Ken's Tale & the Peterson Dilemma - Desperate Prequels Read online

for me, here,” Ken said. “I’m sure he just wants to know what I’m up to.”

  “Get rid of him,” hissed the bald man.

  Ken nodded and got out of the Ford. He gave Jimmy a wave as the Chevy drew closer, which was when Ken saw that Jimmy wasn’t alone. Ken recognized the face immediately; he just had trouble with the name. He thought it was Bart Higgins, or something close to that. What he knew for sure was that the man could talk for an hour without once pausing for a breath. This wasn’t good. “Jimmy,” said Ken, as the black pickup rolled up next to him. “What are you guys up to?”

  “Just heading over to Marvin’s, Bill is going to take a look at his tractor. Ken, you remember my neighbor, Bill, don’t you?”

  Ken nodded. “Bill,” he said, wanting to nip this in the bud. “Well, you guys are burning daylight, I won’t keep you. These guys are here for the titanium scrap and Patty’s going to be home soon. I want to wrap this up and head home.”

  “No problem, I need to run inside and grab my lunch-box,” said Jimmy. He shifted the Chevy into park and quickly shut off the ignition. “I’ll be right out,” he added, turning to Bill. He was out of his pickup before Ken had the chance to stop him.

  Ken walked over to the van and stared hard at the bald man who had gotten behind the wheel. “I’ll be right out with that barrel of titanium shavings, won’t take a second.”

  The bald man nodded at Ken, fire flashed in his eyes.

  A door banged shut and footsteps sounded on the gravel parking lot. “I need to use the bathroom,” Bill said. “Titanium scrap, huh? What’s that going for these days?”

  There was a long moment of silence as the bald man stared at Bill. “That’s between Ken and me, we’ve got an agreement,” he said with a sneer. “We’ve got to get going, stand on it, man.”

  Ken nodded. “Right,” he said. “I’ll be out in two minutes. Come on, let’s head inside.”

  “Right,” said Jimmy, who looked puzzled by the situation. He turned to follow Ken into the building. “Come on, Bill.”

  “That’s between Ken and me,” mimicked Bill. “I was only asking you a question, you didn’t have to be so rude about it,” he said to the bald man. “I was just going to tell you that your back tire looks low. You might want to put some air into it.”

  Ken groaned. “Back it up to the door, I’ll bring you out an air-hose.” Ken continued to walk, hoping that Jimmy and Bill would follow and then leave. Why does this stuff always happen to me? Ken asked himself as he walked up to the front door with his keys.

  The evening was cloudy and cool and the grass was wet from an earlier shower. Ken unlocked the door and held it open for Jimmy and Bill, who had just slipped down another rung on Ken’s ladder of respectability. Jimmy turned on the hallway lights in the gloomy office. The hallway led to the bathroom and out into the idle shop.

  “The bathroom is down the hall and to the left,” Ken said to Bill. “I’ve got to grab some papers, Jimmy, I’ll see you here in the morning.”

  “Sure,” said Jimmy.

  Ken could tell by the way that he spoke that he was hurt. Ken and Patty had looked after Jimmy as the son they’d never had of their own, after a tragic accident had taken Jimmy’s parents. Ken would just have to make it up to him, tomorrow. He didn’t want that van in his parking lot and he needed to stash the guns and ammo. He was happy to see Bill shuffle down the hallway in his grimy work clothes. Ken had never seen him dressed differently and he wondered if he owned any clean clothes. Jimmy followed with his head down, his arms hanging limp at his sides. Ken took a deep breath as Jimmy walked out the door that led to the break-room.

  Ken ran his hands over his head and tried to think. He couldn’t risk Jimmy and Bill wandering over to his pickup. The weapons and ammo were just sitting in the box, right out in the open and just begging to be commented upon. He walked back outside and over to where the van was now parked, just outside the large overhead door. “They’ll be right out,” Ken said, looking at the tire in question. “That guy was right; you do need some air in that thing.”

  “I know,” replied the bald man. “Just bring me out that air-hose. I want to get the hell out of here.”

  Ken began to speak, but the sudden trundling of the overhead door broke the silence. Ken wanted to scream when he saw Bill standing alone at the open door, an air-chuck in one hand and a tire gauge in the other. As the heavy door reached its zenith and the electric motor stopped, Ken heard the unmistakable rumble of one of the forklifts. Ken could feel his face begin to redden.

  Bill was already at the back of the van, kneeling next to the tire with the air gauge. “Fifteen pounds,” he said after a quick check of the gauge. “Good thing I spotted that.”

  Ken looked at the bald man and they both nodded their heads. The echoing sound of the LP-powered forklift rumbling inside the building made Ken’s stomach roll. Jimmy emerged a few moments later, on one of the Toyotas; the forklift carried three barrels full of the valuable titanium shavings. Ken gritted his teeth and stole a look at the bald man.

  The bald man was now smiling. He got out of the van and walked back to Bill, who had just finished airing up the tire and was twisting the cap back into place. “Thanks a lot, man,” he said, giving Bill a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You guys are all right,” he added. He then walked to the back and swung open the two doors of the Dodge cargo van. “Come on out here guys, let’s get these barrels loaded up. Ken, you never said that you had three barrels of titanium…”

  Ken watched in horror as Jimmy dropped the pallet at the back of the van and set the brake on the forklift. He tried to estimate how much the shavings were worth at four dollars a pound. He quickly discovered he didn’t want to know. The bald man’s friends were suddenly hefting the barrels into the back of the van, being careful not to spill any of the valuable shavings.

  Ken caught the bald man’s eye and he gave Ken a knowing smile. Ken returned the smile with a look of dumbfounded resignation. Ken lowered his head and accepted his fate. The weapons had just become much more expensive, simply because he’d opened his fool mouth. He would lose a lot of sleep over this, Ken was sure of that much.

  “Ken, you’re about five pounds low, yourself!” shouted Bill, who had somehow escaped the group and now squatted next to Ken’s pickup.

  Ken nearly ran the thirty feet over to where his pickup was parked. He could feel his heart slamming inside his chest and his feet seemed to be as heavy as concrete blocks. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it in the morning,” he said, pin-wheeling his right arm. “Come on, I’ve got to get headed home and I want to lock up.”

  Bill twisted the cap back on the valve-stem and stood up. “Hey, I was just trying to do you a favor,” he said, looking directly into the back of Ken’s truck.

  Ken was on the verge of a total mental breakdown; he put his hands over his face and groaned. The truth was out and plain for both Bill and Jimmy to see. The gig was up. He felt for the snub-nosed .38 in his jacket pocket and turned to face the others. The next few seconds were going to be very intense.

  “Hey Ken,” Bill said in his annoying tone of voice. “What do you got under the tarp?”

  Ken quickly spun around as Bill began to reach into the box. “None of your b-business,” stammered Ken. “Let’s go!”

  Bill withdrew his hand as if he’d been bitten. He held both of them up defensively, his eyes were dark and his expression had grown sour. “Right,” he said. “None of my business, I get it. Well, you don’t have to draw me a map, come on, Jimmy, let’s get out of here. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

  Ken waited for Bill to step away from his pickup before speaking. He was still reeling from the near miss. The bald man must’ve instructed his men to cover the load while they were inside the building. “It’s not like that; I just need to get home. Jimmy will tell you, my wife doesn’t like it when I’m late for dinner. Come on, thanks for checking my tire.”

  Bill didn’t respond as he walked over t
o Jimmy and handed him the tire gauge. Ken could read Jimmy’s expression; they were only trying to help. The bald man waved his partners back inside the van and quickly got behind the wheel of the Dodge. He twisted the key in the ignition and dropped the van into gear. “Nice doing business with you,” he said to Ken with a smile. “Have a nice night.”

  Ken watched as the van slogged away across the muddy gravel lot.

  Patty was not only home early by the time Ken pulled into the driveway; she was standing at the back of her car with an armload of groceries. Ken grasped the steering wheel with such force that it nearly bent in half. She wasn’t due home for at least another hour and she didn’t look happy. Ken pulled the Ford into the turn-around and jogged up to where Patty stood.

  “Where have you been?” Patty asked, handing Ken the bag she had been holding.

  “I had to run down to the shop. Jimmy needed to grab his lunch-box.”

  Patty had been reaching into her trunk for another bag of groceries, but she pulled up short. “You drove five miles to the shop so Jimmy could get his lunch-box, at this hour? Are you