Chapter 4

Monday morning. Every Monday morning, safety meeting, first thing. Read the three paragraphs from the sheet from the service, Deliver the little homilies. Collect the signatures. Try to find something relevant for our jobsite. On the bigger jobs maybe a half dozen times, for a half dozen subs or more on site. Ten years out of UT, how many times had I performed this little ritual?

The current project was start-up of a steam turbine/generator set. The crew was small: a pair each of fitters, millwrights and electricians. Things went smooth, up to our last hurdle. We had to get the beast up to temperature, then circulate oil around the unit until we could show the Ingersol Rand tech clean screens in the filters. Then we could reconnect the oil lines, and run the puppy. Problem was an eight hour day just wasn't long enough to get the job done.

"How many of you guys are hunters?" Six hands.

"How many know deer season starts friday, and snow is forecast?" Six hands.

"How many feel the deer flu coming, on and plan to call in sick that morning?" Six grins, seven counting Bob the IR tech.

"The problem is, it's taking more than a day to get the unit to temp, get the right flow, and get the crud moving to the filters. Here's the deal. We stay Thursday until Bob is happy with the screens, then run the unit for an hour, The timesheets show eight hours Thursday and Friday. You guys get to spend a day out in the cold, wading through the snow, chasing Bambi. I get to sleep in, in my own warm bed, with a warm and willing woman. Bob gets to go home. Deal?"

The operation ran like clockwork. Bob gave his thumbs up at seven. The unit ran like a champ. No noise, vibration or hotspots. Bearings stayed cool. Output was just above the advertised rating. I handed out checks and farewells at eight. The Suburban was sailing South, cruising five over the limit, by eight thirty.

Kathleen and I were spending weekends in the small guest cabin at the camp. We had bumped into each other, stopped and had coffee. One thing led to another, and we shared "fajitas for two". We were reconnecting. Having sex was becoming making love. It felt right. Every thing was going well. I was starting to think about forever.

The entry gate was open. This wasn't good. The big gate and tall deer fences were supposed to keep out dogs and hunters, thieves and vandals. Not much use open. I pulled the Colt from its clips under my seat. dropped the magazine and checked the load. Chambered a round. Locked and cocked and ready to rock!

I closed the gate, set the padlock. Lights off. I eased down the moonlit drive. Kathleen's Mustang was there, and a BMW that was strange to me. After a moment's thought, I drove into it, slid it forward, pinning it to a tree. The security system was amazing. Flashing lights, honking horn, deafening siren. With my end of the lake awake, I headed into the cabin.

A loaded shotgun was kept in the mudroom to deal with deer in the flower beds. I checked the load anyway. The Colt went into my waistband. Turning on the maglight clipped to the foregrip, I eased into the main room.

He stood by the bed, naked. He was struggling, half into his pants. She was on the bed, wearing only a nightshirt. Our eyes met.

I pumped the slide, just because I love that sound. He pissed his pants. After a fractionof a second's hesitation, he turned and lept out the window, tearing through the screen. The first blast shattered the glass and peppered his butt. Kathleen dove after him. I got off only two more rounds as they fled. Hit him both times, but rock salt loads just don't have much range.

I dropped into a chair. They hadn't done much damage to the bed. I guess I prevented the climax of their fucking evening. Sure as Hell hadn't kept her from leaving. Yet again.