Jack Hartley thought for the umpteenth time of how he could spear his boss with the forklift. Then he laughed.
“What’s so funny, you?” yelled his boss, though he smiled.
“Thinking how the forklift could cut you right in half if I had a mind.”
“You don’t have a mind,” retorted his boss.
“Yours is in your ass.”
“Get those Twinkies in the warehouse.”
“In front of the ones from 1947?”
“Are you kidding, they’ll be out the door tomorrow and you’ll put them on that truck, too. Get to it, Jack!”
Both men flipped each other off, but they laughed, and his boss slapped the forklift on the way to the other loading dock. The truck driver was just coming out of the bathroom, bawling, “What the hell, you playing with your dick? How come these ain’t unloaded? I got three more stops before tonight.”
“Keep your underwear straight, I got this,” Jack yelled back, and led the forklift into the truck.
His cell phone rang, blasting in a nasal tone “Class…class…SHUT UP! Class…class…SHUT UP! Class…” Jesus, it was irritating. But then, that was ex-wife.
He got the prongs under the pallet and answered the phone. “What is it, I’m at work.”
“The babies!”
“What?” He stopped lifting the pallet and checked behind him, the phone still at his ear. She only called his two twin daughters “the babies” when she was upset. They probably were sick again. “What is it?”
“Jack, somebody kidnapped them!”
He had started backing up and then slammed on the brake. He shut off the reverse gear and yelled into the phone: “What did you say?”
“At school, some woman showed them a puppy — please come home, Jack!”
He jumped off the truck, shutting it off, leaving it inside the semi. Hanging up the phone as he ran, ignoring the truck driver, he found his boss three loading docks down. “Tom. Tom, man, I gotta go.”
“What’s wrong?” Tom looked concerned.
“Someone kidnapped the girls.”
“Oh, Jesus. Go, go. Drive slow, man!”
Hell with that, Jack thought, and jumped off the loading dock heading to his car.
He found his ex-wife in the kitchen, in the house that she got from the divorce proceedings. It pained him every time he crossed the threshold, knowing that she was there with her new boyfriend who she had a child with five years before – a child that she blatantly admitted wasn’t his. He had separated, knowing the kids still needed health insurance, but then she wanted to get married again. So they divorced, but she had paid for everything, soaking him with a child support that was almost twice as much as his rent. She kept the house, and the primary custody of the kids. He knew he got shafted, but, then, she paid for it.
He started to head into the kitchen (registering, strangely enough, that it was recently painted), but two men stopped him. “Excuse us,” one said, and Jack said, “That’s my ex-wife.”
“Let him in,” she said, looking up, her makeup gone, making her look like a tired old bag.
They let him by, looking suspiciously at him. “Where were you at seven o’clock this morning, sir?”
“Having breakfast at Tiffany’s, why?” Tiffany’s was a small diner down the road from the shop. He always had breakfast there.
“Anyone else with you?”
“Augusto came in and sat with me – a guy I work with – look, someone tell me what’s going on?”
“Do you know this woman?” One of the men sitting across from the kitchen table handed him a photograph. It was grainy, and he couldn’t make out who the person was. She wore a hat and scarf and big thick glasses, and a long black coat. She was crouched with a black and white ball of something at her feet, and a little girl was going over to her. Another girl was already at the dog.
“No,” he answered quickly and looked up at the man. “Who are you, and what the fuck is going on?”
“Your daughters have been kidnapped, sir.”
“When?”
“This morning before day care.”
“Where was Marissa?” He looked to his wife.
His wife sniffled, “Marissa had a friend take them to school because she wasn’t feeling well,” she said. “The woman said that she was their auntie, so she let them go.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Jack slammed his hand flat on the table and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t care that it was also newly plastered and a new ceiling fan had been put in. He took a few deep breaths, as his therapist would have wanted him to, and finally focused on the man across from him, knowing now he was a cop. “So? What are you doing about it?”
“We’re waiting.”
“Waiting? Jesus Fucking Christ, my little girls are out there–”
“Jack!” She put a hand on his arm, but he shook it off. He was looming over the table at the cop.
–and you’re sitting here waiting? What about a fucking AMBER Alert?”
“This doesn’t warrant an AMBER Alert, as the person who saw the girls leave did not get a make or model of the car, or a license plate.”
“Where is this girl. I’m going to strangle her.”
“Jack!” His ex tried again. Her voice never soothed him when they were married, and it certainly wasn’t going to work now.
“She’s being detained, sir. We understand you’re upset.”
“You don’t understand shit! Has this ever happened to you? Huh?” When he got no answer, he continued, “I’m going to look out there myself if you people aren’t going to do anything about it.”
“Jack–”
“Do we have to detain you, sir?”
Two burly men stood in the doorway. Jack was burly too, and easily outclassed the both of them, with his work as a loader on a loading dock. These two men might have had weight on him but they didn’t have his strength.
“I’m going to go do something. Not sit here and wait.”
Surprisingly to him, they let him go.