A Bad Solution

A Bad Solution

The blue flash of emergency sprung to life in his rear view mirror. More trouble. Feners was not worried about being caught because he had not expected to get this far. His decisions had been spur of the moment but once he had made it to the van and was on the road, the elation at finally taking a chance had gone. In its place came disturbing thoughts about his future.
Well he would just have to deal with this problem the same way as everything else he had done that night. Feners was pretty sure that he hadn’t gone mad but there was an instinctive part of him that had taken over. He would give it free reign until this storm blew over. Thing was, he had a nasty suspicion that it might not.
Pulling over to the side of the dual carriageway he consciously stopped himself from trying to pre-empt the upcoming conversation. Having a plan could inhibit spontaneity and taping into that part of him might prove to be the only edge he had right then.
The police car drew up behind him and a tall constable walked over to the van. Feners unwound the window and stared into a pallid, grim face. Probably got taken apart as a kid in the playground and had been taking it out on the world ever since.
“Good evening sir. May I ask where you have been tonight?”
Feners sighed and the policeman frowned at having to wait for his answer. They were less then ten miles from the second largest airport in the country, he was driving a van covered in an airlines livery and he was wearing a high-vis jacket with that same name written large across its front.
“Work,” he said indicating his jacket and security tag on his chest.
“What time did your shift finish?” The cop asked, trying to look casual. Feners knew that before getting out of his car he would have radioed in the details of the van.
“Just now.”
“It’s three in the morning. What shift were you on?”
“Look I don’t want to seem rude but I’ve just come off a double, I’m knackered and I want to go to bed. You can either tell me what this is about or you can let me get on home.”
The constable thought for a minute and turned back towards his car. Feners wiped his face. When he was under pressure it became intensely difficult to remember how he might react if it had been a normal night. Everything became forced, disjointed. He did not want to have to do anything bad. Not tonight, not again.
The policeman was talking into his radio, stealing an occasional glance at his van. Feners watched him closely in his mirror as he approached.
“Would you step out of the vehicle please sir?
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Just step out of the van.” When they were both on the hard shoulder the policeman took out a notepad. “Are you aware of a disturbance at the airport this evening?”
“Disturbance?” Feners could feel the heat rising in his face. The cop looked young but he did not seem stupid. If his actions had not already alerted him then the state of his clothes would.
“Yes sir. There has been, is,” he corrected himself, “ a rather serious fire at the airport and we would appreciate any information you might have.”
“A fire?” Feners said, staring off into the distance. He thought he could see an orange glow on the horizon but it might have been his imagination.
“Yes sir.”
There was a long pause. The policeman may be a rookie but he knew enough to keep quiet. “Yes. I might have seen something,” he said. The young officer shuffled his feet uneasily. He did not like the way this man was behaving but the collar could be good for him. If he could turn up something of real importance then that hierarchical ladder might just become a couple of rungs shorter.
“Well why don’t you tell me all you know?” He was noting his blackened jacket. There was the cloying funk of chemical smoke clinging to it, turning the air foul. He backed up half a step before realising his mistake and reasserting his authority, “From the beginning.”
That far away look still played in his eyes as invisible images filled his head. “Yes alright. That might be best. From the beginning.”

* * *

“You on gobble again you greedy bastard?” Feners snapped out of his vacant examination of the television and looked over to see Nick jamming some money in the vending machine.
“Yea.”
“That’s four in a row now innit? Should we set up a bed for you in the corner?”
“Funny.”
“I am aren’t I?” Ripping the wrapper from a chocolate bar he consulted his clipboard. “You’re on short-hall build today. Doesn’t look like there’s much out there so you’re on your own tonight. Should have it done in well under four hours but that doesn’t mean you can sit on your arse in here all night. Get the papers from Janice and make a start.”
“Yea, I’ll be on it in a minute. I’m on a cigarette break.”
Nick took a large bite of his Mars and made for the door to the hanger, bursting into a bad operatic solo, “Just be sure that you do mister Feners.”
The door swung shut and he swore venomously. Tonight’s overtime would put him bang on the legal limit for the number of hours it was safe for employees to work in any given week. These rules were necessary because the entire hanger was full of people darting about on forklift trucks.
He loathed the sight of the place but the overtime was plentiful, it was close to home and he could get away with doing next to nothing. He had been there a year and a few groups of new-fish had arrived to fill up all the worst jobs that are always reserved for those that don’t know any different.
Feners shut the T.V off and made his way out onto the floor. He liked being on short-build because no one could move him anywhere else. He was the only one who knew how far he progressed down his list.
“Oi, you’re late! That’s a carding!”
Feners turned to tell whichever manager it was to piss off but cracked a smile on spotting his taskmaster. “Chives you silly sod! Why did you come back?”
“They kicked me out didn’t they? Said that the Ozzy men couldn’t handle the competition for their women-folk. You still not got another job yet then?”
“Too tired to look right now. Start each day begging for the end of the world so I don’t have to pull another fifteen hour shift.”
“Cheery thought mate.”
“Shit, the way I talk is the way I feel. Sometimes I wonder if the day’s ever going to end. Then I realise the only thing worse then that is it actually ending and tomorrow being exactly the same. And you can knock off that bloody accent as well.”
“Tell you what, I’ll catch you at coffee. I think you need a little alone time right now.”
Feners shrugged and gave a wave of his hand. After getting the paper work for the nights duties he found the lift truck and checked the cargo for the first flight.
Giant snails to Malta. The perfect way to start a new shift. He would stink of the things for the rest of the night.
Feners despised going to the animal-handling unit. One time a whole shipment of birds came in from Bahrain. Every single one of them was dead. Thousands and thousands of tiny dead birds squashed up into dozens of crates and he had to move them all.
As he ferried the various cargo through the multitude of racks that filled the hanger space next to the runway he watched his fellow colleges.
Some were happy to be there, never short of a joke, but most felt the incipid atmosphere more keenly and went about their strenuous, repetitive tasks with heavy breaths and low thoughts, each of them living between sweat and death. Work for these people was a test of endurance and they lived each moment in constant fear of being asked to do something even more banal then their current task.
With just two hours remaining of his shift and the prospect of three days off Feners reflexes were far too slow. Stalky walked into him as much as anything. Staring at the blood pool around his head Feners could not see how that would matter to Stalky, either way he was stone cold dead.
Every inch of the lot was covered by a camera with the exception of the radac room where the radioactive packages were contained.
Stalky was one of the security guards who kept an eye on the two val-cages. He had seen that the radac door was open and come to investigate. On turning into the door he ran directly into one of the blades on the truck Feners had been squeezing into position. His skull caved in abruptly and his body crumpled forward into the room. His legs kicked twice in protest at such a sudden, devastating change in circumstance and that was it.
Feners was dumbfounded. He should not have the truck in there for one thing and he certainly should not have been manoeuvring it with the blades at head height. He was in trouble but thinking was a problem. Too much caffeine and not enough sleep were muddying his thought process. Looking back he realised that he had not thought twice about Stalky’s welfare. In time that came to bother him.
The realisation that no cameras would have picked up the accident set his mind off down a dark tangent. For whatever reason, he had been presented with a golden opportunity to improve his life and leave this place and his job forever.
The first thing to do was make certain the man was dead and then pull him all the way in. Anyone coming to pick something up would see him but that was unlikely. Next he located Stalky’s keys and pocketed them.
If this idea was going to work then he needed one of the companies vans so he found a duty manager. “I’m going on a break now Tone. I need a van to get to the hub.”
“You taking anyone with you?”
“Oh, yea, I’m going over with Chives.”
“Alright, sign it out and don’t smash it up.”
Feners moved the van into position in front of one of the access points that were large enough to fit the lorries in for loading. He pressed a button and the plastic sheeting shot up. He reversed the van up the ramp and into the building. He was relying on the employee principle of ignoring anything that might mean having to do more work.
The hardest part was still ahead but his thoughts were becoming clear and his plan had taken shape. He needed a distraction.
Thirteen million pounds worth of gold bullion sat on pallets in the val-cage and that was a lot of weight. It would take six or seven runs to load it all.
To get it all into the van without being challenged was the problem. There were regular fire drills but that was the thing, people were so used to them that they tended to get ignored. He had to be sure everyone was outside before he could begin. Luckily cargo centres are full of very nasty substances that no one wants to get exposed to so if there were a fire reported in the haz-rack it would get people moving.
Problem was he would have to make sure there really was a fire and that would leave him vulnerable to the infectious diseases, flammable gasses, and various acids. It would be worth it, he thought. He found an electric tug and made his way to the rack.
Starting the fire was easy. The whole place was full to the brim with wood and cardboard boxes. The flame from his lighter leapt greedily from box to box. In no time at all black smoke was billowing up into the cobwebbed eves. Feners hadn’t got more then fifty feet from his budding conflagration when the alarm was raised. He would have to move fast.
He raced through the building and as he had suspected, once word got around that the fire was real and in the haz-rack he was not alone in his dash. The only difference was that they were heading for the exit while he ran to the val-cage. No one took any notice of him as he unlocked the gate, and propped it open.
The fire had taken hold and even though it was still concentrated at the other end of the long hanger the smoke was drifting in great noxious clouds. In the distance the airside fire engines were scrambling.
He made it to the plastic door and punched the button. Jumping in the drivers seat he jammed the van in reverse and drove as close to the cage as he could get whilst still leaving enough space for the truck to load it up.
His throat had started itching as the dangerous gasses permeated the air when he saw a figure approaching. He heard his voice being called and grabbed a piece of timber. The man emerged from the smoke and Feners saw it was Chives.
“Feners! What the fuck are you doing? Tony said that you had gone over to the hub and I was supposed to be with you. What are you playing at?”
It was getting hard to hear anything. Feners had never realised how loud a fire could be and he had to shout his reply. “I’m taking the gold.”
Chives looked puzzled, “Forget the gold, just get out of here. It’s about to collapse.” He was being a little pre-emptive, the structure was still sound but it was scary.
“You don’t understand. I am taking the gold.” Chives stared at Feners for a couple of seconds before grabbing him by the collar.
“Listen. You have not thought this through. Right now the cameras are recording you. They know you have the van and here’s the most important thing; the gold is no fucking use to you. Do you know anyone that can smelt that much gold and then sell it on?”
“I’ll worry about that later. Right now you either help me or get out of here.”
“I can’t help you. I got a family that needs me and I’m no good to them doing a ten stretch. But I am gonna help you. I’ll tell them you’re in here trying to save the gold. They’ll understand.”
Chives released Feners’ collar and turned to walk away. He got three paces before the plank of wood down came down on the back of his head, knocking him to the floor. It took three more full-blooded swipes before he stopped breathing.
“Poor bastard! Caught in a fire - terrible way to go.” Feners climbed onto the truck and began loading.
* * *
Time was short, too pressing to fit in all the gold but he reckoned there was nine mill’ sitting behind him when the policeman flicked his lights on.
“So you see officer, there is no way I can let you take me in.” There was no disguising the policeman’s retreat this time. He was backing away, at the same time fumbling with his radio, the one piece of equipment that makes all police officers feel safe.
“We have all of your details!” he said frantically, “They know exactly where we are and more police are on the way. Don’t do anything foolish, it’ll only be worse for you.”
The panic in the policeman’s voice spurred Feners on as he closed the distance between them. The policeman had fallen back to his car with its lights still flashing, painting Feners distorted features first red then blue.
As Feners gripped him round the throat and began to squeeze the cop managed one last sentence: “They’ll get you within two miles.”
Feners squeezed harder, feeling the blood pulse violently under his grip and muttered, “I’ll worry about that later.”

End