BSG Noir Part Ten
The smells of exhaust fumes and rotting cardboard burn the glaring orange light of morning cutting across the monolithic gray and silver rusting factories and warehouses of the city industrial park. Oil stained black top under my shoes radiates hot blue steam flowing out again into the sparkling steel bay. Trucks and trains and cranes roar and rattle the golden fog air. The faint aroma of coffee drifts out from the open doors and open canteens of the day shift arriving and the nightshift lugging their way off to sleep. Weekdays are usually slow as sludge for most factory guys, but this part of the city never sleeps, never will. Heavy cargo containers swing high overhead and crash down on the ground, booming echoes clear across the waking city. Loud calls and orders bark down from above and all around, throw in a few colorful compliments, and you’ve got the diesel driven rhythm to dance through your brain all day long. Soot gray men and women in tattered and patched blue and brown denim shuffle past, coughing and hacking the sleep out of their eyes in step as they huff on cheap cigarettes and trade shots of jet fuel java jazzed up with non-regulation spirits back and forth. Just what you need to start or end any good day… The exhausted lines cast deep purple shadows against the hard asphalt underfoot. Half of them are off, half of them are just starting.
My day’s just started.
I sidestep a fully loaded truck rolling past me at break-neck-speed, spewing bits of trash and splashing soupy, black water in its wake. Good thing I didn’t wear my good shoes… I spy around, reading faces, screening voices, looking for the one that Kara led me to, hoping they’ll lead me somewhere…anywhere… All I want are a few straight answers. My soaked soles trudge along through the boiling puddles of oily runoff towards the cab of a beat up, rusted, orange dump truck idle about twenty yards away. The lady I got a hold of last night told me the guy I’m looking for works for the garbage department, said he’s been pulling a long weekend, so my best chance is to catch him early. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to ask him that’ll get me anything more than what I’ve got already… I walk up to the side of the rumbling truck, start to look up in the cab and take a step back as a tough looking woman slams the door open and hits the pavement cursing like a sailor into a drab green wireless box.
“Gods FRAKKING dammit, I told you to have all that frakked up crap ready by now!!!” she barks into it, just giving me a quick nod as she takes in a long breath and growls it back. “Well why not?!” I stay back, shoot the breeze; try not to make things worse for her. “Well tell him to…HEY! Tell him to get some guys over there right now, ya’ got it? Okay…great… Call ya’ later. Okay, pal, whaddya’ want?” She catches me off guard as she throws the wireless back up into the cab and impatiently bores a stare my way.
“Well, I’m not here to try and make your day any harder, if that’s what you were going to ask.”
“Good.” she smiles cockily, easing her attack stance and resting an arm against the side of the truck. “Cause if you were, I’d have to kick your ass. So what is it?”
Better not give her the runaround… “If I was looking for Duck, would you be the person to ask?”
“Depends what ya’ want him for…” she fires back, trigger ready the moment the words formed in the air. “And who’s askin’.”
“That would be me.” I reply “And it’s nothing that should bother you. I just need to ask him a few questions.”
“Well, Mr.…?”
“Adama. Lee Adama.”
“Well, Mr. Adama, you don’t have to ask me any questions. I already told one of your friends that I’ll vote with the union. Won’t get any fight outta’ me. It’s hard enough to pay the bills and keep my kids fed as it is. Anything that’ll help out is alright by me.”
“The union?” Try not to look surprised…she’s not why I’m here…
“Yeah, you didn’t think you were the first to come check up on my guys, did ya’?” she replies, with a suspicious glint in her eye. “Or are you workin’ for somebody else?”
“Nobody that’s out to cause your kids any problems, I can assure you.” I say. “I’m a private investigator. And, I was hoping that I could have a few words with Duck McClellan.”
Her smile slides across her grin down to her feet, as she turns on her heel and fires a glare back into me. “Owe ya’ any money?”
“No.”
“Owe somebody else money?”
“No.”
“…he doesn’t owe me money, does he?”
“You’d be the first to know.”
“Okay…” she quips, resting her right arm against the bright orange metal cab door. “He’s over there.” She says, nodding off to her far right to a pair of orange and yellow jumpsuits leaning up against a wall, crammed around a portable radio, sipping down steaming coffee and laughing like old friends. “Tall, quiet guy’s Duck. Short, obnoxious guy’s his buddy Jammer. Ducks one of my best guys. Might be as talkative as a rock, but he’ll help ya’ out…if you’re not up to anything, like ya’ said…” Her voice trails off back into a steady glare. She still doesn’t trust me… Something makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into the wrong conversation.
“He can trust me.” I reply flatly, firing up a well worn friendly grin her way. “And so can you, Mrs.?”
“Samantha Pollux. And I hope I can, Mr. Adama…can’t let just anybody talk to my guys the way things are…”
“So how are things?”
I’m prying… Frak it, I’m curious…
“Depends on who ya’ ask.” she fires back with worn sarcasm. “If ya’ listen to Baltar he’ll tell ya’ everything’s fine, everybody’s just whining for no reason, tell ya’ we should all just get off our fat asses and get some work done.”
“And if I asked you?” I reply, already knowing her answer.
“Well…like I said...” Samantha continues, her gaze sad; fading off into the distant breaking blue fog “It’s a real bitch keepin’ three kids full the way things are goin’…know what I mean?”
“I think I do.” Everybody knows things have gone downhill ever since Baltar took his seat at the big desk four years ago. Stories go that when he’s not in bed he’s popping off pills and downing em’ with enough high end booze to drown out the noise of real life to where he probably thinks he’s the most beloved guy in town. Maybe he was once. When everybody was swept up over Zarek…the trial… People have a bad habit of doing stupid things when they all share the same opinion at the same time. Tend to jump way off center, leave their safe place and fly off into the dark. Believe lies that they’d never believe before…even if they’d wanted to all along. Believe people that they’d never trust…even when they still don’t trust them. So went the rise of Gaius Baltar. Of course there are only so many labor disputes, contract pullouts, layoffs, strikes, and corruption scams people will take before they start to feel like something’s off…that, and the murder rate. Can’t remember how many death threats he’s gotten just in the last year. The only people saying anything good about him anymore are his staff…well…the ones he pays enough. And then there’s those glowing articles about him in the papers…well…the one’s he secretly still owns controlling interest in. FRAK, the only reason the police stick up for him is because with all the dirt Baltar’s got on them and everybody else in power, it’s their own necks on the line if they don’t. Just ask Karl what happens when you don’t…
All the other story’s you’d ever read are always about somebody railing off at him…shooting your mouth off at Gaius Baltar is becoming a popular career. More often than not; the loudest complaints are from the Colonial Worker’s Alliance…and their, as always, outspoken president…“Chief” Galen Tyrol.
Moving over to the two of them across the slick, gritty asphalt, I catch the muffled sounds of the small radio sitting in between them on a scuffed up blue fuel barrel skipping channels, voices and tunes and instruments all scrapping and popping at random as Jammer twists and spins the dial, finally carefully tuning it to an upbeat, fast instrumental tune that bounces through the morning haze. I try and keep my stride in check; already wary of who else they might take me for right off.
“Nice morning.” I venture with a smile, hands in my pockets, with an upturned salutation. Cheap, but friendly, always good for a start. “Busy day for you guys?”
“Usual.” Says the tall redhead with a drooping glance. He sips down another gulp of coffee and doesn’t look back. Quiet guy…
“Your name Duck?” I ask.
“Depends who’s askin’.” comes the trite reply.
“You Union?” asks Jammer with an inquisitive glare.
“What makes you think that?” That’s the second time I’ve been asked that…something big is about to go down. But I’m not here about that. The small photo in my pocket’s enough reason not to care about anything else right now.
“Well…you’re the only one I see around here in a clean suit.” Jammer jokes. “I already told you guys I’m with ya’.”
“Well I’m not with the Union.”
“Then I’m not talkin’ to you.” he shoots back at me “And if you’re smart, I wouldn’t be trying to hassle anybody else around here. Unless ya’ don’t want your suit messed up…” Duck keeps calm, but wary, raising his eyebrow.
“First of all, I’m not here to hassle you or anybody else.” I throw back all so casually “And second, I don’t recall asking you anything. I’m just here to talk with your friend, Duck.”
“Say I’m not in the mood, Mr.…?” Duck finally replies.
“Lee Adama.”
“Say I’m not in the mood, Mr. Adama? Don’t really feel like using up my break time getting the third degree…”
“Well I am in the mood to talk.” I say “Mainly about somebody else...”
“And who’re they?” he asks.
“How about we talk about Sam Anders.”
There goes the grin… “Scoring average or defense?” replies Duck with a smirking spark in his eye.
“I was thinking more along the lines of how you know Sam Anders.”
“Who said I know him?” he says.
“I did.” I fire back. “Now how about it, Duck?”
“How do ya’ like this guy, man?” Real tough guy.” laughs Jammer.
“Did I ask you anything?” I throw at him, hard faced, staring down at him. Doesn’t take much to shut him up. My glance pulls back over to where I want it, back over to Duck. “Come on…surprise me.”
He holds his short stainless steel cup loose in his hand, twists against the hot corrugated steel wall he’s leaning into now, and pulls his arms close to the tough orange fabric of his overalls. “Yeah I know him.” he admits at last.
“How?”
“Thought you said you already knew that.”
“I said I know you know him. I want to know how.”
“He went to High School with him.” pipes up Jammer to Duck’s obvious chagrin.
“That true, Duck?” I pry while I’ve still got the moment in my grasp.
“Yeah…” he surrenders. “Good buddies with him, long way back. Played on the Pyramid team with him before he got signed right outta’ High School. He’s a nice guy. Kept in touch ever since. Even gives me free tickets every now and then. Like I said…real nice guy. What of it?”
I’ve gotta’ play this one close…guy doesn’t trust me. Probably doesn’t trust anybody. There’s gotta’ be a reason why… “When’s the last time you talked with him?”
“I don’t know…bout’ a month ago I guess…” he leads, dodging something…. “He gave me a couple tickets for the championships. We had a drink or two, talked old times…nothin’ different than usual. You lookin’ for him?”
“I’m looking for somebody. Sam’s my best way to find them.”
“Don’t you read the papers, Mr. Adama? He’s on rehab in the Cyclades.” he snarks.
“Why do I think you don’t believe that?” I reply with a long look.
There it is… Everybody’s got a tell. Some people keep it inside, keep it close and locked up where nobody can see it. Some people are total amateurs, couldn’t hide a lie if their life depended on it… funny thing how many of em’ you’ll see throwing it all in at the triad tables on payday. And then there are people that want you to know they’re lying, want you to see it. Maybe he’s in over his angry or in over his head, maybe he’s scared, maybe he just doesn’t give a frak…but Duck’s one of em’. Whoever this guy is, Kara was right to lead me to him. Just what the hell is all this about, anyway?
“What do you want, Mr. Adama?” He’s staying his ground, steely…nervous.
Play it safe, Lee…
I reach in to my right jacket pocket; pull out the wrinkled newspaper photo of Kara and Sam together. “Ever seen her?”
He studies for a brief moment, his eyes dart up and down as a telling grin slides across his face. “Sure. Couple times. She’s his girlfriend.”
“Know her name?”
His jaw rolls in his mouth, teeth grind slowly, brow scrunches deep in his forehead. “Kara. You lookin’ for her, too?”
“Her daughter.” I reply, slipping back into my hand in my pocket, placing the news clipping back in place, and pulling out the small photo of Kacey; let his eyes rest on her innocent smile. “Ever seen her?”
“Can’t say I have.” he says slightly. Jammer throws back his cup and quickly slurps down his coffee, pulls it away fast like he almost accidentally burnt his tongue off.
“How do you know Kara, Duck?” I ask him amiably, keeping a close watch on him. I know he’s hiding something.
“Seen her around with Sam a couple times. Might have said a word or two to each other…nothing memorable, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”
“She seemed to remember you.” I advance, letting the words settle over him in the hot, golden air. “Seemed to me like she thought you’d know where I could find him.”
Duck gazes forward, straight faced as could be, eyes right ahead. “Can’t imagine why.”
Still there…clear as day. Everybody’s got a tell…
“Well I guess you’d tell me if you thought of a reason, right Duck?”
He stares right through me, cold as steel in the morning heat. Same face…same tell… “Maybe.”
The music ends on the radio, replaced by an announcer’s all too cheerful voice. Jammer cuts it off and screws the top back onto his drab green thermos just as a steam whistle pierces the calm morning light. “We’re up, man.” he tells Duck, looking in my direction, wondering just what the frak I’m here about.
“Yeah buddy.” acknowledges Duck, pushing off against the weathered metal wall, pouring the rest of his coffee on the ground with a splash, letting the small cup hang by the handle on his forefinger. “Hate to cut this short, Mr. Adama, but I’ve got a lot of garbage to sift through today.” he says briskly.
So do I…
I’m not letting go this easy. “If you do think of a reason, Duck…” I say under the rushing noise of a loaded down truck rumbling by “…why don’t you give me a call about it.” My right hand pulls back, my left producing a card with my office’s number on it. “Maybe the two of us can figure this out together.” I grin.
His outstretched fingers hesitate…only for a second before he snaps the card out of my grip, gazes down at it, and shoves it deep into one of his myriad of pockets of his orange and yellow overalls. “Maybe…”
A loud honk behind me send the two running past me back towards the roaring garbage truck, Pollux at the wheel and shouting to them to hurry up. They jump on the back and hang on for dear life as the behemoth of a vehicle rumbles past, splashing hot, black water under the muddy tires, a wave of steam fuming from behind. I turn my head just in time to see Duck lock onto me… Inquisitive, curious…worried? His head snaps back away, keeping an eye straight in front of him as the truck barrels away from me, ducking into a side street behind one of the identically rusted white buildings.
Everybody’s got a tell…