Keith David Cooley: 2010 Reading

StakeOut

      A blacktop road on the ragged edge of the city, on one side an industrial park of tatty low-slung concrete buildings, on the other fast food joints, vacant stores, a low rent motel and dilapidated buildings of uncertain utility. It was one of those gunmetal days typical of the Bay, the sky heavy with clouds pressing down. Everything drenched with grayness, it was a slow motion video of perpetual twilight.
     A Japanese made car, a black sedan, was parked in front of an empty store. The store's display windows were covered with stained sheets of particleboard. A smell of cooking grease and stale French fries warned of the presence of a fast food joint next door. Opposite across the two lanes of spotty traffic was a sign affixed to an anonymous building, it read in black letters: F & K Installations. An aluminum door into the building, its windows smoked giving no hint of what lay within, to the side was a parking lot behind a low privet hedge.
      Slumped in the front seat of the black car was a pale-faced man wearing jeans and windbreaker. He hummed an unknowable tune. The car had its sunshades pulled down, between the door metal and the shades there was a glimpse of black plastic, a camera with the telephoto lens a foot and half long. The man had a weary, seen-it-all expression on his face. The car floor was littered with the wrappings of burgers and fries, there was a drink container in the beverage holder with plastic lid and a clear straw sticking out at a jaunty angle. On the seat next to him were a cellphone and a clipboard.

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      “I've been here in a twiddle since 5 this morning, staring at the same spot: a wall, a door, a parked car under this gray sky. I feel like I am living in a poorly lit movie set, like that Andy Warhol movie from the Sixties of the Empire State building. Nothing has happened for hours. I've eaten three belly-burgers and drank too much sickly sweet soda. This is banal. A bunch of people arrived at 7:30 and went through the metal door. I wanted a cigarette but I quit three weeks ago. I think it is time for a dessert, next door they make some sort of whipped cream confection.
       I stared at the sign, 'F & K Installations.' The lads had said it stood for 'Fuck-em and Kick-em out.' The boss said we needed to build a case with convincing evidence so go and stake out the place. She had fired me up and I was enthusiastic about getting them, nailing those bastards, getting evidence. That was different from the man from State who I spoke to.
       He had said, 'At the risk of sounding like your mother, let sleeping pit-bulls lie, there is no reason to wake em.' I am not sure what he meant.
       My eyes fluttered. What was that? I blinked, something had crossed my vision. I could not believe it. Yes it was a van packed with chicano workers.
I was on tenterhooks. The van was in the parking lot.
I grabbed the camera and peered through the viewfinder. I started shooting.
There was also a white man handing out cash as the workers filed out of the van. Oh yes, now we have got them. I took a lot of pictures.
       Then I heard a noise outside the car. I looked through the side window and there were three young men, crew cut, their white shirts filled with muscle. I opened the car door got out and walked over. I stood in front of them.
       One of them said. 'You better leave or we will fuck you up Punchy.'
No I am not I said to myself.
       Another one threw at me, 'You're fucking stupid, donÕt mess with us.' Inside I fumed while I stared defiantly at my intimidators. I was not afraid of them I knew if I stood here much longer something would combust or ignite. I was holding a container of coffee I had just bought at the fast food joint. I walked back to my car. I stood resting my back on the car door. Within minutes they followed me, the three of them facing me. I felt the pressure building.