Forgotten Past: Chapter Eight-On the Job

Creed woke up screaming. Monsters. Her dream had been full of monsters. Her eyes made out the familiar surroundings of her room and she flopped back down on the bed, moaning slightly. Damn, she thought, mopping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, what were those things?

With a groan she checked the clock on her bedside table and saw it was almost time to head for work anyway. Creed swung her feet to the cold wooden flood and stood up, stretching her arms high over her head. Her thick blonde hair fell down her back and she pulled if over her shoulder. Her pants and shirt lay on the floor and she grabbed them in a ball and tossed them on the bed, then grabbed a pair of shorts and a t shirt and pulled that on.

She headed for the door and opened it. Light spilled in and she cried at the blazing pain in her eyes. Creed slammed the door shut and grabbed her shades, leaving the goggles on the bedside table for later. Shades firmly in place, Creed padded to the end of the hall and down the stares to the bathroom. It was almost empty at this early in the morning and she showered in peace, turning off the lights in the shower room.

Clean and dry, she pulled on her gray pants and dark green tank top. It was a set of clothes she’d gotten from Sly. They were worn and comfortable. Best of all, they didn’t have holes in them. The red pants she’d had originally were still good, and were folded in her room. Those were nice, obviously expensive. She didn’t want them to get beaten up to much more, so she wore the other clothes. The gray pants had cargo pockets above the knees and were fitted pretty close, boot cut at the knees.

She pulled on her shades and headed to the lighted area of the bathroom, with the mirrors, sinks and toilets. One other woman she recognized was there, and they smiled to each other. They didn’t talk, and Creed was glad the woman didn’t expect her to make conversation.

Creed braided her hair, as usual, and left the room, heading for her room. She sat on the edge of the bed and tugged them on, then snatched the goggles and gloves off her bedside table.

The walk to work was an uneventful one. The sun beat on top of her head, and the muggy air made breathing feel akin to drowning. The scenery was nice though. Old brick buildings with hand painted signs decorated the streets. Colorful people crowded the sidewalks, and the smell of spicy food was making her hungry.

Creed spotted a vender’s booth boasting “Cajun prawns” and bought a bag, munching the spicy seafood happily on her way to work. She stopped for a soda on the way to wash the fire from her mouth and was done with her meal by the time she arrived at the construction site.

“Xander! Get your ass over here!”

Creed’s head snapped around as she heard her name, and she cursed herself when her neck complained at the harsh treatment. “Xander! Here.” The foreman, a large black man with a heap of tattoos and a shiny bald head thrust a yellow construction helmet into her hands before grabbing her arm and bustling her off in the direction of a crane. “Okay, Xander. Now pay attention, girl.” The man was looking down at her and she flashed him what she hoped was a bright grin. “But first, I’m your new boss, George. Just call me George, and I’ll call you whatever I want, and I’m sure the two of us will get along just fine and dandy,” another smile from Creed.

George whacked the small woman on the back in a friendly sort of way then pointed to the crane in front of them. “A tiny thing like you might have trouble with this,” he said.

“I’m not tiny,” Creed interjected. “You’re just huge.”

George looked down at himself then at her. “Yeah,” he laughed, “I suppose you’re right. Being seven feet tall makes everyone seem a bit on the tiny side to me.”

His belly laugh rumbled through her and Creed found herself liking her new boss immediately. “Yeah, I guess it would,” she laughed back.

“So, as I was sayin’, Xander, this is your job right here. You gotta move those I-beams,” he pointed to a heap of metal, “over there today. This will help you get aquatinted with the machine, as well. While you’re on the job, that crane is yours. Treat it like you would a baby. You break, you buy it, and if you can’t buy it, I’ll have to kill you, and neither of us will like that much, I’m sure.” George grinned at her.

Creed nodded and boosted herself up into the cab of the metal beast. She examined the levers in front of her and felt a sense of familiarity with the controls. Each were labeled, but her hands moved almost of their own accord and she found herself quickly maneuvering the crane into position to move the first beam.

George watched critically from the ground as Creed swung the hook around and lowered it carefully. The man at the beams lifted the first cabal onto the hook and stepped away, giving Creed the go-ahead sign. Creed easily moved the beam and deposited it where the other man was to unhook it, then swung the head back around to grab the next beam.

With a nod, George waved at Creed and headed off to go boss around some other employees, leaving her to her work.

The job went easily and Creed enjoyed the hard work. The feeling of doing something she was good at made it easier, and she finished the job faster than expected. That left time for trying out some other jobs. George told her she could help pour concrete, so she rolled up her shirt sleeves, grabbed a pair of rubber boots, and headed for the cement mixers.

A group of burly looking men were already waiting for the pouring to start and eyed her up and down critically. She flashed her teeth and pulled off her shirt to reveal the white tanktop underneath. The burn on her shoulder stood out sharply in the sunlight and a few men sucked in their breath when the saw Creed’s name. The whispered around her and she was aware of how their posture changed, from demeaning to slightly nervous.

Creed only wished she knew what they did.

~~~

Riddick stared at the HV set, not really seeing anything, his food growing cold in front of him. Jack entered the house through the front door, her keys jangling merrily in the dark and he lifted his eyes to her face. She smiled at him and disappeared into the kitchen.

He could hear her rummaging around in the fridge for food and leaned back in his chair quietly.

When Jack came in she sat across from him in the other chair and took a bite of her fish. “What’s up?” she asked, her glowing eyes taking in the angry looking cuts on his forearms. She knew better than to ask to many questions. If Riddick wanted to talk, he’d do it in his own time and his own way.

Riddick lifted an arm and examined the slashes. “Accident at work,” he murmured.

Jack waited for more, but he didn’t seem willing to talk, so she turned to the HV and turned up the volume slightly.

They were both getting ready to turn in when Riddick’s voice floated eerily across the room to her ears. “Some guys jumped me after work,” he said quietly. “They didn’t like the fact that I was getting the extra cash when they’d been working there longer than me. That’s where these came from.” He held up his arms.

“Did you kill ‘em?” Jack questioned.

“There were three. Two are in the hospital by now, maybe dead, the other one is very dead.” He watched her face in the dark. Riddick hadn’t had to kill anyone in a long time, and he wondered what Jack’s reaction would be.

Jack laid back on her cot and closed her eyes against Riddick’s intense gaze. “You do what you have to, Riddick. But you might want to look into a different job.”

~~~

Morning brought the sun and Riddick pulled on his goggles after showering and headed out to find a new job. He’d heard there was another construction site near the French Quarter and headed in that direction, grabbing a bite to eat as he went and a drink.

Another muggy day in the Big Easy, he thought to himself wryly, taking a bite of his sub sandwich. The construction site was slow this early in the morning and he headed for the foreman’s trailer.

After a brief knock, Riddick pushed the door open and stepped inside the blessedly air conditioned room.

A huge black man sat behind a desk with a stack of papers before him. He glanced up at Riddick, looking slightly annoyed at the interruption. “Did I say you could come in?” he demanded in a low, rumbling baritone.

Unimpressed, Riddick pulled a chair out with his boot and sat down, brushing bread crumbs off his hands on his thighs. “I’m lookin’ for a job, and you look like you could use some help around here.”

“Is that a fact?” the man asked. A name plate on his desk said George Stapp, Foreman.

“Yeah, that’s a fact,” Riddick replied, reclining in his seat.

George eyed the man in front of him. Thickly rippling muscles, tall, deep baritone voice, shaved head, dark welding goggles. Much like the ones that Creed had been wearing yesterday, he thought to himself. The man’s face was impassive and his thick arms were crossed across his chest. A number of scars and newly formed cuts were obvious on the man’s flesh, but George didn’t ask any questions. This man might be what they needed for the heavy lifting. “What’s your name, pal?” George asked finally.

Riddick allowed his lips to curl slightly. The job was his. “Mike Tremonti,” he answered, giving the man his usual alias.

“Aight, Mike. You gotta job.”

***

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