Rivethead - Ben Hamper [104]
Another matter to be considered was supervisional reaction to our setup. This wasn't the Cab Shop where any two hustlers who could put together a scam were free to flee. This was the Rivet Line where hittin’ the lam still meant sluggin’ a young sheep. In this region, doubling-up was as much a novelty as shag carpet. I wasn't too much concerned with Gino. He'd already taken a shine to Schobel and he knew, when it came to hittin’ a good rivet, I was the cream of the crap. Henry Jackson was the one who posed the definite threat. We would have to watch out for him.
On the eve of our new arrangement, Paul and I retreated to my Camaro for beer and briefing. There were a few loose ends and precautions I wanted to make my partner aware of.
“Before we crank this gimmick up, we need to get a couple of things straight. First off, no more drinking on the job. If I'm gone, there'll be no one around who can give you a piss call.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “Hey, lecture your own ass. You and Eddie are the ones gettin’ tanked every night.”
“Not startin’ tomorrow. Complete sobriety while working. If we work this right, we'll have plenty of time off to go drinkin’.”
“Understood,” Paul replied.
“Another thing,” I continued. “Absolutely no more weed smokin’ with Jehan and Dougie. Every time you get stoned, your eyes get bloody and you get this stupid, guilty look on your face.”
“Hey, smokin’ dope relaxes me. What if I wore a pair of sunglasses like Eddie does?”
“Just say NO, pothead. One more idea. I think it wise that we leave each other the phone numbers of where we'll be at. I will normally be at my place, Mark's Lounge or my girlfriend's. If Henry Jackson comes snoopin’ around, have someone call me and I can be back here within ten minutes.”
“You're forgettin’ something. Where am I gonna go when you are working?” It was a valid point. Paul carpooled from Saginaw with two other guys. He only had his own vehicle two times per week.
“I'll take care of it. On the nights you have your car, you can leave at lunch. On the nights you don't, you can use my car and apartment. I've got extra keys I'll give you. I'll also give you a map of some of the better bars around Flint and directions to where the whores hang out.”
“That's sure gonna beat workin’ in the foundry.”
“That's sure gonna beat workin’, period,” I added.
The system worked just as smoothly as I had hoped. Schobel and I clicked perfectly. Even Gino was duly impressed. He looked the other way and kept his distance. The only thing Gino said to me regarding the setup was: “I don't even want to know where you two disappear. Don't even tell me!” I faithfully obliged my supervisor.
Henry Jackson was easy to dupe. He always came callin’ early in the shift while we were still racin’ around buildin’ up cross members. The occasional times he'd pull a surprise raid later in the shift after one of us had vanished, we'd be ready. Tony would holler down the line from his repair post: “Asshole! Asshole!” That was our cue to spring into a new formation. Cam, who worked on the other side of Paul, would slide down closer to Paul's area and Doug would work up the line toward mine. Henry would strut by, take a quick glance and be satisfied that everything appeared positioned normally.
It was like 1978 all over again. Four hours’ work, eight hours’ pay. Once again there was that certain exhilaration knowing that your job was being nursed along in able hands while you howled at the screen in Mark's Lounge after Lou Whitaker had blasted a hangin’ curve into the right field upper deck. Such things seemed to make more sense than manual labor. To lie there in your sweetheart's bed, shakin’ off the post-ejaculatory sweat, gigglin’ like a schoolboy, a paroled hedonist smiling from a third-story window far removed from the numbness and drudgery of Greaseball Mecca.
Above all, I liked the idea of outsmarting all those management pricks with their clean fingernails and filthy bonuses. They weren't much competition but, all the same, they couldn't earn their paychecks outside the walls drinking