Voracity

By Jerald M. North

The Ruby Stone was written as a request by his granddaughter to write a
story about a lonely Unicorn. She in fact helped to tell the story along the
way and her imaginary input was invaluable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479786718

Jerald M. North

Jerald M. North is the author of two previous novels, Voracity and Justin and Jin. He was born in Hyden, Kentucky and now lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. Before beginning his writing career he was active in the recycling industry for more than thirty-five years. His experience in recycling is in fact, the basis of his first novel - Voracity. After retiring from the recycling industry he worked as a real estate agent for eight years where he obtained the knowledge to write his current novel, Justifiable Homicide. He can be reached through his e-mail address at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

November 18, 1999-8:00 A.M.

The depressed feeling surrounding this city is getting worse. And the weather here sure as hell doesn’t help to improve my mood any, that’s for sure. The weather in Cincinnati sucks from November until March. All is does is rain or snow except for a few days when the sun breaks through and proves it hasn’t died out, as of yet. It’s all I can do to stay awake to drive. Thank God after fifteen years, I can almost make this drive to the plant in my sleep. Truth is? Sometimes I think I do.

Looking in my rear view mirror, I see that my eyes are puffier than usual with red lines running toward the pale blue iris. I look like downtown drunk driving a new car. Age, booze and lack of exercise are starting to bring me down. I sometimes wonder if anyone else has noticed. But the truth is I don’t give a rats ass. Being the boss does have some advantages.

A blaring horn startles me out of my thoughts and I swerve quickly back into my own lane just in time to avoid another accident. The last one I had with a concrete wall damn near killed me. One more and my driver’s license will probably be gone forever. Luckily, the light rain that has started to fall has not made the highway slick.

Ahead I see the light turning to yellow and start applying the brakes for what should be my fourth stop along my way. I know every light and the duration of each one through the complete thirty-mile trip. After fifteen years I even know which cars are running two minutes late with their drivers speeding like all hell to gain an extra minute. They’ll still be late, always are, always will be.

At the light I check the rear view mirror again and catch a glimpse of the guy in the car behind me and think to myself, Man, this guy looks worse than I do. The first thing I notice are the eyes, dark and slanted downward from the nose. The whites are almost pure and seem to almost glow around coal black eyes. Bushy black eyebrows follow the downward curve of the eyes. He either is very short in stature or slumped down low in the seat because I can only see the top half of his face. The color of his skin is like that of an old black and white movie. He has thick black hair, which is combed straight back and blends perfectly with his black suit jacket and shirt. He’s either an undertaker from hell or a Mafia hit man.

The light changes and I accelerate quickly across the intersection hoping to move away from this guy. He looks like an accident waiting to happen, and while I don’t wish anyone serious injury, better them than me.

I quickly gain more distance and change lanes for a left turn at the upcoming light. As I make the turn I see his car, an new black Grand Am go straight through the light and sigh with relief that he is now someone else’s problem.

The next ten miles are a straight shot with only two lights and one school zone between me and the recycling plant, Northern Circle, which I own. Due to prostrate problems I usually stop along the way at a McDonald’s to use the bathroom and then grab a cup of coffee, if I’m not running behind.

I use the driving time to reflect on the problems left over from the company on Friday and the options open to settle them. Most problems are in one way or another people problems and an occasional rejection of recycled material packed at the plant. Lately though I have one employee who happens to be my plant manager, giving me serious problems.

I heard Friday that Rick is talking about initiating a work slow-down and extended lunch breaks. This was brought to my attention by an independent contractor working on the sprinkler system. Rick’s denied the rumors but he doesn’t know that the contractor, who is a friend of mine, overheard his remarks. I would have fired him on the spot if we weren’t so busy and good employees weren’t so damn hard to find. Rick Carter has been an excellent worker up until about a month ago when his whole attitude changed and I suspected drug problems. I’ve had several talks with him but he seems to have developed a chip on shoulder about something and his don’t give a damn attitude has worn thin.

Up ahead I see the McDonald’s and put on my right turn signal. My bladder, which has been quiet, suddenly starts to pound. I wonder why, when relief is only a few minutes ahead, the pressure seems to intensify almost unbearably.

I park in the first available space, jump out and head straight for the restroom. I wonder if all the regulars there check their watches for accuracy by my arrival time. Other than one or two new faces once in a while, it’s the same group all the time. One thing about the patrons of McDonald’s we are a loyal and predictable lot.

As soon as I open the bathroom door the mixed odor of food, urine and shit almost makes me gag. I don’t know why but fast food restaurants always seem to have this smell. I can also hear a patron making some serious noises in one of the stalls. I make it quick and leave as soon as I wash my hands.

I’m running a little late and feel a little queasy and decide to bypass the coffee knowing my girl Friday, Kelly, will have a fresh pot ready when I get to the office anyway. Sliding behind the wheel of my Jeep Sahara, I pull out of the driveway and make a right turn into the street. I immediately start to brake for the red traffic light, which is only fifty feet ahead. Settling in for the last stretch of my journey, I glimpse into the rear view mirror. I don’t believe this shit, I mumble to myself as I see my Mafia friend right on my ass. Surely this is a coincidence and he somehow inadvertently, happened to arrive at this same location. This is the logical conclusion, but with this guy I feel uneasy and somehow have this weird feeling that maybe he is following me. Well, to hell to him, I’ll be at the plant in fifteen minutes and will probably never see this creep again. If he is following me, he’s the one with the problem once he’s on my property.

The rest of the way my unwelcome friend is never more than a few feet from my rear bumper. I normally see ten cops on this stretch of the highway but not one as of yet today, go figure. Several minutes later as I approach the driveway to Northern Circle, I purposely slow down more than necessary to see if he will go around or has the balls to follow me in.

He doesn’t go around or follow me, but slows down almost to a stop and watches me turn into the driveway. Stopping my car after only a few feet into the driveway I look back and see the Grand Am moving very slowly down the street and hopefully back to whatever shit-hole he crawled out of. I’m not easily spooked but this guy has gotten to me. I’m even almost happy to be at work, Rick Carter or not.

Chapter 2

Opening the front office door I see Kelly talking on the telephone and can tell by the way she diverts eye contact that it’s a personal call. After all this time she is still shy about my knowing that she’d dare to use company time for personal reasons. I could care less if she ran her whole household from the office as long as she’s happy with her job. I honestly don’t know if the company could function without her.

Kelly came to me through an employment agency ten years ago. She’s thirty-five years old but could easily pass for twenty-five. She is slightly overweight with kinky long blond hair and deep blue eyes. She has the sweetest disposition I’ve ever seen and that added to her other qualities, makes her extremely attractive. Her husband, Tony, is damn lucky to have her, he knows it and shows it, which is one of the reasons I think they make the perfect couple.

I walk to the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, black one sugar. Walking to my desk, I look through a large window on the north side of the office. From here I can see almost the entire production area and what grade of waste paper the three man crew is running through the main paper baling system. I never arrive at the office precisely at the same time every morning, but somewhere between eight-thirty and nine o’clock. I do this purposely to try and catch my men off guard. Punctuality and predictability can sometimes work against you. I can also gauge Rick’s leadership abilities and his loyalty to me. Someone once told me that I set a bad example for my employees by arriving after they do, but I don’t see it that way. I hired Rick to run the plant and if can’t do that then, I’ll find someone else that can. Besides, not everyone has the balls to take the financial and emotional risk of failure that comes with owning a business. These risks and responsibilities are on my shoulders and mine alone. If my employees can’t understand that then the hell with them, nobody’s chained here; General Motors is two miles up the road.

I can tell from the lack of noise and bodies in the window that nothing is being accomplished at the farm today. I look to the extreme right and can just see the crew standing outside a large overhead door talking and smoking cigarettes. Already in a bad mood this really sets me off. They have only been on the clock thirty minutes and Rick has decided they that need a conference and a smoke break? Damn him. Why in the hell, is he doing this?

I walk to my office put down my coffee, take a deep breath and head for the door leading to the plant entrance. I open the door, stick my head out and yell, Rick! Get your ass in here! Now!

I see Kelly flinch and feel bad that she has to hear what’s coming. I don’t often get this mad and those who know me know that when it happens, someone’s in for a royal ass chewing. Trying to reason with Rick just isn’t working. I’ve no choice but to take a harder line with him. Perhaps it just isn’t worth the effort to keep him any longer.

I walk back to my office and sit down behind my desk. I know he’ll take his time as another way to spite me. After several minutes he walks in and sits down in one of the two chairs I keep on the other side of my desk for visitors.

You want me, he says.

I notice that one of his eyes is almost swollen shut and surrounded by a dark purple color. No doubt he’s been in a scuffle of some sort over the weekend. His hair is un-combed and his clothes look slept in.

Yeah, I want you. What in the hell’s the problem out there?

What do you mean? There’s no problem.

Rick, if there’s no problem then why in the hell is everyone standing around smoking cigarettes at eight-thirty. Have you initiated some new policy I don’t know about, like taking smoke breaks every thirty minutes?

There was a jam-up in the paper shredder and we just cleaned it out. It does happen you know.

I know it happens but it only takes one man to clear it. What the hell is everyone else doing, supervising him? We got a hundred things the other two men could be doing. You know how damn far behind schedule we are and yet you continue to find new ways to waste time.

I’m not wasting time. I’m doing the best I can but you’re constantly on by back for things you don’t know anything about.

Rick, I’m only going to say this once and you better listen and listen damn well. I don’t know what the hell your problem is but you’ve got today to get your shit together or you’re history. In fact I’m giving you two minutes to get that crew back to work or you won’t make it that long. If you’ve got a problem with that, then walk out the front door and we’ll end this right now. Either way it’s your last chance and the choice is yours, what’s it going to be?

If looks could kill, I’m dead. He gets up and hesitates at the office door. Then he turns left to go back out to the plant.

A minute later I hear the machinery start up and I put my head in my hands. I can feel the heat of my face on my hands and know my blood pressure is ready to blow.

The intercom buzzes. John, I know it’s not a good time but Clyde Zornes from Fort Howard Paper Company, is on line two.

It’s OK Kelly. I’ll take it.

Clyde is a buyer for Georgia Pacific and one of my best customers. I hope it’s not bad news. All I need is to find out that we’ve shut the mill down due to some contaminated material we packed at the plant. The way my day is going I hate to pick up the phone.

Hey Clyde, I say, trying to sound cheerful.

Hi John, How’s it going?

"Fine, Clyde. How about you? You got any snow up there yet?

"Lord, yes. We’ve had snow up here for the last month. Snow’s not a big deal up here, John. You guys down there hear the word snow and start hyper-ventilating.

Yeah, I won’t argue with you there, we’re wimps. So, what’s up? I hope you’re calling to tell me that paper prices are up ten dollars across the board.

Not quite John. I’m afraid it’s bad news. We’re dropping prices five-dollars across the board and I’m going to have to cut your order by two hundred tons for next month. That’s why I tried to warn you last month to get as much out the door as possible. But you’re actually behind in shipments for the month.

Clyde, I tried, but we’ve had production problems all month and I had hoped you could do something to help me out of the mess I’m in, just this once.

John, you know I would help you if I could but I have orders from the top to shrink inventory or else. If I can possibly help you out later in the month, you know I’ll call you.

I know this is true, Georgia Pacific is a top notch company and Clyde is a good friend. I’ve dug myself in a hole and somehow I have to get out of it.

That’s all I can ask. I know you’ll do what you can. Any other bad news for me, I seem to be on a roll?

No John, that’s enough for now. I know you’ve got your hands full so I’ll let you get back to work. I’ve got a lot more calls to make. Take care.

Will do and thanks. I hang up the phone and stew. I knew this was coming which is I why I tried to push Rick harder to get more material out the door. Damn him, I wish the guy who blacked his eye would’ve killed him and saved me the trouble.

I try to settle down and glance over the invoicing Kelly has ready to go out. I glance through it and put it back in the folder for her to mail. Nothing to brag about price wise in these invoices, since nothing really changes that much from one month to the other. This business is a typical commodity business where selling price is dictated by the customer’s demand for raw materials on a month-to-month basis. The production costs always rise with inflation, but selling prices go up or down independently with demand. The biggest problem is that the demand doesn’t change much so the selling price never goes far from the lowest level. I’m selling the same material for the same price I was ten years ago, and the margin is getting smaller and smaller.

I pick up the phone to call on some old friends who owe me a couple of favors, in hope they’ll be able to help me out of the bind I’m in. They’re in the same business in Dayton, Ohio, which is only fifty miles to the north. Just as I start to dial the number the plant door leading into the office opens and Rick walks in. My own office door is situated, for security purposes, so I can see anyone entering or leaving the office through the plant door. We’ve had trouble in the past with truck drivers coming in to the office and making themselves at home. I wouldn’t mind so many if they would ask, but they seem to think they’re welcome to help themselves to free coffee and use of the office restroom as well. I eventually put a sign the door says private but I guess they can’t read.

Seeing Rick, I hang up the phone and wait for him to walk over to my desk. Now what? I ask.

John, I just wanted to let you know that we’re almost out of bale ties.

How low are you?

We’ve got enough to tie off about five bales and then we’re out. He shrugs as he says this, like it’s no big deal.

"Why didn’t you just wait the fuck until you ran out, and then tell me, instead of