The Warehouse
“Mark, Mark.” A fist pounded on the bedroom door. “Someone broke into the warehouse.” The knocks grew louder.
Mark Thompson’s erection wilted. “Shit. Perfect timing.” He climbed off the tiny, brown-haired woman who quickly dragged bedclothes over her nakedness. Tears stained her face. A crack in the boarded-up windows above a chest of drawers barely illuminated the room. Empty beer cans lay scattered across the floor, along with discarded clothing.
“I’m coming. Listen, bitch,” Mark said as he pulled on his jeans. “You’d better check your attitude. When I get back, you’re gonna hafta get with the program. If you don’t, I’m gonna give you to the boys. They won’t be gentle like me.”
“No, dear God, no,” the woman said through bruised lips.
“Look, I own you, remember? If you piss me off, you’ll be sorry.” Mark slammed the door hard. He knew it had an intimidating effect. He checked the door’s lock. He liked young girls, and in dim light, he could fantasize this one was a teenager. He got hard again thinking about her.
Mark’s control of the warehouse gang had started after he’d lost his construction job. His unemployment benefits had run out and the Union hall had no jobs. He’d needed work, something, anything to put food on the table. He’d answered an ad for a security guard at JB’s Warehouse Store.
Mark had been an MP in the Marines and knew the jargon used by police and security officers. He was six feet two inches tall, two hundred and fifty pounds and he liked to fight. He cultivated an honest and open expression that was deceiving, which helped him get jobs and con people.
Manny Jerzy, the manager of JB’s Wholesale Food Club (Always the Low Price), a fat little man with thin, greasy hair, needed guards to prevent looting and vandalism at his store. “I’ve got over four acres under one roof,” he said often. Now he talked incessantly about rioters targeting supermarkets. He wanted more security.
“… and I can start immediately,” Mark said.
“Military police?” Manny asked.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Jerzy.” Mark nodded. “Hand-to-hand combat, crowd control, whatever you need, whatever it takes.”
“Can you get uniforms and security equipment?”
“Yeah, I know some police officers who’ll help.”
“You’re hired.” Manny shook his hand. “Start tomorrow.”
Mark bought six AR15 rifles and fitted them with thirty-round magazines. “Mr. Jerzy, it’s getting tougher out there. I’m good but I can’t handle a riot by myself. I need more guards. Y’know, so people think the military is here.”
Manny nodded. “Sure, Mark, sure, that makes sense.” Sweat beaded on his forehead. The damp patches at his armpits grew larger. “Where can I get reliable people?”
“Well, I know a couple of ex-Marines. They were MPs, too. I could have ’em stop by tomorrow.” Mark’s construction buddies needed jobs and he was sure that he could teach them enough military buzz words to fool Manny.
“Do that. I really need to protect my store.”
“Sure,” Mark said with a wink. “Be glad to.”
That afternoon, Mark coached Dave Luken and Bubba Eaton in security jargon for the interview. “Be at JB’s first thing in the morning,” he ordered. “Spic and span, got it?”
“You were in the military police?” As Manny looked up, he mopped his brow. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, I was a tough cop,” Dave Luken said. “I didn’t take no crap from nobody. I, uh, protected property from, er, getting damaged.” He struggled to get the words right. Even cleaned up, he still looked like a thug.
“How would you prevent situations from getting out of hand?”
“Well, er, Mr. Jerzy, you gotta apply enough force and, um, use it early before the troublemakers can instigate others in their unlawful activities.” Luken’s eyes wandered over the ceiling as though he might find the words there.
“Thank you, Mr. Luken. Will you wait outside, please?” After Luken closed the door, Manny turned to Mark. “I’m not sure he’s the right man. He doesn’t project a military spit and polish image.”
Mark wanted his buddies on the inside with him. “Yeah,” he said. “They have some rough edges, but under that tough exterior, they’ve got solid family values, great loyalty, and they’ll do what they’re told.” He paused. “I’m not sure I could work with someone I didn’t know, especially in these times, if y’know what I mean.”
Manny’s nod was barely perceptible.
“Trust me,” Mark said. “Those guys’ll beef up security, so shoplifters will think twice. I can’t work with anyone else.”
“Well, if you put it that way, I guess it’s okay.” Manny narrowed his eyes. “They’re your responsibility, you understand?”
“Sure, Mr. Jerzy, I guarantee they’ll do what I say,” Mark said. “Okay for them to start tomorrow?”
“Yes, the sooner the better. Make sure they’re briefed on company policy. Have them wear the uniforms with the gold badges.” It was obvious that he liked that appearance.
“Yes, sir. JB’s security guards mean business.”
“That’ll be all, Mark,” Manny said. A trace of a frown creased his brow.
In unison, the TVs in the appliance department showed the National Guard in action in Cleveland, Columbus, and Cincinnati. Later, there were unconfirmed reports of police losing control in major cities and rioters routing several Guard Units.
As Manny watched TV, sweat began to trickle down his back. Police from the west side suburbs had gone to contain a riot in Cleveland and had lost. Live coverage now showed armed mobs overrunning both the Police and the National Guard in downtown Cleveland. Only one television station remained on the air.
“Mark. Close the store,” Manny said. “Chain the entrance and patrol the parking lot. We’ve got to keep looters out.”
“Sure, Mr. Jerzy.” Mark knew anything wearing a uniform would be a target for drive-by shooters. It was time for him to make his move. There was one more detail. He wanted his friends inside. And, he wasn’t going to patrol the parking lot.
Mark locked the exterior doors and went up to the roof with his men. “You two, stay up here. If anyone comes in the parking lot, shoot ’em,” he said.
Manny arrived, wheezing and puffing. “Why aren’t those guards patrolling the parking lot like I told you? Who’re these other men?” He pointed at a dozen armed men. “Who gave them store uniforms?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Well, Manny, times have changed.” Mark felt a smile start. “I’m in charge now.”
“The hell you are. This is my store. You’re fired. Turn in your equipment and get out.”
“Luken, Eaton.” Mark gestured toward the parking lot twenty feet below. “Get rid of this piece of shit.”
“No, you can’t.” Manny screamed.
Luken and Eaton grabbed Manny and threw him over the edge of the parapet. As his body landed on the concrete sidewalk below, it sounded like a ripe melon bursting. He didn’t move.
“Target practice.” Mark took a shot at Manny’s body.
His men started to shoot.
“Okay, okay,” he said a moment later. “That’s enough. Don’t waste your ammo on him. He’s history.”
When a mob marched into JB’s parking lot demanding food, Mark’s men opened fire. The mob fled. He remembered another group of people, in a van, that tried to buy stuff. A couple more shots and they too, disappeared. Soon, no one came near the warehouse and it became safe to move into the nearby houses.
Really, Mark thought. It was quite simple.
Mark drove along the side of the tall concrete block warehouse for about a hundred yards. “Which dickhead got me out of bed with this break-in crap?”
“There really was a break-in,” Luken said. “There’re fresh tire tracks inside, on the floor. A bunch of stuff is missing. This door has a different padlock now.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” Mark said.
“Eaton and Weeks almost got them. It was a van.” Luken creased his face with a grim look. “They nailed ’em—there’s blood, lots of it.”
“Yeah? Show me.”
In the morning light, a trail of dark drops made a wobbly line down the driveway and turned onto Sheldon Road.
“There, see.” Luken nodded toward the road.
Mark touched the fluid and rubbed it between his fingers and sniffed. “Asshole, this ain’t blood.” He tasted it. “It’s tomato sauce.”
“Look.” Luken pointed to a trail of drops that went north on Sheldon Road. “It goes that way.”
Mark glared at the men around him. “Get Baker and his dog to track ’em. Nobody screws with me and gets away with it. Nobody.”