Bobby left his car where he always left it, in the spot beside the maple tree. It provided some shade in the afternoon and at least Bobby didn't have to get in his car with the seats blazing hot from the mid-afternoon sun. He strode across the lot to the industrial building keeping his eye on the fancy pants sports car parked beside the entrance. Mr. Evans had bought his son that car for his eighteenth birthday but Bobby and just about everybody else at the shop was of the opinion that Ted junior didn't deserve it in the least bit.
Mrs. Evans, the mother, had died about nine years ago and Mr. Evans raised his son himself. Unfortunately, the boss was always busy with work and didn't spend as much quality time with his offspring as he should have. As a result, Teddy had gotten himself progressively into more and more trouble. Was this some sort of cry for help? Lord, if it wasn't booze, it was drugs and if it wasn't drugs, it was just stupid shit that an immature idiot would think up: car accidents, shop lifting, playing hooky from school. Why didn't Evans wise up to the fact that his son probably needed psychiatric counselling or something? Okay, that or twenty lashes with a belt.
Bobby was about to put his key in the lock when he pulled the door. It was open. Oh great, junior probably came into the shop during the night sometime and left the goddamn door unlocked all this time. Hopefully nobody came in to try their hand at pilfering stuff. Of course, ever since Evans had that security system installed and plastered warning stickers all over the place, nobody had tried to bust into the building. Three years ago, a group of drunken high school idiots broke into the shop and trashed the place. They would have gotten away scot-free if one of the little peckers hadn't forgotten his digital camera with which he had actually photographed his buddies vandalizing the shop. Talk about idiots.
Smiling at the stupidity of the high school students, Bobby headed to the locker area to dump his stuff and put on his work boots. Since he was first in, he always had the honour of putting on the coffee. Bobby turned on the tap to let the cold water run then tucked his lunch away in the frig. Rummaging around in the cupboards, he got out a filter and proceeded to line the basket of the drip machine. He always took the time to moisten the filter. Put the filter in the drip basket then run a little water over the filter. Anybody who had any experience with a filter machine knew the technique of wetting the filter before starting to make coffee. If the filter was dry, when the water started to drip into it, ofttimes it would pull down the side of the filter. Many a time Bobby had come back to the brewed coffee only to find the filter had collapsed and the coffee grounds had ended up in the pot. Running a little water over the filter guaranteed that the filter stuck to the basket and did not slip out of place when the water starting dripping into it.
This was going to take a few minutes, so Bobby left the coffee maker and went out the side door into the shop. He might as well see where junior was and what trouble he had gotten himself into. Six months ago, Ted junior, for reasons which were never fully explained, after a night of heavy drinking, had come to the shop instead of going home. Bobby had come in early as he always did and found the lad passed out on the couch in the lunchroom. At some point Ted had thrown up and left a disgusting pool of vomit on the floor beside the couch. As Bobby proceeded to clean it up, Ted abruptly woke up then staggered out of the shop without saying anything to Bobby. Fucking idiot. So just what bullshit has he done this time?
Normally at six in the morning, the entire place was dead silent. Nobody was here; no machines were turned on; there was no activity at all and it was kind of peaceful. However Bobby could hear something somewhere. There was a buzz. Something was on; something was humming as though a machine was on and idling.
Evans Tool and Die had been a family run operation for sixty years. It was well known in the area as a small but successful business employing a couple of dozen men. Okay, not all men. Molly in the office took care of all the administrative duties and Freddy had actually brought in a woman, Alice, who had completed a tech degree at the local college. "Hmpf," Booby said out loud to himself. He had just never heard of a woman working in the tool and die industry but these days, anything was possible. He remembered the last time he needed to have his telephone serviced, he opened the door to a woman dressed in overalls and wearing a tool belt. She was very competent and thorough. Hell, why not? A job's a job and who says anybody can't learn it.
Bobby stood for a moment outside the offices in the open area of the shop. Where was the hum coming from? It sounded like it was towards the back so Bobby started to meander in between the work benches, storage bins and the various machines. Mr. Evans's business was doing quite well and the company had a lot on the go. Maybe the banks and some of the bigger businesses were having a tough go of it after the financial crisis, but for some reason Evans was just zipping along quite nicely. Go figure. Did anybody know really know what worked and what didn't work?
The large shop area was divided into two sections by a brick wall with large sliding doors. The larger machines, the presses and such were out back and away from the main shop because they just made more noise. Keeping them segregated from the main working area meant that you could work and hear yourself think. Evans had taken on a number of sub-contracting jobs for some of the local manufacturers and was in demand for producing specific metal parts pressed out of sheets. Just two months ago, one of the specialty car body shops had come to Evans for the production of bumpers. Evans would get in these sheets of metal and using a machine press, would transform the sheet into various bumpers that the body shop was painting and finishing then shipping around the country as replacement kits for those looking to repair old vehicles. Who knew there would be a demand for such a thing but after ten years at the Evans shop, Bobby had come to expect just about anything.
Sliding the large dividing door open a bit, Bobby stepped into the back shop. Large machines were spaced out over the floor. It was here where more of the production or the assembly line work took place.
The humming was coming from the back corner. Hmmm, that was where the new machine press had been set up to do the car bumpers. Bobby headed towards the corner wondering why the machine was on. Had somebody actually forgotten to turn it off? That seemed very, very unlikely but then again, anything was possibly. The shop had a good safety record but who knows? Once in a while even the best of them did something out of the ordinary if not downright stupid or dangerous. After all, that's why they had rules and procedures. People get preoccupied or distracted and the next thing you know, wham! You lose an arm or something.
As Bobby approached the corner, it was evident that yes, the humming was coming from the large machine press. It was on but idling. Two workers would place a sheet of metal on top of a mould then step back and push a button. The press would come down and push the metal into the mould reforming it into the shape of a car bumper. The two workers would then remove the bumper from the mould and carry it to skid which would be loaded onto a truck for transport to the finishing shop.
Bobby walked up to the machine and looked down. Later he would tell the cop who interviewed him that it was one of those moments where you look and at first the brain is presented with something so out of ordinary, so bizarre, it can't really process what it's seeing. Once, when Bobby was up at the cottage, he came home after paddling around the lake in a canoe and walked in on a bear in the middle of the kitchen. Bobby stood dumbfounded thinking to himself, "Wait. Cottage. Bear. Bears are supposed to be in the forest not in the cottage." It took a moment before Bobby's instincts kicked in and he turned and ran out thinking "Gee-sus fucking K Rist." Fortunately the bear ran out too and there wasn't any damage.
The machine consisted of this huge overhead press taller than a man. The press or the hammer came down on the anvil with a tremendous pressure reshaping whatever metal was placed there. In this instance, the anvil was a mould and the hammer pushed the sheet of metal into the mould reforming it into a car bumper; the hammer inserted itself into the anvil.
In front of the anvil or the mould, there was something. What was it? Bobby stared at this thing trying to make sense of what he was looking at. He had never seen whatever it was before and his brain had clicked into overdrive trying to compare it to other things, to previous experiences. He looked it up and down. Strange. Then it hit him. Bobby was looking at the upper part of a human body. There was the torso, the head and the arms. He was looking at the back of whatever, whomever this was. The body was lying with head bent at the neck, the face against the floor and the length of the chest leaning against the anvil. Both arms were flopped over to each side. The right hand was still holding the control box which activated the press.
A cold chill ran down Bobby's spine. Oh my God, this had to be Ted. Nobody else was here. There were no other cars in the lot. Who else could it be? Bobby walked around the other side of the anvil and yes, there was the lower part of the body. For whatever reason it was not leaning against the machine, the legs and whatever was left of the hips had fallen over onto the floor. Bobby could feel his stomach get very queasy. Was he going to barf? Holy fucking Christ, Ted had killed himself, but what a way to do it. He put himself in the machine press and completely cut himself in two. Oh my God. Bobby looked away and stared at the far side of the room. What to do? This was horrible. What was Mr. Evans going to say? What would he do? He was going to be devastated. Oh shit, I hated this little fucker but I didn't want this to happen. Crap, I always hoped he'd fucking straighten up and get his shit together. Bobby sighed. He suddenly felt very weary. Oh my fucking God.
Bobby looked back at the body. Well, junior wasn't going anywhere. Bobby turned and headed back to the office. He called Mr. Evans. It was still early so the phone must have rang at least five times before the boss picked it up. His voice was full of sleep. Bobby hesitated at first then just blurted it out. For the longest time there was silence at the other end. "Mr. Evans?" said Bobby. There really wasn't much else to say so Bobby offered to phone the police right away. Mr. Evans said he would be down immediately.
Bobby hung up the phone and just sat in the chair. It was quiet, sort of peaceful. His mind strayed back to the image of the body cut in two then to thoughts of Ted. Bobby could remember ten years ago when Ted was just a kid and Mr. Evans, the proud father would bring the boy around to visit the shop, see the machines and meet all the guys working there. It had seemed so promising after the missus had died that maybe dad would be able to make a go of it, being a single parent and all that. Who knew that it would all end up like this? What a tragedy. What a waste.
**********************
Ted was drunk, angry and stoned but not necessarily in that order. Some girl that Ted sort of dated had said that she had had enough of his bullshit and told him to fuck off in no uncertain terms earlier in the evening. Then he went out and got pissed and started a fight with some dufus jock from the high school. Fortunately the dufus's friends took the dufus away. Ted was going to beat the fuck out of him just on principle. How dare he call Ted a slobbering drunk. Fuck, was his dad rich? Did he own a sports car never mind drive one? What a cunt.
Jesus, what a bunch of bullshit. Yes, I'm just sick of all the bullshit. Ted got thrown out the bar. That didn't please him all too much but considering the guy who was doing the throwing was about twice the size of Ted, Ted couldn't very well do much. The guy literally picked up Ted around the waist and carried him out the door. Ted flailed his arms around a bit but then realised there was absolutely nothing he could do. Big guy didn't say anything; all action, no talk. After he got Ted outside, he put him down then pushed him away. When Ted turned around, the guy pointed at him and said with his best firm, gruff voice, "Go home and sleep it off." Then big guy went back in the bar and left Ted out in the parking lot by himself. Ted wanted to go back in and tell him a thing or two but somewhere in the back of Ted's mind, he knew he was outgunned, outclassed and beaten. It was time to leave and go lick his wounds elsewhere.
Loosing round one didn't stop Ted from getting in his car and peeling out of the parking lot. He hit the road so fast, the car fish-tailed and Ted nearly lost control of it. Fortunately he took his foot off the gas and managed to get pointed down the road straight before slamming his foot down again. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ted emphasized each fuck by pounding his right hand on the top of the steering wheel. He was frustrated. He couldn't have his way. He couldn't get what he wanted but then again just what did Ted want? He was drunk, partially out of control and overwhelmed by a general sense of uselessness in life. He had no purpose. He had no goal. He had no direction. Just what the fuck was the purpose of life? Who cares about going to school and getting an education? What was the point? Who cares about getting a job? Who cares about making money? What sense did any of this shit make? Where was the pleasure of going to shop each day like the old man? What in heaven's name did he get out of it? Why did any of those losers go to work? They were all born in this town; they would all die in this town. They would all spend their entire lives in this town going to the same job, living in the same house and doing the same fucking shit over and over again. Who gives a fuck? What's the point?
Ted knew he was drunk and thought going home wasn't such a good idea. The old man was probably still up and if Ted came in drunk like this, he would bawl him out royally. Dad seemed like such a task master. He didn't care to talk about anything. For him, it was all so bloody simple. Get an education. Get a job. Work. Yes, and work, work, work. Fuck that shit. There was no way Ted was going to end up like his old man tied to some bloody fucking meaningless shit job. Okay, go to the shop. Ted had the key and he knew the security codes. Of course, he was so pissed he had to punch in the number three times before he got it right.
Ted sat in the lunchroom. What to do now? Ah, he had just the thing in his pocket and he had almost forgotten about it. How about a line of coke? Nothing like adding a little powder on top of some good liquor. The two buzzes complimented each other. Ted got his drug set up and did a snort. He leaned back and let the high wash over him. Ah, now that feels much better. He laughed. Fuck yeah, this was much better.
Mr. High as a kite got up and wandered around the shop. He mindlessly looked at various things, picking up and putting down tools, parts and even an instruction manual on machine operation. What to do? What to do? Something had to happen. Something had to change. But what? Ted was slightly out of it but he was certainly thinking of the future. All of this couldn't continue. He had to do something, anything. He had arrived at the breaking point but he just didn't know what to do to get out of this predicament.
After meandering through just about the whole shop, Ted finally found himself in front of the machine press. He had watched the workers pressing out bumpers a couple of times over the past few months. He was amazed at the pressure the machine could exert on a sheet of metal to reform it into something else. It was interesting. You start with a sheet of metal then by using this huge pressure, you transformed the material into something completely different. Ted laughed. That's what he needed for himself. He needed to be transformed into something else. He needed his life remoulded into something new. That was a terrific idea. Would it work?
Ted turned on the machine and the air filled with the hum of power, raw power; the power of transformation, the power of creation. Start with one thing and end up with something new. Ted stumbled. Ha, he still was drunk even though the powder had sharpened his mind. God, this felt pretty good. Could we take a loser kid and stamp out a better man?
Ted reached over and grabbed the control box. It was connected to a long cable so a worker could move around the machine and control its operation from just about any position. Ted placed it beside the anvil then walked around to the other side. Ted laid himself across the anvil so that his stomach was directly over the mould. He grunted as he reached out for the control box. Ted's last thought was about showing his Dad and the workers in the shop how to stamp out a new Ted. Then he pushed the green button. Ah fuck it.
2011-10-12
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