Cape Safety, Inc.: Danger Dogs Series, #1

By Richard Hughes

From their Cape Cod compound, the brightest safety consultants in their profession take you into their world to resolve local as well as global safety, health, and environmental conflicts. Meet characters you wish you knew, maybe even characters you do know dealing with true incidents set in a fictional context. Written by a Cape Cod-based safety consultant with over 40 years of experience, Richard Hughes's first novel in an exciting new series happily takes the reader into different kinds of adventures, ones that you quite likely never thought existed. Politics and purpose together in a great little company. A safety course in a novel or a novel kind of safety course?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Waquoit Wordsmith Press
• Release date: Oct 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201555160

Richard Hughes

Richard Hughes closed his 24-seat safety training center on Cape Cod to become a retired student of modern worldwide shipping operations. He graduated from Massachusetts Maritime Academy with a B.S. in Marine Transportation then obtained a Masters Degree in Business from Lesley University. While at MMA, he sailed on the Bay State, the Lightning, and the Mobil Lube. His books include the Cape Safety, Inc. – Danger Dogs Series—a collection of 9 novels detailing the exciting lives of a top-notch bi-coastal safety consulting firm. His popular non-fiction Deep Sea Decisions is an expose of maritime tragedies. He and his wife, Lavinia M. Hughes, have co-authored Newtucket Island, Training Ship, and Cape Car Blues. He lives and writes in the seaside village of Waquoit, MA, with his wife.

Book preview

PREFACE

Calvin Trillin has written, In modern America, anyone who attempts to write satirically about the events of the day finds it difficult to concoct a situation so bizarre that it may not actually come to pass while the article is still on the presses.

With his words in mind, I’ve foregone the satire but integrated the bizarre reality of today’s news with an exciting cast of fictional characters.

We are now in the midst of an industrial renaissance, pervasive in scope, dramatic in character, threatening in force, and yet replete with opportunities for adventurous young Americans whom hopefully this book will inspire.

Two centuries ago, the tradesman made the difference, said Joseph Toot, Jr., President of the Timken Company. A hundred years ago, it was a mechanic; in the fifties it was the engineer; but today it is the scientist.

And tomorrow it’s the special men and women of Cape Safety, Inc.

WAIVER STATEMENT

This book is a complete work of fiction although many events happened.  Unfortunately, this writer knows none of the celebrity characters and their words and actions spring forth only from a creative mind.

CHAPTER 1

They are the safety guys, and they are the best in the business.

Bob Guard and Gene Wing sat on the small pier extension at the rear of the Captain Kidd in Woods Hole Harbor, sharing fish and chips, a basket of mussels and a pitcher of Heineken, one of their typical lunches.

Will that be the last we see of them until 2008? Bob asked, while simultaneously lowering an evil-looking clam belly down the back of his throat.  God, I hope so.  It took me two and a half hours to get there and just as long to get out with The ‘Big Dig’ construction project and the Tall Ships events going on at the same time.  Great traffic planning, there.  But at least we didn’t have to stay in Boston; imagine trying to bribe your way into a hotel, Gene moaned at his own speculation, as he gulped down the bottom third of his first glass.

Both men, though, could afford to relax over lunch, and revel a bit in their present prosperity.  Bob split a Malasada, or Portuguese elephant ear, pastry in half, then gave the bigger piece to Gene.  Business was good, and the day before they had successfully solved another rush job as their secretary, Heidi, labeled such assignments.  Her red file folders distinguished Rush projects from everyday firefights, although there were likely as many red folders floating around as regular folders on any given day.

Yesterday’s case wasn’t typical, but actually, little could ever be called typical for the owners and primary consultants of Cape Safety, Inc.  The prior day began before 7:00 a.m. with a red folder from Heidi.  Attached to the outside of it was a pink phone message generated from the answering machine that said the Lieutenant Governor needed a call back, PRONTO.

Both the Lieutenant Governor’s cell phone number and her State House office number were stapled inside the red folder.  Thanks again, Heidi, thought Bob, one less trip to the magic Rolodex.  That’s why she’s worth every cent of what we pay her, he thought, reminding himself that her pay raise was due soon and that she was too valuable to keep as just a receptionist much longer.  Time was money and money was time.  He tried the cell phone number first.

Your majesty, how may this conscript to your exorbitant tax structure be of humble service? he mocked, as he recognized her voice on the other end of the call.  If he wasn’t so good at his job and so necessary to every client he worked for, he probably couldn’t get away with half his sarcasm, but he was–and he did.

Bob, is that you?  Quit complaining about your taxes or I’ll mention your name to the State Auditor over lobsters tomorrow.  We’ve got a crisis for you and Gene that our State health boys can’t figure out, and the clock’s running.  Can you both get up here, like yesterday?

Actually, Bob was scheduled to head east to Providence to help a new client with a wild robot that he couldn’t get under control, while Gene was due to catch an eight o’clock shuttle flight out of Hyannis to help an old client with an inherited moldy mansion problem in Nantucket.  But this was the State’s second-in-command asking for both of their help, and at that level asking is somewhat of a euphemistic term.  He put the LG, as he also called her in private, on hold, while he intercepted Gene at the airport.  Thank God for these new cell phones, he muttered to himself.  In 15 seconds he was back on line one, assuring the Governor’s right arm that they were both on their way.

What exactly is the frequency, Kenneth? he asked tweaking her a little more with the forever cryptic Dan Rather reference.

"No joke on this one, Bob.  The Greek sailors from the Tall Ship Hn Aris are scheduled to march down Boylston Street tomorrow afternoon and about a third of the crew have come down with a really nasty foot rash.  Until they know what caused it, their ship’s doctor says the crew stays aboard.  That would put a crimp in the Governor’s sails, pun intended."

On the case, said Bob.  Is the ship tied up at Black Falcon Terminal or at anchor in the harbor somewhere?  We don’t keep a Zodiac fully inflated in each of our vans, you know, and it’s a hell of a row to the Superbuoy.

No problem; the Commissioner of Health will meet you both at the ship’s gangway at Black Falcon.  The ship is in and they’re giving public deck tours on it all day, but you’re on your own for parking and remember, we’ve shut all of South Boston down to incoming traffic.

The phone beeped dead.  Bob had a sneaking suspicion that the cell towers were working fine, but the Lieutenant Gov. just used the old END CALL button trick on him to avoid hearing his howling response to Boston’s biggest problem besides its sports teams, parking!

Once again it proved to be a simple afternoon’s work for the Dynamic Duo of Safety & Hygiene, as Newsweek Magazine once tabbed them in a multi-page spread on their myriad exploits.

Bob’s aqua mini-van had made it there first, as Gene made the critical traffic mistake of trying to divert away from The Big Dig Boston underpass construction project by detouring onto Morrissey Boulevard.  With his amber light bar strobing, he whizzed past the J.F.K. Library and The Boston Globe newspaper, making great time, but Gene’s luck ran out when he smacked directly into the South Boston blockade.  Conceding his faux pas after a Boston cop convinced him that getting a weapon ship into Cuba would be easier than getting to Black Falcon through Southie, he backtracked and eventually made it onto the dock, among long lines of sightseers, pulling up behind Bob’s identical van a mere ten minutes later.

The Massachusetts Health Commissioner, Jackie O’Sullivan, met Bob and Gene at the pier with two of his lab rats, a middle-aged career civil servant who introduced himself as Ken, who then turned to introduce a perky young female assistant as G, just the letter.

She’s gotta be from Cambridge, thought Gene, but he kept it to himself.

Let me bring you two men up to speed on this one, said the oh-so-imperious commissioner.  Bob and Gene eyed each other, a gesture imperceptible to anyone else, but a movement that these two men, capable of nearly reading each other’s minds, did, almost, reflexively, when political bullshit began to flow.  Later when they were together, they’d probably be taking turns mimicking this politico’s voice and clichéd phrases close to verbatim.  Almost for certain, this warm-up would make one of their monologues.  Why politicians always fell instantly into business speak when they so obviously know little to nothing about business, had long been a source of amusement to them both, but like the private language of twins, their true feelings they masked to outsiders.

My team and I have checked everything we can think of, food poisoning, blood tests, time of onset−we even took swipe samples of their boot linings to see if we could spot any bacterial problems–nothing tests positive.

Already, Gene had an idea what could be the problem.  Fairly typical, though, that the State health authorities would try only three causes then, like Maxwell Smart, of GET SMART fame, declare it an unsolvable mystery.

He’d seen a similar breakout one time with an NBA basketball team that had traveled to Columbia for a pre-season exhibition against the Colombian National Olympic team.  Our team came back to Los Angeles, winners by 60 points, but health losers with severe contact dermatitis on their feet, not unlike what these sailors were experiencing.

Can I see the ship’s steward? said Gene, as the five of them started up the ship’s gangway receiving crisp salutes from the cadets on watch.

Don’t see why not, said O’ Sullivan, but won’t you want to talk to the ship’s doctor first?

I’ve got a good hunch, and since you’ve already hit a stonewall there, I’d rather go straight to the steward, then maybe we’ll all be done in time to watch these sailors march past the Prudential Building in some precision lock-step.

Ten minutes later the problem was essentially solved.  Through an interpreter, the steward, at Gene’s request, confirmed his hunch.  In fact, when Gene asked him about shower wear, you could almost see a light go on in the steward’s eyes.  Asked that question, the steward immediately remembered that he had just opened, and passed out, a brand new case of shower sandals for the crew’s use on the leg between New York, where all the Tall Ships celebrated the Fourth of July with the melting pot of America, to Boston.  The cheap thong sandals, likely made in some third world economy, of God-knows-what and raw latex rubber components, had to have been the culprits.  Long known to be a primary contact dermatitis cause, rubber and/or additives to the blend had to be responsible for the sudden outbreak.

Coallergic contact dermatitis, a hypersensitivity from rubber products, had long been recognized as a skin rash inducer.  Gene knew that latex alone is rarely the sensitizer, rather the additives such as mercaptobezothiazole and tetramethylthiuram are responsible, but the crew didn’t care about alphabet soup words.  All they cared about was stopping the itching.

Western manufacturers usually know enough to watch these ingredients, particularly in footwear, raincoats or other skin-contact garments.  Third world factories–who knows?  Obviously, this manufacturer never got the lecture.  Bob, too, although not the industrial hygiene guru that his partner was, immediately remembered the NBA case when Gene began teasing him with exaggerated basketball air dribbling from his claustrophobic location, a small pantry off of the ship’s galley.  Since Gene was nearly hidden from sight, Bob took over as primary lecturer, reminding the Health Commissioner, Ken, G, and, by then, the ship’s Chief Engineer who had joined the assemblage, that in 1979, it was reported that the first case of rubber-causing contact Urticaria noted an immediate hypersensitivity in the afflicted individual.  Since then, numerous cases of latex hypersensitivity have been identified, at least one resulting in a rare case of anaphylactic shock leading to death.

Bob and Gene, in times past, had watched the entire rubber manufacturing process involving latex, the milky sap from the rubber tree Hevea Brasiliensis.  Natural rubber is a processed product of latex. Latex contains proteins, lipids, nucleotides and cofactors, which are purified and cross-linked with the use of heat and sulfur, a process called vulcanization, to improve the elasticity and thermostability.  Skin-nasty accelerators and additives are also used in the rubber-making process, a very interesting thing to watch, but not necessarily a good raw material to touch.  The final product is approximately 2 to 3 percent protein, and it is this unspecified protein that is thought to be the allergen that often results in so much skin discomfort, itchiness, and rashes to sensitive individuals.

Allergy to natural rubber latex, commonly referred to as latex, appears to have been an uncommon occurrence before 1980.  The reason for the proliferation of cases after that time remains unclear.  Initial European reports of latex hypersensitivity described an unusual frequency of anaphylactic and other significant reactions in individuals.  The majority of the affected individuals were healthcare workers.  During the last five years, increasing evidence has accumulated that latex allergy has become a major occupational health problem, epidemic in scope, especially among healthcare workers and others where there was significant occupational exposure to latex products like disposable gloves.  It has been estimated that between 8% and 17% of exposed healthcare workers, numbering well over 100,000 employees, are at risk for latex reactions.  There are currently no governmental or industrial regulations concerning allowable levels of latex allergens.

My recommendation, said Gene, just don’t tell the EPA it came from me, is to make like the last Tall Ship that tied up around here in 1775.  When it starts to get dark, do just like they did with the British tea, and heave those slippers overboard.

CHAPTER 2

T elling the Health Commissioner of Massachusetts to heave a case of nasty slippers into Boston Harbor−now that the MWRA (Massachusetts Water Resources Authority) has just spent about a trillion dollars cleaning up the smelly harbor–real smooth, Bob chortled, as a seagull dive-bombed perilously close to their table.

It got a great laugh, though, you must admit, as Gene yanked off his non-latex, plastic lobster bib that was required personal protective equipment for every restaurant their side of the Bourne and Sagamore Bridges.

Gene, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, stood about 6’3, maybe a couple of whiskers shorter than Bob.  Bob had lighter brown hair and grey-blue eyes but was probably 30 pounds heavier than Gene.  Senator Kennedy once described the two of them as Celtic point guards active and retired," with Gene still skinny as a rail and Bob quite a bit more muscular, and heftier, just about everywhere.  As a matter of fact, that’s how he had addressed his Kennedy Family Christmas card to them each year, Mr. Active Gene Wing & Mr. Retired Robert Guard, Cape Safety, Inc., International Safety Suites, Woods Hole, MA 02543.

Nobody could remember when it started but over the years the men of Cape Safety had played dozens of practical jokes on the two Massachusetts Senators, Kerry & Kennedy.  Only one joke had backfired politically on Senator Kerry when the boys did some serious favors for the Brookline Water Department.  In return, Bob had asked them, on the hush-hush, to relocate a nuisance fire hydrant away from a prime parking space in front of Senator Kerry’s condo.  Once the newspapers caught wind of it, though, the Senator and his wife had to take the heat for their vulgar display of power, as the Boston Phoenix called it.  Of course, the papers never reported that in exchange Brookline received an extremely complex confined space entry program and training from the men of CS, no charge, enabling them to safely enter an underground reservoir pit for a water pump replacement.  But that’s often how Cape Safety, Inc. worked – below the radar of the media, and often on a quid pro quo for favors to be called in at a later date.  Whenever Safe Guard as the media called Bob, and Hy Gene, as they obviously labeled Mr. Wing, went on an assignment, increasingly it was high visibility with a tabloid cameraman’s zoom lens never far away.  So much for quiet accomplishment in the new millennium, at least locally in the land of the cod and the bean.

How’s that Nantucket air quality problem going? asked Bob.  Often they worked together, but on routine projects they’d solo their assignments thereby doubling their profits.  Will we make a buck or two from the plane loads of new money that have been landing over there for the past ten years?

Yes sir, saluted Gene as he eyed the passing dessert cart, I’ve got three of our environmental technicians over there building up billable hours for us, as we speak.  But hell, the remediation is big-time skanky.  I’ve got everyone in Level A protection, full encapsulation with air lines and cooling systems.  If we didn’t go for this maximum protection, God knows what they’d come down with.  Plus in this weather, without the cooling vests, they’d all have heat stroke.  Did I tell you what we found there?

Three days before, Gene had received a phone call from the