Chapter 15

"Hi, Mom. How are you guys?" I said when she had answered.

"We're doing okay. Your Dad seems to be getting stronger every day. Gee, when I first answered I wondered who this man was, who was calling me Mom. I figured when you moved back to this area, we'd be getting a lot more phone calls."

I had to laugh. "No guilt trips, Mom. Getting started in a new job takes up a lot of my time. The reason I called, is that I was wondering if it'd be okay if I came over this weekend."

"You don't have to ask if you can come home. You know you're welcome any time."

"I know, Mom. But this time, I'm going to be bringing someone along I'd like for you and Dad to meet."

"Certainly. Who is this person?"

"She is my fiancée, Mom. Her name is Missy Gerard."

"Fiancée? You mean like in 'someone you're planning to marry'? Is this Ed, or do you have a wrong number?"

"Yes, Mom. Like in someone I'm going to marry. Sarcasm doesn't become you, you know. Missy and I have been dating since I moved back here, and we're very much in love. We haven't set a date yet, but I think it'll be soon."

"Honey, I am so happy for you. I know that slut you were dating before really hurt you. I'm so glad you found someone. When are you coming and how long are you going to stay?"

"We were thinking we'd come over Saturday morning. How long we stay depends on you. Missy and I are living together. If we can share a bedroom in your house, we'll stay until Sunday evening. Otherwise, we'll come back Saturday evening."

Mom laughed and said, "So, you want to shack up in your mama's house? Of course you can share a bedroom. I never thought you were a monk, Ed."

Mom asked me a million questions before we finally hung up. She seemed like she was really happy for me. Missy was grinning when I turned to her, after I had placed the cordless phone on the table.

"So, are we coming back on Saturday, or on Sunday?" she asked with a smile.

"We're coming back on Sunday. The reason I put it to Mom that way is that she and Dad have always been a little prudish about sex. I didn't know how she'd feel about her little boy sleeping with a woman he isn't married to, while in her house."

"I take it she didn't have a problem with it?" Missy asked.

"Oh, she called you a slut and a few other things before she calmed down," I teased.

Missy hit me on the shoulder and said, "She did not."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Because you'd have hung up on her," Missy grinned.

Week 8 - Wednesday

Why can't things be simple? I guess after a while, simple would become boring; but I've put out more brush fires in the last seven weeks at Belding, than I did in two years on my previous job.

This week didn't look like it was going to be any better. Mel was waiting for me when I got in my office.

"What's up, Mel?" I asked.

"We've got a guy in the hospital, Ed. Jason Aldridge was on a job at Tipton Foods, and a Pick Rack he was working on collapsed. It happened a few minutes ago, and I don't know how badly he's hurt, yet."

"Oh, shit. Do we know how it happened?"

"Yeah, Ron Brice is the mechanical installer on site. He said they were removing some old pick racks and that they were having some problems on the third level up. Jason went up to take a look at it. Some idiot from Tipton ran into the rack with a forklift, and the whole thing collapsed."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Ron said one of his millwrights has a broken arm, but they were the only two on the rack when it went down. The millwright managed to ride it down, but Jason was caught between some supports. They had to cut him out. Ron said he was unconscious when they took him off to the hospital."

"Tipton Foods is only about fifty miles from here, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I'm on my way over there right now. I was wondering if you wanted to go along."

"I think I should. We'll take my car. Grab anything and anyone you need, and meet me in the parking lot in five minutes."

I called Missy and let her know I'd be gone for a while. Then I called Mike. I filled him in on what was going on. He agreed that I should go over there.

Brenda was sympathetic and a little shook up. She knew the guy who had been hurt.

Mel met me in the parking lot. He had a young engineer by the name of Tim Jordan with him. We loaded up and headed out.

The trip was on the Interstate, all the way. We were pulling in at Tipton in about forty-five minutes. The place was a madhouse.

Ron Brice was a very competent Mechanical Installer in his mid thirties. Today he looked fifty.

"Have you heard anything more about Jason?" Mel asked.

"Yeah, he's in surgery," Ron said. "All we know so far is that he has a broken leg, several broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a severe concussion. They're doing surgery for some kind of internal injuries, but I don't know what they are, yet."

We went in and looked at the collapsed rack. It was a mess.

"Was the guy who was driving the forklift hurt?" I asked.

"I guess he did have a cut on his forehead, but nothing other than that. He'll be hurt a lot worse, if I get hold of him," Ron said.

"Why's that, Ron?" I asked.

"The idiot was racing with another idiot," Ron said. "I think they were either drunk, or high on something. They were standing there laughing as we were trying to cut Jason out of the wreckage."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know. Some of the brass from Tipton came out, and took them away."

"Mel, would you like to go with me and shake up a few people?" I asked.

Ron was grinning as Mel and I walked toward the warehouse offices.

It took us almost a half an hour to get in to see the warehouse manager. When we did get to see him, I wasn't impressed.

Fred Schmidt was a smarmy little man, to whom I took an immediate dislike. He was all smiles when he seated Mel and me in front of his desk.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Delany?" he asked.

"We're here about the accident," I said.

"Yes, most unfortunate," he said. "We are in a warehouse though and accidents do happen."

"Especially, if two forklifts are having a race inside the warehouse," I said.

"There wasn't any racing going on, Mr. Delany. I can assure you of that. Our drivers do go fast, so that they can get our trucks loaded as fast as possible, but they are very careful."

"That's not what I heard, Mr. Schmidt. Were the police called in to investigate?"

"No, there was no need for that. It was an accident, pure and simple."

"Where is the guy who was driving the forklift?" I asked.

"He was very shook up, so I sent him home for the day."

"Mr. Schmidt, my installer thinks your driver was either drunk or high. Did you have him tested?"

"No, of course not. I resent your implications."

"Mel, would you run out and call the local police please? I think we need to have this investigated."

"There's no need of that," Schmidt said as Mel got up to make his call. "I'm sure we can work something out."

Mel went ahead to make his call. I think he was getting about as angry with this bastard, as I already was.

"Mr. Schmidt, I'd suggest you get the young man who was driving the forklift back in here, immediately. The police are going to want to talk to him."

"Now see here, Mr. Delany, you can't go telling me how to run my warehouse."

"Mr. Schmidt, if you don't cooperate on this, I'm going to see if my company can't file a civil suit against you personally, and against your company also."

With that, I got up and left his office. I went back out to where Ron was standing, looking at the wreckage.

"Their maintenance crew started to try to straighten up, but I stopped them," he said. "Are the police going to be notified?"

"Mel is doing that right now. The plant manager didn't think it was necessary."

"Well, I think it is. That driver was drunk or high, from the way he was acting."

It was almost an hour before a police detective and a uniformed cop showed up. They were escorted in to the scene by one of the maintenance people.

Ron explained to them what had happened. The detective, Axel Griffin, asked where the driver was.

"The plant manager sent him home," I said. "I told him to get him back here in case you wanted to talk to him."

The detective shook his head and said, "Well, that wipes out any chance we might have had to see if he had been drinking. All he has to say now, is that he was so shook up he had a few drinks when he got home. There's no way we could prove differently."

"So, what recourse do we have?" I asked.

"Well, I think we should talk with the young man, anyway," the detective said.

He turned to the uniformed policeman and asked him to see if he could find the driver.

We stood and talked about what had happened until we saw the uniformed officer, Mr. Schmidt, and a young man walking toward us.

"That's not the man who was driving. The man who was driving had a bad cut above his right eye," Ron said in a low voice.

The detective got a big grin on his face at that.

"This might be interesting," he said.

Detective Griffin listened politely while Schmidt introduced the young man as being the forklift driver who had hit the rack.

"So, tell me about the accident, young man," the detective said.

Again, the detective listened while the young man told about being in a hurry to get another pallet to load on the truck, and how he had come around a corner a little too fast and hit the pick rack.

"I'm really sorry this happened, officer. I guess I was in too much of a hurry, and lost control."

"How far along were you in loading the truck?" Griffin asked.

"I was about two-thirds through, sir."

"What dock number were you loading on?"

"Uh... Number forty-three, sir."

"Well, young man, I have to tell you that witnesses to the incident don't describe it the way you do. These witnesses tell me that the driver who hit the rack, and another guy on another forklift, were racing. They say that the driver who hit the rack was looking over at the other driver and yelling something when they came around that corner. They also say the driver at fault hit his forehead, and had a pretty nasty cut above his right eye."