ONE
“Turn left up here,” Adam said, pointing out the small road to his best friend and coworker Damien.
“Man... this looks sketchy. You sure this is right? I'm not trying to get caught up in some nonsense.”
Damien pulled slowly down the narrow alley, navigating his heavily modified car smoothly and pulling up to a large brick warehouse. For the most part, it looked very inviting with signs that it had been repaired from an age-worn abandonment. There were several dozen cars parked all around the large lot.
“What was this place before?” Damien asked while he pulled into a spot away from the rest. He was very particular about his car and always parked as far away as he could.
“It wouldn't kill you to park closer. And I have an idea. Some old factory I reckon.” Adam said, struggling out of the harness. He rolled out of the 350Z, catching himself just before falling completely. “It wouldn't kill you if you lost some weight, now would it?”
Adam waved the comment away, “it's just a little post-wedding fluff. I'll lose it soon enough.” “Bro, you're what–5'9”? Being 230 isn't what I'd call healthy proportions. And you got married like five years ago. It's about time you got moving.”
“Well not all of us can look like a 30-year-old Samuel L. Jackson who took steroids and had a diet of a dozen chickens for breakfast.”
“Now hold up–you are the one who looks like he ate a dozen chickens for breakfast.” They both laughed loudly and unashamed while they made their way to the most inviting door they saw.
The interior was very well renovated. It looked much like an old warehouse that was repurposed to be a winery and a tasting room to host rustic parties, with the exception of a few strange looking objects placed around the walls. There were lots of barrels of wine strewn about being used as tables, a large bar with a variety of alcohol and an even larger bar with an assortment of finger foods.
Adam and Damien looked around, taking note of the hustle and bustle of the pre-party. Before they could commit to a direction they were approached. “Good afternoon gentlemen, my name is Clarence Goodwin.” The energetic older man shook each in turn. “Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” The man's voice was velvety smooth and a neutral accent.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I'm Adam Kincaid, VP of service. This here is Damien Lee, our lead engineer and CIO. We are with Bridgewater Mechanical Incorporated.” Clarence clapped both men on the shoulders and walked in step between the two.
“Thank you so much for coming. Such a pleasure to meet you both. I'm glad your company could spare you for this meeting of the minds. It's not enough that blue-collar companies get together to better the industry. Drinks are on the house. There will be a present shortly. Gentlemen.” The old man gave a small bow and melded into the throng of people moving about.
“Old man had a grip. There is a guy at my church like that but he is built like a tank. What you getting?” Adam asked as he moved into an open spot in the bar. “Whatever is expensive. On the rocks of course,” Damien said as he scanned his surroundings. Adam flagged the barman over with a simple wave and a nod. When he approached, he gave a smile and a nod, “What will it be?” The man had an accent that was unfamiliar and very husky. “Whatever the highest year of Scotch you have on the rocks and a Fresca if you have it.”
Adam got the drinks and found an unoccupied table. He gave a holler and Damien joined him with a few plates of food. “Trade?” Adam asked, holding up the generously poured drink. “Trade,” Damien replied with a plate of meat, “What I want to know–with as much meat as you eat–how are you fat?” Adam said a quick prayer of thanks and held a jumbo shrimp like a stick, pointing it at his friend, “I’ll give you a little insight into my rotund and awesome physicality. All that muscle is padded to keep it safe.”
The two kept to themselves and put away a half dozen plates between them. The only people to stop by stayed briefly and asked about the out of place decoration. No one had an answer by the time the squeal and tapping of a microphone rang throughout the room. Silence followed and all eyes fell on Mr. Goodwin. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us here at the first annual Blue Collar Green Money conference. We have sent these invitations to the brightest up and coming blue collar companies in the tristate area.”
The room echoed with polite applause. “They didn’t do too much research,” Damien whispered. “A company of three isn’t much of a business. If you didn’t come up with the big ol’ fancy name we may not have been invited here.” Mr. Goodwin continued, “We have found in our research around the cosmos, engineers and laborers in what you consider the blue collar sectors make compliance difficult, but produce the best magically infused soldiers we could find. It turns out, compliance is not necessary for what we have in store for you.”
Everyone went completely silent. Adam and Damien shared a glance and slowly moved their hands towards their concealed holsters. “Now, now. Mr. Lee. Mr. Kincaid. That will not be necessary. It is too late for resistance. We will see you on the other side.” Clarence swiftly pulled a small box, seemingly from out of nowhere, and pressed the singular button on it. All of the visitors in the room collapsed into unconsciousness.
