Ch2-24 Week Service
In my line of business there are stages to how fired you are. Fuck up once and you get a formal meeting. Stage one. Stage two consists of a probation followed by a written warning, stage two occurs if you mess up after having a formal meeting. Stage three was left reserved for those who insisted on fucking up or if you forgot to check the brakes of a truck so it ended up ploughing into a school. This was a final formal meeting with a slash in your pay check, one more bad move and you're back to being unemployed with a less than complimenting reference. I'd been immediately bumped up to stage three thanks to Mike, if those maggots hadn't ate his face off yet I'd be disappointed. The bastard.
Before my formal meeting my manager had told me that he would try and make it so the fault wasn't completely mine, I had asked him how that would work and with that he answered with just a blank look before ushering me into his office. Carl had been a mechanic himself until last year when the old manager died of a heart attack on a boating trip, since then he had seen himself rise faster through the ranks faster than a guy's dick on Viagra. He was a caring guy of sorts but ultimately if it came between me and his newly acquired lifestyle it wouldn't take a genius to know which he'd save.
Every morning Carl woke up at seven, had a shower, kissed his wife goodbye before dropping off his kids at school and came to work. He'd finish at five then go home, play with his kids, have a meal and fuck his wife. He was stuck in a rut. A rut he enjoyed, so if he showed any leniency towards me during the meeting no doubt the solicitor would note it and the parents of the dearly deceased would crucify him. So in other words, I was fucked.
The office itself was generic. A single desk with a single chair behind it, pictures of his family strewn across it, placed nonchalantly as if to give a relaxed air to it, the grey walls only served to this effect in Carl's head with the only business like apparatus in the office a small desktop computer which he placed himself behind promptly as I walked in. He'd set out a chair for me in front of him and another in the corner for the solicitor who looked every inch the blood sucking parasite I had imagined he'd be. He didn't give a shit about the family's grief he just knew at the end of all of this no matter what the outcome there would be a nice fat pay check coming his way that he could use for his bills and prostitutes. Carl had introduced himself to me and the solicitor, needless really unless he thought I was stupid enough to have forgotten his name or the solicitor hadn't been briefed before he had arrived.
The meeting began officially and my manager began by explaining how none of this is directly my fault, how I should've been checked on more carefully and how he'd rectify it in the future, followed by the solicitor's furious scrawling on his paper. I zoned out and adopted the usual sincere face I apply when I couldn't really give a shit. Nod every couple of seconds, look sad, burst into tears if needs be and you're set for getting away with it. He wrapped up his speech and told me he 'hopes I can live with myself with the deaths of all those poor children on my conscience.'.
I'd say if looks could kill but with the solicitor noting every word, every action and counter action my face had to remain expressionless, morbid even. If thoughts could kill though, I'd be a fucking serial killer. Hell, I'd be England's most wanted man, get some fame then go out in a storm of fire.
You know something's fucked up when the only thing you receive for your birthday is a card from your brother which reads 'Dad says you're an addict now, sort it out.'. Nice. Son of a bitch didn't even ask me if I was, instead he chose to believe my father. I wasn't a drug addict but if I kept buying alcohol like I had been doing it wouldn't be long till I was joining the AA.
Since turning eighteen all I had bought was alcohol, making up for lost time I suppose. A flat above a pub, almost bare of furnishings, devoid of food, the only sustenance a fridge full of alcohol. Mike would have been proud. Ever since the formal meeting at work my supervisor avoided giving me complex jobs for fear of another 'accident' followed by a swift kick up my ass and his instant dismissal. Instead I had to do all the paperwork for the garage. Sounds boring but it did have its perks.
It didn't take long to figure someone had been siphoning off company funds, determined to figure out who it was I soon isolated myself from the people around me. Days melded into one, the only way I knew what day it was depended on how pissed Charles was when he came into work.
Charles Eserki had been an apprentice too, one of the best I'd heard, but like all the greats he got overexposed; awards, 'Apprentice of the Year' trophies, he had it all. It didn't take long though for his standards to start slipping. Drugs and alcohol had been a factor, but the main player to his downfall was his own arrogance. Charles would come in stoned out of his face still reeking of the previous night's misdemeanours, even though he wasn't in the right state of mind his work went unchecked. He'd forgotten to torque the wheelnuts up on a van, the wheels fell off and the driver was left with a broken spine. Stage One for Charles.
Stage Two occurred after a taxi driver who had argued with Charles ended up in hospital with an exhaust probe stuck where the sun don't shine. It was soon discovered that the 'Apprentice of the Year' had taken crack earlier that morning.
Faced with the choice of rehab or unemployment, he enjoyed a detox period and came back a new man, humbled after his fall from grace. Unfortunately his old ways returned not long after I started working and I had to watch as my mentor let his demons haunt him. As the week progressed he'd come in more and more intoxicated.
It must have been Friday, Charles was still wasted from the night before. Drunkenly he greeted my supervisor and I before stumbling into the workshop apparently expecting a stationary vehicle to move out of his way. It didn't. I settled back to checking the accounts before Carl passed by to his office in his usual Tesco value suit he thought made him look formal. Combined with the spiky haircut Ben Sherman decided was trendy he looked like a kid on his way to prom.
With my six months of probation almost over I'd gotten close to finding who had been siphoning the funds. Charles and my supervisor got to fix cars and I got to live out my childhood fantasies of being a detective of sorts. Perfect. During my probation I'd found a reason to focus in finding the thief. The alcohol in my fridge receded, instead it was replaced by salads and fruit drinks. My health improved so I wouldn't find my mind wandering at work and I stopped falling asleep randomly.
And there it was.
An invoice for tools that had never been delivered. To any auditor it would look legit but working in the garage you'd instantly know if any new tools had come. An order for twenty adjustable spanners costing nearly two hundred pounds had been placed, twenty adjustable spanners for six people? It made no sense, especially when usually we bought our own tools. More orders for tools that had never arrived covered the invoice totalling just under four grand. It screamed one thing. Scam.
The initials read C.E. Charles no longer had the intelligence to carry out such a scam, the drugs and alcohol had seen to that. I'd also seen his signature almost daily when he'd signed my college sheets for me. I'd only seen the signature on the invoice twice: my employment contract and on my letter of probation. C.E. Carl Endrinstan. I'd got the son of a bitch.
"Umm could you see what these guys want? I umm still can't really see well," Charles broke my line of thought as he tapped my shoulder, " And umm, don't tell Carl please?" I looked up at him as I hid the paperwork. He still looked pissed but at least he was slowly coming back to his senses, he'd be back to the old mechanic that could fix a car in minutes before the next break.
"Yeah sure no problem Charles, and don't worry man, course I won't. You've covered my back more than enough, I still owe you like a lot." I smiled as I got up and walked to the counter, Charles stumbled back through the wooden door into the workshop almost slipping on the newly varnished floor.
Carl walked by saying something about getting a sandwich, as he turned to leave out the door he caught my glare. Fuck. I hadn't hidden my anger well.
"You ok? You look a little…pissed off?" He walked up to me and studied my face. From that distance I could smell his cheap aftershave, as usual his face was covered in shaving cuts. Almost thirty and he still couldn't shave, his sea blue eyes hid his guilt well. What a joke. I shook my head and made a quick excuse, he bought it and started to leave once more.
"Carl? When you come back can we talk? It's pretty important." He looked at me again, stood between the door, a puzzled look flashed across his face. After all I had just told him I was fine then told him I needed an important conversation. Understandable really. He nodded and walked out, the door slamming behind him.
" Sorry about that, what can I do for you?" I asked as I looked up to the man waiting behind the reception desk and was taken aback. A face of relentless beauty greeted me. One that any guy would be jealous to have. His cropped blonde hair fell perfectly before his face and whilst Carl's blue eyes hid guilt this guys were the deepest blue I'd ever seen. My parents had said I had an angelic face but this guy with his perfectly formed features was a true angel face.
"It's ok." He said with an American twang. " Umm a service on my car?" I assumed he meant an MOT, either he was a tourist or he hadn't got used to English terminology.
I nodded and took his details, after he glanced behind him at the man sat in the chair across the reception, I hadn't even noticed him but he was the complete opposite of Angel Face. Everything was different, his hair, dark brown still as short as Angel Face's but somehow different, he looked like he was missing a few teeth and his nose was slightly crooked, probably after being reset as it looked like it had been broken. Dressed in a cheap suit that still somehow looked stylish he could have been a lawyer or salesman.
"Mr Durden, he says the car won't be ready until tomorrow, they're busy today. That ok?" The American twang still evident in his voice. Mr Durden rose from his chair and smiled, walked to the desk with an air of unrequited confidence, almost making me feel uneasy yet at the same time, more comfortable than I had been in weeks.
"Yeah that's fine," He drawled in an American accent, " We won't be ready for it until tomorrow anyways." So, he was American too? He smiled again, a politician's smile. One that could convince you everything would be fine even as he drove a knife between your ribs.
He smiled again and asked me if I would join them for a drink after work, I declined politely for fear of a hangover the next day. Disappointment briefly flashed across his face but he hid it well, leaving behind his contact details in case of an emergency.
After Tyler and Angel Face had left I settled back into the rear of the office pondering on how to confront Carl best. I'd grab him and scream I knew about his scam. That'd never work. I'd have to be tactical. Reasonable. Then drop the bombshell on him.
That bastard was going to regret ever hiring me.
AW
Apologies it's taken me this long to write so little, I'd go into the why's and stuff but it's not the time or place. Once again there's been no violence in this chapter but there needs to be a build up(in my eyes at least) or the violence just seems trivial. I'll try and get the next chapter out sooner hopefully within the next few weeks. Again all reviews,comments,complaints etc are welcome.
Peace out, Cloud932 x