Peace Offer

By M. K. Dreysen

Meet Lenny. He's the new kid in class. Easy smile. Fun stories.

You'll know Lenny well. And soon.

And Lenny most definitely wants to know you...

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. K. Dreysen
• Release date: May 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463156070

Book preview

Peace Offer

By M. K. Dreysen

Copyright © 2020 M. K. Dreysen

Base Cover Image Courtesy of User Taylor Wright at Unsplash

Cover Graphic Design, made with Gimp by M. K. Dreysen and Aimward Drift Publications

Published By Aimward Drift Publications. Visit aimwarddrift.blogspot.com for news, updates, and upcoming stories.

Dedication

They're always for family. This one in particular is probably for Larry and Sue and Dan: the good memories hang around, don't they?

Peace Offer

There was a pit, and two guys working it. A hole on the side of the road, flags and cones set out to warn the unwary. Nothing anyone passing by would even notice.

Except for the smell. The people driving by didn't smell it, not really. Oh, some of them did. The doctor headed to his practice wondered who hit a skunk, but then he hit the recirculate button and drove the rest of the way in well conditioned peace. The lady behind him, a cashier at the grocery store on the corner, didn't have the Bentley, but her Corolla still had a recirculate air button and she did the same thing.

The guys working the pit were stuck with the stink, but they were used to it.

The smell was gas. A pipeline ran under the sidewalks, it was the supply line for the neighborhood and the guys were working the line. Little upgrades, computer controlled valves that called home all day, every day, pressure, flow rates, we're good not good ready to go or hey shut me down something's wrong!

The gas workers were working their way across the city, one block at a time, and what they were doing was so common that nobody noticed them. Except for the smell, and that only briefly.

The smokers noticed. In this case, the neighborhood drunk, he'd set up in his usual spot, leaned up against the back side of the grocery store where no one would notice him. Or bother him. He wasn't a panhandler, sitting out in front of the store begging for change. He was just back here waiting for the buzz to settle out, sitting in the shade so he didn't dehydrate in the meantime.

Most times, once he'd put his ass down and his feet out, he'd be here for hours. No need to move and no energy to do it. When the urge struck him, he'd fire up a cigarette, let the smoke calm the shakes for a few minutes. Maybe he'd make it another hour between beers today. Maybe not, didn't much matter, but some days he could still hope.

The best part about being back here under the shade is how the world came in to him, just the shakes and the butt and the shade. Oh, sure, sometimes a truck would get a little too wide coming into the loading dock, but they'd have to take out the store manager's truck to get to him, and if he lost a leg that way at least there'd be a hell of a laugh at that shit going down along the way. Otherwise, there wasn't nobody to bother him.

This morning, same as always, time for the first cigarette of the day. He counted those, just like he counted the cans of beer. He knew exactly how many he could afford, how many the social security checks would buy every month.

He wasn't a bum, just a drunk. And so far, he could parcel out that check so he didn't have to bother anybody. So it was just his problem, watching the sun climb between beers, between butts. Hoping the shakes didn't get so bad he couldn't make it into the store for the next one.

Something wasn't right today. The world wasn't right today. No, not right, it's that the world was something new. What, though?

The vague hint of gas was coming out of the ground and making its way to Willie Martinez, that's what.

He'd been Willie to his family and friends, until he'd gone in the Army. There, and forever after, he'd become Marty. His separation papers had it all right, and his sister whose address down the street was the one listed on his Social Security, but otherwise he was still Marty.

It took a few minutes for Marty to register the smell. Too many years, too many beers and cigarettes, and the harbor just a few blocks over, all of them conspired against him. But the mechanism caught up at last, and Marty realized at last what it was he was sitting in the middle of.

Those sorry sons a bitches can't even warn anybody? he asked the world.

And no, the poor sons a bitches working six feet below grade hadn't worried about warning anybody. They'd long since become too used to the smell of the job to worry about anything besides putting out their cones and getting on with it.

Half the enjoyment of the job was listening to dispatch squawking over the radio when the calls started coming in. I smell gas, was usually pretty late in the proceedings. First was more often There's not enough pressure to cook my egg salad, or I had to take a cold shower this morning.

And God help them all if it was a good cold day when they set out. When the thermometers started dropping, that's when the phone really started ringing off the hook.

Marty looked at his cigarette, and counted off the number of breaths it had been since he'd lit the thing. I'm still here, that's gotta count for something, right?

Nobody answered. Which meant Marty was going to have to either put the thing out, or he'd have to get up and walk someplace he could finish it without wondering what would go up first, him or the gas.

Problem was, there weren't too many other places he could go that would just let him sit there in peace. Not this close to home, anyhow. So he stubbed the cigarette out, and tried to find peace with the smell.

So it wasn't Marty, or his cigarettes, that started the explosion.

And it wasn't the guys working down in the hole, either. They were named Eric Vance and Ernie Nathaniel Davis.

Nat and Eric were old hands, this wasn't their first time. They'd been working together probably six or eight years at that point. Go in every morning, get to the shop by six thirty or so, catch the repair calls if there were any, the maintenance work otherwise. Get in the truck, complain about the kids or the wife or the way the paychecks didn't seem to stretch as far these days.

Maybe stop for a cup of coffee on the way, maybe not. That just depended on whether it looked like they wouldn't make a good lunch break today. There were plenty of areas around town where it didn't make sense to leave the site, head over for a burger or whatever, then get back in time for some peace and quiet before it was time to get back to work.

This job, they could make it back and forth in plenty of time, hell they could almost walk to the burger joint right up the block. So this morning they'd got started early enough; they were hoping to be done just a little while after lunch. Eric's youngest was just starting spring ball, so getting out of the shop on time would be a good change of pace.

Nat's kids were all moved out, so it was just him and Marie at home, but he wasn't gonna complain about getting back to the shack before dark, that's for sure.

The work was easy enough. The guys running the backhoe did the digging, the engineers were in charge of making sure the pipe intersections were mapped out. All Nat and Eric had to do was show up, change out the valves, and test them out with the laptop in the truck. Wait a bit, leak check, if everything was good to go it was on to the shop and do it again tomorrow.

The rhythm of it was old hat now. Eric was first down, with a hand shovel to clear out the dirt the backhoe couldn't quite get to. Not without blowing out the line, and wouldn't that be a pain in the ass, he'd say most days, like he did this morning.

Nat got in the back of the truck to prep the valve. Power lines clear, new bolts with the right kind of thread dope. Nat'd would have preferred plain old Teflon tape, but the engineers had a new setup. They always had a new setup, Nat could remember half a dozen times over the years that they'd changed what they wanted. It was just one of those things.

This stuff won't last five years and we'll be right back here diggin' it up again, Nat said as he doped up the bolts. Like he usually did. Then he bolted the valve together into its housing, cleared the plastic from the main line connections, and doped those up as well. Different material, this was just plain old iron pipe dope, the only tough part was making sure he didn't mix up the cans of the stuff.

He didn't want to be the reason he and Eric were back here in two years fixing a leak. The college guys make a stupid decision, that's on them, it's why they get paid the big bucks. But this little duck ain't getting the blame for their business.

The next part was when the stink started. Nat opened up his laptop to find the local control valve. There, the one a couple hundred yards that way, they'd installed that one last week. The valve echoed its state, a-ok and wasn't that nice, not having to walk over and turn the thing off. Just punch a button and wait for the green light to switch to red, just like that.

He leaned out of the open door of the truck. He didn't yell at Eric, not until his man popped up over the edge. Hey Eric, is she clean?

As a whistle, Nat. Ready?

Open her up.

Plumbers got to turn the water off, most times at least. Except for things like this, main gas lines.

They could shut off the main pressure feed, like they did now, but the gas still in the line had only one place to go. Eric opened the purge valve, then hopped up out of the hole and walked over to the truck. It would take a while for the fumes to dissipate.

Keeps you honest, Eric said, as Nat passed him the big pipe wrenches. At least we don't have to cut this one.

You know it. That was yesterday's job, and thank God they didn't have one like that today. There'd been a valve, but it had been old and decrepit, too rusted to wrench open. So they'd had to cut the main line, and ain't it fun lighting up a cutting torch to use on a gas line.

Today, they just had to put in a bypass line, like Eric was doing, and then wrench off the manual valve and put in the new electronic replacement.

It went pretty easy the rest of the morning. By the time eleven thirty rolled around, Eric had the new valve set in place, seated and tight. Only thing left when we get back is to pressure it up and wait for the backhoe crew.

You want to pressure it up now? All we have to do is hit the switch on the computer.

Eric didn't really have to think about that. Nah. At least, not until we can get back here to mind it. You getting a strawberry shake today?

You know it, buddy. Nat's weakness was ice cream, just about any kind any flavor, but strawberry shakes he just couldn't pass up.

Eric had got used to watching his partner dip his fries into the pink mess, just so long as he didn't have to think too much about it. It used to turn his stomach, watching Nat eat that stuff like that. That might explain why he liked to close his eyes and nap for a few minutes in the cool of the truck.

That way, at least he wouldn't have to watch.

The pair loaded the loose tools back into the truck, then put themselves in and headed off. Nat drove now, he'd drive going back to the barn that evening. Eric waved at Marty, who was headed into the store to get his lunchtime tall boy. You ever get a chance to talk to him? Eric asked Nat.

Who, Marty? Nat shook his head. Long way to fall, man. We went to school together.

What happened to him?

'The shit', Nat's mind answered. Vietnam, is what came out of his mouth.

Not quite, but close enough. Neither of the men had wanted to join up, but the draft board wasn't interested in whatever it was they'd rather have been doing.

Nat did his bit, shut his mouth, kept his head down. The things his older brothers had told him to. Keep your big yap shut, kid, and maybe you'll come back. So he did that. No truck with the bigots who hated his skin color, no dance across the fault lines with the men who called him brother and hinted at what he could do for them. Nope. Erin Nathaniel Davis had one thing on his mind in the suck.

Get home to Marie. And that's exactly what he did, too.

Don't get me wrong. From what I heard, Marty did ok over there. Good enough to sign up as a lifer. That's what Marty's sister had told Marie. The two ladies weren't tight, exactly, but Lita had helped Marie with the first baby, Maddie. Marie had returned the favor where she could.

Damned if I know, Lita put it. "He liked it, enough to