The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 45

Picking up trash at a Man Camp is exciting. Thrilling. Interesting. More fun than I should be having.

Who am I shitting? I can't even pretend to enjoy it. But it's a job. Fast money.

Sam holds a big, black trash bag. I fill it up. We tie the top. Drop it on the ground. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It's hard to separate trash from the "gear." Les had that scrawny guy stop by to define it.

"If it's stuff, it's gear. If it's shit, it's trash," the scrawny guy said.

To which I said, "If it's stuff stacked on top of other stuff, it's gear. If it's stuff just laying there, it's trash."

Made Sam laugh.

The scrawny guy laughed over the top of her. Sarcastic prick.

He's watching us now. Supervising. Not that trash collecting needs management. Maybe he's watching in case we trash "gear" instead of "shit."

Or maybe he's watching Sam.

I give him a wise-ass wave. He acts like he doesn't see my hand. Moves out of earshot.

"Nice to know they've got quality control around here," I say to Sam.

"He's got no one else to watch," Sam says. "All the workers left this morning to the rigs."

"Yeah, I heard some of them talking this morning," I say. "Sounds like about half are employed. The others head out to get temp work."

"I thought there weren't enough bodies to fill good jobs?" Sam says.

"So did I. Unless these are the, uh...," I say.

"Unemployable?" Sam says.

"Yeah. Unemployable," I say. We come on a pile of beer cans. "Maybe there's a good reason."

"I wonder if the company Man Camps are like this. More beer around here than anything else," Sam says.

She opens a new trash bag. I practice my free throw with the cans.

"Beats me. But I know out-stater shitheads when I see them. If you blow into town and can't find a real job in this economy, you're it. This camp is full of them," I say.

Sam closes the bag. My free throw misses.

"That include me?" she says. Her face sours. "You're picking up trash, too."

I back pedal.

"You're not so bad. Make for a better hoop than a goalie, though," I say. Toss a couple more cans. Bounce them off her chest. Grin.

"Just watch how you say things, OK?" Sam says. Hurls a can back at me. "Don't be a dick."

Fine. It's settled. Or not. Damn, we're almost like a real couple.

The scrawny guy slithers up. He's leaning on that shotgun again. I hope he slips and shoots himself.

"There a problem here?" the scrawny guy says.

Sam fires back.

"Do you have any other catchphrases or just that one?" she says.

The scrawny guy spits in the dirt. How dramatic.

"Doesn't answer my question," the scrawny guy says.

His eyes don't meet mine. They just focus on Sam. Like he's challenging her. Give him a reason to put hands on her.

"No," I say. "We're just talking."

"Talking ain't picking up trash. Get to it," the scrawny guy says.

I cross my arms.

"Yeah, we're on it. Maybe I tell Les you ain't done shit today other than bother us," I say.

"Les is in town today. Won't be back for a while. Same with the workers. Just me and you two. So figure it out," the scrawny guy says.

He shoulders the shotgun. Goes back to pretending we can't see him.

"Creepy," Sam says.

"Yeah. Real creepy," I say.

Creepy isn't the half of it. We hear a shout from the other side of the camp. Then another. That's when things get downright bizarre.

*** PLEASE SUPPORT MY WRITING! ***

This story will only be posted on Wattpad for a limited time. If you'd like the full version, head to your favorite online e-book/book retailer and pick up your own digital/print copy. Search for "Invisible Hand Sobieck." Or leave a review of the book on Amazon once you're finished reading on Wattpad. Thank you. ~Ben