The White: Chapter 6

Photo by Daoud Abismail on Unsplash

Thank you for reading. I have copied a link to the first five chapters and below that you will find chapter 6.

Chapter 6

Mickey leaned in the doorway of Dennis’s janitorial closet. He wasn’t planning to stay long, but Dennis knew that stance — one ankle crossed over the other, hands in his jacket pockets — meant Mickey was going to talk.

He sometimes talked to Dennis because Dennis wouldn’t talk back, or to anyone else. So if Mickey was frustrated, Dennis was becoming a good ear. Until this conversation, Mickey was very keen on respecting his employees, but Mickey was inviting Dennis to be his lead guy on an “after-shift” cleaning crew. He could have started by talking about the pay or the murders, Dennis would have been intrigued and he’d say yes. Instead, Mickey started with the soft-cell. “You’re my best guy. Everything is spotless here.” Then he told Dennis that he caught Chiffon hiding in her closet again and didn’t know how to protect her from the micro-aggressions that come with being a female of color for mostly white male engineers.

Dennis raised an eyebrow. “Like… h-hiding-hiding? Dennis wasn’t sure why she was invited to this new crew. She should have been fired from the day crew, and she was going to get us in trouble with the bosses in this other crew. She’ll quit and come back and quit and come back and then die.

Mickey looked down at the floor like he could still see the scuff marks. “I open the door, and she’s just sitting there, eating an orange. One of those slow-peel jobs. Took her ten minutes. And she says, ‘I needed a break from all my white coworkers.’”

Dennis chuckled, but Mickey didn’t.

“She wasn’t wrong. One of the other best-kept areas on the grounds — hers. Spotless. Not a speck out of place. But she’d been kicked off Charles’s team a few months back. Black manager, Black employee. And she’s telling me Charles held her to a higher standard because she’s Black.”

Dennis thought about all of the times she ignored him. He likes everyone, but people generally avoid the awkward quiet types. Except for Mickey who invades everyone’s space.

“She said Charles is an Uncle Tom working to please his white superiors instead of protecting his own. He says it’s about work ethic, but she says it’s about being the only one and never getting empathy.”

“Yup, yup, w-what’d you d-do?”

Mickey shrugged. “I asked her a few questions, let her finish her orange. Figured she’d come out on her own. She did. Got back to work. But if Jeff or Mark had walked through? She’d get written up, I’d get written up, and the next day there’d be a memo about ‘supervisors failing to enforce standards.’”

“Yup. Always something to do. There ya go.” Dennis muttered.

“Exactly. You can keep a place looking good, but they still want to catch you failing at something. Doesn’t matter if you’re protecting someone’s dignity, doesn’t matter if the customers are happy.”

Mickey leaned back against the doorframe. “So I didn’t write her up. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was just… tired of seeing people punished for breathing wrong. In Whitfield, they want the floors clean, but they want your soul polished too. That’s the real job.”

Dennis nodded, but didn’t say anything. He knew Mickey wasn’t just talking about Chiffon.

Mickey was still recounting the conversation to empathize with her. He should have been talking to her, but he needed to process what she was saying: “These guys probably put on their clown make-up to attend the rallies. How much whiter can they get...they already pasty-ass bitches. And now this bacteria is in Michigan turning our plants white. All the white folks thinks it’s so beautiful. ‘Oh, we never seen nothin’ like this before, it’s amazing. It’s so cool, and on and on gushin’ over more white shit. And ya know the white folks be callin’ the virus-thing?”

“The White.”

‘That’s right, the damn white,” Chiffon said, choking on the word. “It’s gross and it’s probably gonna kill the plants. But no one’s talkin’ ‘bout that?”

He said he reminded her that this is public-facing customer-service position, so they only notice when things are dirty and when the janitor hasn’t been seen in a while or has been seen doing something other than cleaning.

“Thanks boss-man, anything else?”

***

Dennis Wright didn’t have many skills, especially since his racing accident. His autism kept him from socializing well, but he tried. Mickey encouraged him to drive and gave him the keys every morning, most days he gave the keys back. “I...I don’t…”

“...want to be responsible for the lives of these folks...I get it, man.”

But now Mickey needed a second driver, “just in case,” he told Dennis, who agreed to drive the van for Fearless Cleaning Solutions. The letters on the sides and back of the van were large blue letters on white paint. The phone number was fake, and the website took you to a real homepage, but if you clicked on anything you would only find an error page.

He explained how he picked Charles and Jason to work for Winter Hilltop and their made-up cleaning business and each of them was to have their own small team. Two cleaners each, ready when “shit hits the fan.”

Mickey has been trying to work out what is the shit, and what is the fan in these scenarios.

The personal cell buzzed. He took it out and the name “FACE” with “Details: call me soon.” Mickey walked back to the van, put the windows up, turned the music off, and drove toward the back nine, the tracks, then dialed.

“Mickey, we have a job for you...how is the cleaning solution working?”

“I’m having Finn test it now. Kate had to make some adjustments to account for the quantity.”

“Tonight, 9, the train comes at 10:15, we’ll need the site cleaned before it arrives.” Bernard paused.

“It takes three hours for the lye to work.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have that kind of time. The hearse arrived at the O’Malley Funeral Home. Ask for Ian[MB1] . He’ll give you what you need. Tell him you’re there to purchase the Curtis Coffin.”

“Ok, text me the details.” Mickey decided not to ask any questions.

This funeral home is across the street from the church where Mickey’s best friend is the preacher. Trevor puts up with a lot of Mickey’s bullshit, but if he finds out that both he and Ian are working for the mob, Trevor might murder Mickey himself. Mickey can’t keep a secret…especially from Trevor, so it wasn’t long before Trevor was investigating Ian and snooping around the funeral home. Trevor was impressed with Ian’s attention to detail in the matter. Ian is for sure a dead man…the mob knows when people snoop around their work and so when Ian eventually dies, Trevor will have to hide, and it will be a huge problem for Mickey because he will have been hiding too. “Don’t fuck over the mob—it’s like the only fucking rule,” Mickey explained slowly and directly and repeated it to every single person every single day. But Mickey doesn’t follow rules.

His soul was at war, and people at war follow instructions. Soldiers don’t have the luxury to think for themselves. He was in this position because of circumstances against his control. Mickey would be teaching and making love to Rachel if he had a say in his life. He had a hard time understanding how to theologize God’s will. If God had a will, then He would have protected Michael and Rachel. He started calling himself Mickey after that: either God has a plan and this is it, or God doesn’t care and these are the cards that he’s playing for now until something gives, and something has to give, “this can’t be my life” he would say to Dennis sometimes.

“Every job you do, do it as though you're working for God,” Jimmy said. He wanted a crew to eliminate any evidence of criminal activity that would implicate the mob. He brought it up to Mickey before, but he was naive, a good guy, a family man. Jimmy even suspected that Mickey might even be a Catholic. Mickey never told him he was a goddamn protestant. It was generally accepted in Cape Cod to be an intellectual Catholic, but to have a personal relationship with God almighty...”God almighty.”

When Jimmy moved to Michigan, he was surprised to find churches squatting in the very spots where any sane city would’ve put a Dunkies.

***

Finley helped Mickey load up the van advertising Fearless Cleaning Solutions; and called Dennis to let them know that they were getting the crew together.

“Can I ask you something, Doc?” Whatever Lee had on his mind he was usually just gonna start talking about anyway, there was no point for the inquiry.

“Yeah, sure, what’s on your mind?”

“I was listening to this report that the world is overpopulated,” Lee stated with a sincere tremble in his voice. Finley Sullivan has six kids of his own and something like 18 grandkids, if the world is overpopulated, Finn is responsible for the problem. “You think about stuff like that,” Finley’s tone was accusatory, but he continued before Mickey could defend himself; not that he would have, Mickey rather enjoyed the compliment. “So whaddyathink?”

A hush came over the van. The guys leaned forward; Allison removed the earbud from her right ear.

“Yeah, I mean it seems like it, but these things work out. Humans are creative, and we survive—well, most of us. I guess war, disease, and other stuff like that seems to work itself out in a different way. I don’t like it. Maybe the clowns will come out of the woods and put it all to an end.” Mickey stopped, his tone changed and answered more seriously. “I can’t think of one good reason my wife should have died except that everyone else is doing it. I don’t buy this idea that shit happens for a reason unless we mean those reasons include that it is because we make stupid decisions, we all die, and we have no idea how to interpret reasons; but I can’t ignore the fact that we are all going to die. It doesn’t matter if the world ends in one day for all of us when I only care about when it ends for me. Mine already ended, I’m just living.”

“If anything happened to my wife, I’d feel the same way. I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself. I’m too old and too stubborn.” Finley scratched his head and mussed his hair.

“You already don’t take care of yourself,” Allison said.

“Imagine how much worse I could be.” Finley laughed, but grimaced thinking about the possibility of ending up alone at his age and feeling bad for Mickey. “I’m sorry, Doc, I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”

Allison’s wide eyes and soft Italian features made her attractive, and she knew how to work her dimples and make eye contact in a way that went straight to your pants. Mickey found himself desirous, but able to control himself even on the loneliest days.

“Is that Herpes on your face?” Mickey’s tactlessness was endearing for his crew; they would say how refreshing it is to have a boss tell-it-like-it-is.

“It’s a cold sore.”

“Are there any viruses you aren’t carrying?” Mickey’s crew could generally tell he was being sarcastic, but he knew it was dangerous to mess with her first because she’s crazy, and second, a person shouldn’t make fun of marks against a woman’s beauty or sexuality. On average, a person thinks of him/herself about five times more attractive than they are (a brain’s way of protecting itself), but for Allison, it was more like 15 times more. Her self-confidence is never at stake, she’s a fighter, and she paid for her boobs which now exist to be looked at by the guys willing to pay at the club. Mickey will look only to figure out how these guys like portobello sized nipples so much.

Marcus says “more than a mouthful is a waste.”

Dennis shoots him a look of disapproval, and Mickey agrees. “It’s shitty to comment on her body.”

Marcus wasn’t listening and carried about how beautiful Bolivian women. “You’d love my cousin, boss. Most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Want her number, she might like you. Look, here’s a picture.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

“She’s gorgeous, right.”

“Yes, very pretty.”

“Gorgeous.”

Chiffon made a face and walked away from “the misbehaving boys.”

***

“Put your gun away.”

“You afraid?” Eddie kept his gun at his side with his index finger on the frame, touching the trigger guard while keeping eye-contact with Mickey.

“Not even a little, but my crew has no idea what they’re doing here. They don’t ask a lot of questions, and I don’t provide any information. They think they’ve been hired to clean crime scenes for the FBI.”

That’s not true. Mickey told Dennis exactly what was happening. Dennis never heard Mickey lie before.

“The FBI carries guns.”

“These guys are like children, don’t make them jumpy and start questioning things they wouldn’t otherwise question. Now put your fucking piece away or I’ll do it for you.”

“Don’t be a tough guy...it never works out.”

“Never say never.”

“I don’t think I like you.”

“I know I don’t like you. It took four seconds.”

“What happened in four seconds.”

“You open the slash in your face where your mouth should be, I strongly recommend picking your knuckles up off the ground and showering so that you don’t smell like a swampy nutsack.”

“A swampy nutsack?”

Mickey laughed at his own description.

***

A black SUV drove slowly alongside the tracks. Mickey waited near the van while crew remained inside with Dennis at the wheel in the event that they would need to leave in a hurry. A bearded man with long flowing gray hair got out of the passenger side of the vehicle. He walked slowly toward Mickey, close enough to see that the beard was covering a large hole in his cheek and if you glanced just long enough you could see his teeth, Mickey wanted to see his teeth.

“It’s not polite to stare,” he growled at him and shot him a severe look but then cracked a smile. “I did it myself, on purpose, with a shotgun.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, which part was on purpose? You just hated your face?”

“Ha...Jimmy said I would like you. You must be the Mick, right?”

“Ya, well, it’s Mickey, you’re Mr. Blue?”

“You’re Irish, we’re Micks, deal with it. And there’s no one here kid, you can call me Joe...just no last names on the job. Let’s get to it. My guys will remove the package, when your team finishes here, take any red bags to this address,” Joe handed a birthday card to Mickey. “Open it somewhere else.”

Dennis and Mickey would be the only ones to know the name Joe Walsh.

***

Mickey first considered wearing a suit to make a better impression for his first clean up, but he realized he would be getting his hands dirty and decided to wear the leather jacket instead; usually he would run things like that by Rachel, but complications from a Staph infection would force him to figure these minor crises out for himself. His friends reminded him that there are worse things, but what did Mickey care about those—he was drowning trying to grasp a memory of the last time he had to coordinate his own outfit. He’d been wearing t-shirts and jeans as a janitor.

Mickey didn’t trust Eddie’s Lieutenant, Joe Walsh. His smile was fake, his hair too neat, or maybe he was too short. Something about short guys with short fuses. Mickey still had to get used to the hierarchy of the organization. Walsh has been hired to eliminate Dennis’s landlord, Pastor Ryan Ashford who is suspected of protecting people of color who have been targeted by the KKK in Cohoctah and boycotting businesses that have been known to discriminate against women and minorities. Ashford has also been an outspoken against of Tim Johnson who is the incumbent Senator that is critical of science education, supportive of the drug-war, and has personally opened law-suits against Jimmy Edwards, Johnson’s Libertarian opponent.

When Walsh refused, Eddie pulled the trigger himself and told Walsh he was next if he “ever pulled that kind of shit again.”

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