Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby Page 4

  I saw the look of amazement on Mark’s face. “That’s very good work, Mr. Quimby. Thank you. I’ll have my team go over the room with a fine-toothed comb.”

  Arlo beamed with pride. “Call me Arlo. It’s room 613. I’ll take you to meet the manager. He’ll give you a pass key.”

  As Arlo trotted off, Mark whispered. “Is he really a flat earth guy? He seems pretty sharp to me.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve met several of them, and they’re all quite normal --- except for the flat earth thing.”

  After Mark secured the pass key, I asked a question that had been bugging me.

  “I’ve been by the Lake City Plant. The thing’s built like --- well, like a fort. It has a huge fence all the way around the property and any vehicles going in or out have to pass through a guard house. How could Fletcher or the North Korean guy get explosives into the place?”

  “We’ve asked the same question,” Mark replied. “The only logical answer is that they have someone on the inside. One of the employees who comes and goes every day. One of the first things on my agenda is to talk to an employee and get a feeling about the working conditions inside the plant.”

  Arlo raised his hand. “I can help with that. My cousin Vera has worked there for twenty years. She knows pretty much everything that’s going on.”

  I smiled at Mark. “Still want us to stand down.”

  “Smart ass!” he replied.

  I was having lunch at home when then phone rang. It was Kevin.

  “How’d your meeting with Mark go?” he asked.

  I had told him earlier about Mark’s identification of Fletcher and the North Korean through facial recognition.

  “So-so. Naturally, he was disappointed that Fletcher had taken a hike. Fortunately, Arlo had preserved the room for him to examine, so there’s that.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Mark wanted to interview a Lake City employee. Arlo has a cousin who works there. We’re getting together at six o’clock after she gets off work. I was about to take a drive out to the plant. I haven’t been there for several years. You want to come?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right over.”

  We hopped on I-70 and headed east to Highway 7 in Blue Springs. From there we headed north to the intersection of Old Truman Road. That was the southwest corner of the property.

  “I did some reading on the place,” Kevin said. “The plant sits on almost 4,000 acres. It has over 400 buildings and a storage capacity of over 700,000 square feet. That much space would hold a lot of ammo.”

  “Well, it is the largest producer of small arms ammunition for the United States Armed Forces,” I replied.

  The first thing we noticed was the security fence. It had to be at least ten feet tall with barbed wire across the top. A gravel road ran along the inside of the fence.

  We followed the fence along 7 Highway to the main entrance and pulled to the side of the road. We were peering at a shack manned by armed security guards who stopped every vehicle entering or exiting.

  We had been sitting there chatting about the security for a few minutes when I heard a peck, peck on the side window. I looked up, surprised to see a security guard. He motioned for me to roll down the window.

  “Can I help you fellas with something?” he asked, peering inside the car.

  “No, not really,” I replied

  “Then you’d better be moving along.”

  “We’re just sitting here chatting. We’ll go when we’re good and ready.”

  “I’m only going to tell you one more time. Move along!”

  I was beginning to get peeved at his attitude. “Look, this is a public highway and we ---.”

  I was interrupted by Kevin tugging on my sleeve. “You might want to take a look at that before you mouth off any more.”

  I looked where he was pointing and to my horror, saw a Humvee with a huge gun mounted on top. It was pointed straight at my car.

  “That’s a Ma Deuce,” Kevin said.

  “A what?”

  “A fifty-caliber machine gun. The slugs are about the size of a quarter, and in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s pointed at us.”

  I turned to the security guard. “Like I was saying, we were just about to move along. Have a nice day.”

  I shifted into drive and got the heck out of Dodge.

  “I see why Mark said they would have to have someone on the inside,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “There’s no way some schmuck is going to just waltz in the door.”

  Arlo had picked up his cousin, Vera, and brought her to the President Hotel. When Mark entered the conference room Arlo had reserved for us, he was surprised to see Kevin.

  “I see you’ve brought the whole gang. Anybody else coming? Maybe Dad and Bernice?”

  “I invited them,” I replied. “They would have been here but Bernice was baking cookies.”

  I turned to Vera. “Sorry, family joke. This is my brother, Mark Davenport. He’s with Homeland Security. Mark, this is Vera Adams.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Adams.”

  “It’s Miss Adams,” she replied. “The old man took off ten years ago. Call me Vera.”

  “Uhhh, sure Vera. First of all, I want you and everyone in here to know that anything we discuss is absolutely confidential. You’re not to discuss what we say with anyone. Does everyone understand?”

  We all nodded.

  “Good. Vera, I understand you’ve been with the Lake City Plant for twenty years. I’d like you to tell me what it’s like working there.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it’s okay. Could be a lot worse.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement,” Mark replied. “I did some research on the plant during my plane ride. It seems that Remington Arms operated the plant from its inception until 1985, when operations were taken over by the Olin Corporation. Since April 2001, it has been operated by Alliant Techsystems which was renamed to Orbital ATK after a merger between Orbital Sciences Corporation and parts of Alliant Techsystems in 2015. Orbital ATK was acquired by Northrop Grumman in 2018 and now operates under the name Northrop Grumman Innovation Systems. That’s a lot of change.”

  “Yeah,” Vera replied, “that’s part of the problem. Management has serious problems with HUB disease.”

  Mark seemed confused. “HUB disease? What in the world is that?”

  Vera grinned. “Heads Up Their Butts! I’m surprised a smart young fella like you has never heard of it.”

  Kevin snickered and Mark rolled his eyes.

  “Well, it seems that sentiment is shared by many of your co-workers,” Mark said, pulling a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. “I printed some reviews by Lake City employees from the Internet.”

  He began reading. “Upper management is completely disconnected from the actual workings of the plant. Heavy emphasis is placed on blame-placing and oppressive amounts of red tape and meetings. In my seven years there, there has never been a time when I wasn't in the midst of a crisis. Conditions are poor: filthy bathrooms, minimal food service, yearly personnel layoffs on all levels, and dangerous working conditions.

  “Here’s another one. Projects are conducted with your hands figuratively tied behind your back and with a gun to your head. The more a project goes over budget or past schedule, the more you are forced to have even more meetings and reviews and meaningless forms and paperwork.

  “It goes on. This place has gone downhill quick. Management is inept and corrupt. The employees voted in the union and that just made things worse. The company refused to work with the union and it took over a year to finally get a contract. The employees are looked at as just a tool that can be replaced and all they care about is lining the pockets of their CEOs. Good pay, but not worth the stress! Sometimes we get up to 12-hour shifts that can change in the matter of a few days. Sometimes a lot of overtime, other times they lay off up to 20% of the workforce for lack of demand for product. Short notice on complete shift change makes it difficult
to arrange child care and other factors of personal life.”

  He turned to Vera. “Does all that sound about right?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “Do you mind me asking how much you make in salary?”

  “Not at all. I make about sixty grand a year, give or take. Not too bad for a gal my age with no formal training or education. That’s why I stick around and put up with the crap. But I’ve been there twenty years. Some of the newbies make less than forty-thousand.”

  “Hmmmm,” Mark said, “with working conditions like that, it’s not unreasonable to think that a disgruntled employee making chump change would be interested in an offer from someone like Fletcher. I can see them offering five times what they would make in a year to smuggle explosives into the plant. Vera, I know there are a lot of employees there and you can’t possibly know all of them, but does any one person come to mind who is so dissatisfied with their job that they’d be willing to help blow the place up?”

  She thought for a moment. “A few come to mind.”

  Then I saw a look of concern on her face. “Do you really think someone would actually do that? If so, I sure don’t want to be around when it happens. A few well-placed explosives and the place would be an inferno in just a few minutes. In fact, two years ago there was an explosion in the building where chemicals were being mixed. It killed one man and injured four others. I’ve got some vacation time and sick leave coming. Maybe I should take some time off until you get this mess straightened out!”

  “Actually,” Mark replied, “I’d like you to do just the opposite. We need someone on the inside to be our eyes and ears. That can be you. Ask around and see if any of your co-workers know of anyone who’s upset enough to want to destroy the place.”

  “Why me? Give me one good reason why I should stick my neck out and maybe get my ass blown to smithereens.”

  “I think I can answer that,” Arlo said. “Vera, you’ve been there twenty years. Think of all your friends who would be hurt if something dreadful like that happened. You couldn’t live with yourself if you knew you could have prevented such a tragedy. I know it’s just a job, but the Lake City Arsenal is a vital part of our country’s defenses. How many of us ever get the chance to do something to help our country?”

  Vera gave him a dirty look. “I think you want me blown away so you can get my car.”

  She turned to Mark and took a deep breath. “Okay, I must be nuts, but I’ll play along. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just like I said, ask around and let me know if you hear of someone who we should take a look at.” He handed her his card. “Call me anytime. This is my direct number.”

  After Arlo and Vera left, Mark said, “There’s one other possibility we can’t overlook. Industrial operations, including military manufacturing, assembly, storage and test firing, have occurred on the site since 1941, contaminating groundwater, surface water and soils with volatile organic compounds, explosives, perchlorates and heavy metals. Cleanup, maintenance activities, and monitoring are ongoing, but some of these operations generated hazardous waste that was released into the environment. We can’t rule out the possibility that some disenchanted environmentalist wants to stop the pollution for good.”

  “How can we help?” I asked.

  “I can’t think of a thing right now. I appreciate what the two of you and Arlo have done, but my team will take it from here.”

  I had heard that line before.

  CHAPTER 7

  Two days later, Kevin and I were having lunch at Mel’s, when Arlo came bounding in.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you guys here,” he said, breathlessly.

  “What’s up?” Kevin asked.

  “Vera did like Mark wanted her to do. She asked around and got a list of names of people who were pissed off at the arsenal and were mouthing off about it. I know Mark said we should stay out of it, but Vera gave me a copy of the list. I thought you’d like to see it.”

  “Good man!” Kevin said. “Let’s take a look.”

  There were four names on the list. Three of the names meant nothing to me, but the fourth, Arthur Podolak, rang a bell. I thought for a moment, then it came to me.

  “I’ve got a guy living at the Three Trails Hotel named Podolak. Albert, I think. I remember it because it was an odd name and it reminded me of Ed Podolak, the running back for the Kansas City Chiefs in the late sixties. Thanks, Arlo, we’ll check it out.”

  Arlo seemed pleased with the compliments. I figured he would be leaving, but he stuck around. Finally, he said, “There’s a flat earth meeting tonight. Would you guys like to come?”

  I had told Kevin about my meeting with Dr. Perkins at the university, and how he had blown holes in many of the things we had seen at the last flat earth meeting. We both decided we were through pursuing the subject.

  “Uhhh, no I don’t think so, but thanks for asking.”

  Arlo smiled. “I’ll bet you’ve been talking to a globe head, haven’t you?”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Look,” he said, “I know this stuff is controversial, and there are good arguments on both sides. Can I show you just one more thing?”

  “Go ahead,” I replied, reluctantly.

  He pulled another photo out of his satchel.

  “I’m sure you’ve both been on a plane.”

  We nodded.

  “If we were living on a spinning globe, airplanes would constantly have to dip their noses down every few minutes to compensate for the curvature of the earth. With a circumference of 25,000 miles, the earth would be constantly curving at the speed of an airplane. In reality however, they never do this! Pilots learn how to fly based on a level flat plane. Also, if the earth was spinning, the airplanes going west would get to their destination much faster since the earth is spinning in the opposite direction. If the atmosphere is spinning with the earth, then airplanes flying east would have to fly faster than the earth’s spin to reach its destination. In reality, the earth is flat and airplanes just fly level and reach their destination easily because the earth is not moving. Like the photo says, if a plane wasn’t constantly dipping its nose, it would soon be in outer space.”

  “Well, crap!” I heard Kevin say under his breath.

  “That’s very interesting, Arlo, but I still think we’ll pass. I need to check on one of those names.”

  “Okay, I understand, but if you change your mind, it’s at Pastor Bob’s church again.”

  When Arlo was gone, Kevin asked, “Well, what would your Dr. Perkins say about the plane thing?”

  “Damned if I know,” I replied. “I’m heading to the hotel. Do you want to come?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  The Three Trails Hotel is the other building I own. It’s not something I’m proud of. There are twenty sleeping rooms that share four hall baths. I charge forty bucks a week for a room with a bed, dresser, and chair. Needless to say, my tenants wouldn’t be living there if they could afford anything better.

  The place is run under the watchful eye of Mary Murphy. Although in her seventies, she rules the hotel with an iron hand and her legendary baseball bat.

  She was sitting on the porch rocking when we drove up.

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. I was going to call you today.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “Nope. In fact, I was gonna call because we’re all full up and pretty much everybody’s paid. I don’t have to kick nobody’s butt into the street for a change.”

  “That is good news. I came by because I want to talk to you about one of our tenants, Albert Podolak.”

  She shook her head. “Albert! He’s one sorry s.o.b. Most of the time he’s drunk. He can’t keep a job. He’s usually late with the rent like now, but somehow he comes up with it just before I have to toss him out.”

  “Do you know where he gets his money?”

  “Nope, and I don’t care as long as he hands it over. Old man Feeney might know. He seems to know about every
one up there.”

  “Is Podolak here now?”

  “I don’t think so. I saw him leave earlier.”

  “How about Mr. Feeney?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hell yes! He’s always here.”

  Kevin and I headed upstairs and met Mr. Feeney coming out of the #3 bathroom. A pungent odor followed him into the hall. Mary’s bat wasn’t the only legendary thing at the Three Trails.

  “Holy crap!” Kevin muttered, stifling a gag.

  “You’re half right,” I replied.

  “Mr. Walt,” Feeney said, extending a hand, which I artfully avoided, not certain whether or not he’d washed.

  “Mr. Feeney, I’d like to ask you a few questions about one of our tenants if you have the time.”

  “I ain’t got nuthin’ but time. Ask away.”

  “What can you tell me about Albert Podolak?”

  Feeney turned up his nose. “That man’s a waste of good skin. He gets drunk and pukes in the crapper. Smells really bad.”

  Kevin whispered. “Is that the pot calling the kettle black?”

  “Mary says he can’t keep a job. Do you know where he gets his rent money?”

  “From his brother, Arthur, I reckon. Albert used to live with his brother. He has a house over in Independence in the Fairmount District. Arthur’s wife got fed up with Albert’s crap and gave him the boot. Arthur slips him money so he won’t come back.”

  “Do you know anything about Arthur?”

  “The way Albert tells it, Arthur works at that arsenal out east of Independence. Says he hates the place and he’s lookin’ for a way to get out.”

  “Thanks Mr. Feeney.”

  “No, thank you! Willie came over and replaced the toilet seat that was cracked and pinched my butt every time I sat down. Now I can do my business without gettin’ hurt.”

  “Life’s little pleasures,” Kevin muttered as we headed down the stairs.