be able to rough anybody up in such convenient privacy. Unless he's got another spot stashed back somewhere." 

"I doubt he does. The boy ain't too well liked around here." He responded. "But could you do that? I mean make his buddy move his music studio?"

"I'm not a rocket scientist my man, but you give me a lever big enough and I can move the world." I said. "And as far as Finch goes, I'm not exactly in love with the little bastard myself. So did Lamar look like he'd been beat on when he came back in here yesterday after leaving with Finch?" 

"No but he was white as a sheet. I think Finch put the fear of God in him." 

"Well I've been told I can be a total bastard, brother. Maybe I can put the fear of the Devil in Finch first. That boy has put a target on his own head, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to take a shot at it when the time's right." 

"You just keep your eyes open Nails. Finch makes enemies everywhere he goes and don't think twice about it. And Lamar told me he knows all that karate stuff. The touch of death and all that mean shit. I don't doubt he'd use it a bit."

"Yeah I've been in his office." I replied, smiling. Something I noticed earlier in his office came to mind. 

"I was there today and he showed me all his certificates. I noticed they were all signed with the same color ink. Some of the certificates were dated a few years apart, but the ink was faded the same on every one of them. That tells me he spent a few hours making most or all of them up then signed them with the same pen, probably right before he framed them. You can buy all kinds of bullshit blank documents on the internet these days. That's how I get my targets for when I shoot trap. I look them up on a web page then print them. It's a hell of alot cheaper than going to the sporting goods store and buying them. You see, he checked to make sure all his pretty little certificates had different dates on them, and I bet he was real careful making sure the signatures all looked very different, but he didn't think about the ink I don't believe he's a black belt for a split second. And if he is, well I just might get my ass whipped."

Willie looked at me with a dawning smile as I talked. He had a knowing smile on his face.

"You do know what you're doin' Mister Nails. You damned sure do." 

I looked at my watch and noted the time. I needed to get moving. My conversation with Willie turned out to be a real shot in the arm. 

"I think you won this game of dominoes partner. I need to get back up and make my rounds. I don't trust Finch a lick, and I don't want a fox in the henhouse." 

"You betcha." He responded. 

We stood and I shook his hand. I put my jacket back on and fished a business card out of a pocket. I handed it to Willie. 

"Any evil shit goes down, you call me Sir. I'll be around as quick as I can. And if you have a way of getting ahold of Lamar, tell him I want him to call me. Tell him whatever Finch told him about me was bullshit. And if he acts like he don't believe you, well I think after today you can make a believer out of him."

"I will Nails. Lamar's a good kid. He got tied up in a mess over some stolen car stereo stuff and he's been real hard on himself about it. I think he's ashamed of it. Finch treats him like he's a dangerous criminal and won't let him forget about it. He buys into that shit Finch is selling him cause he don't trust the system. I've been in his shoes before and I know how the boy feels." Willie answered. "He feels like if he makes one wrong move Finch can have him put away for good."

"You give Lamar my number. Matter of fact, let me see that card back for a second please."

Willie handed me the card. I wrote my address on the back, as well as my home phone number. I gave it back to him. 

"Tell him if he can't call, to come by. I'll de damned if Finch can put his thumb on the kid while he's under my roof." 

"Will do. And thank you Nails. You really do look out for people. It's a good change. A good one." 

"Just doing my job Sir. I'll be back in touch with you." 

Fade to black