Jason
Sirens are blaring as Ken pulls into the lot at work. About three squad cars are in the lot when I come out of the building. An answer to Tamara’s nine-one-one call. She’s in front of two of the officers answering questions. To the side, a pile of vomit can be seen. The lights on the cars are killing my eyes as I walk closer to help support her. Ken reaches her before me.
Tamara is rocking back and forth with her arms wrapping around her midsection, like she’s giving herself a hug. Her face is distraught and it looks like she might have been crying at some point. She’s answering a question as we come up beside her.
“Do you know of anyone that would want to harm you in any way?” cop number one asks. He’s a burly older man with a deep voice. He jots some things in his notebook and looks at me with a curious face. He arches one eyebrow as he thinks for a moment.
“No, n-no,” Tamara stammers, shaking her head back and forth. Her eyes are wide with fear and she looks like she’s been through the mill.
“Anyone that you know could be involved in this?” cop one asks, looking at me and then Ken. He sets his eyes back on Tamara, waiting for a response.
Again, Tamara shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”
I step in and say, “The camera that faces this lot had been spray painted over with black sometime last night.”
“Which camera?” cop number two chimes in and I point to the one over the door to the office. He leaves to go check it out. I remember installing that camera, and I had concerns about how low it is to the ground. Sure, someone could easily paint over the lens.
She looks at me completely frazzled. “I did put in a work order to see if the paint could be removed earlier this afternoon. If not, my guess is purchase another camera.” Her voice is quaky at best. Strained is probably more like it.
Cop number one joins cop two looking over the camera and on the ground near the door. Cop three must be on the grounds somewhere, checking out the machines. Who’s he kidding? Walking around without one of us, he wouldn’t be able to tell if something is broken or not. To anyone else, these rigs mean nothing, but to us, it means life, our paycheck.
“What happened?” Ken asks her, a concerned look on his face.
“Yeah, I heard the panic in your voice, but couldn’t make out what you were saying,” I pull my hand from my pocket.
“First I found that a couple of company checks were missing so I checked online and saw that they were made out to cash for large amounts of money. I asked the boss if he knew anything about them and he said no,” she says meekly.
“What in the hell is going on with this place?” Ken asks while Tamara settles down a little more. “First machines and rigs get sabotaged and now money goes missing.”
“Calm down a little Ken,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Let her finish her story.”
“That’s when I left and saw my tires all flat and notes about ‘staying out of this,’ and I’m quite certain what ‘this’ means.” She takes us around the cruiser to show us the note and the flat tires. “See, I’ll have to have them all replaced.”
Some tears slip from her eyes, but she brushes them away quickly. I feel sorry for her but not for too long. The longer I think about what she says, the more my brain forms a different story and chain of events.
She’s the only one that does anything regarding money in the company. She has access to the safe that the company checks are locked in, as well. Perhaps Tamara feels like she does too many jobs in the office and feels she’s terribly underpaid.
Maybe she feels she needs a raise and is helping herself a little bit at a time. There might be other things happening too, if we dig some more. I look at her and wonder but keep my suspicions to myself.
All three officers come back to us after having their look around. “Here’s my card. Give us a call if anything else happens or should you remember any details,” the gruff voice of the cop says, handing her the card.
They took a few more photos of her car and got in their cruisers to leave. Once the cops are gone, Tamara calls a tow truck to pick her car up for repair. While we wait for it to come, Tamara has a breakdown and cries. Opening the driver’s side, she sits in the seat, dropping her head into her hands.
Ken goes to her and kneels down beside her, placing a hand on her knee and pulling her hair back. “Hey, shh,” he tries to comfort her but she cries even louder. “C’mon, now. It’ll get better.”
She looks at him with snot dripping from her nose and a wet face. Her make-up is smudged, making her look kind of creepy. “How am I supposed to believe that? People are going to blame me.”
My eyes widen as I go to my car and find a box of tissues to bring to her. “Here ya go, blow your nose and dry your face.” She still looks beautiful, even with her make-up smearing.
“Thanks,” she says and wipes her face, drying her eyes, just in time for the tow truck to arrive. Tamara gets her things from the car after the guy gets her info and then begins to drag it up onto the flat bed. Once he’s done, all three of us pile into my car.
We agreed to take her home since her car is out of service. From the back seat she says to us while driving to her place, “I think I’m going to take a sleeping pill and go straight to bed.”
“Good idea,” Ken says.
Once she is safely in her house, we drive back to my place. Maybe I can discuss my thoughts about Tamara with Ken. The idea of him being so close to me is getting me hard.
Now, I’m embarrassed.