Protected Pt. 06 by SanityCheck,SanityCheck

“Ready?” he asked as he tucked his shirt in around his pistol, making it disappear.

“If you are.”

He gestured me to the door. I picked up the truck’s keys in passing, and he followed me down the steps. He walked to the passenger side of the Larke Oil truck without hesitation, and I forced myself to not smile. I liked the fact he didn’t think he had to drive all the time, especially when it was easier if I did it myself.

After battling the typical Houston rush hour traffic, we rolled up to Larke Oil with ten minutes to spare. Nobody would complain, at least officially, if I was late arriving at work, but I didn’t want the reputation of the owner’s daughter getting special privileges. I swiped my badge for the employee parking area, and then drove past it to the loading dock. I wheeled the truck around and then backed up to the dock so it could be unloaded. Another swipe of the badge and I gained access to the building.

Where the public areas of Larke Oil were richly decorated, the working areas of the building looked like any other working building. I punched the button to start the dock door opening. The dock was sized for a box truck, which meant the pickup was far too low.

“Well… shit,” he muttered when he thought he was going to have to lift the samples up to the dock.

I grinned. “I wouldn’t do that to you. See that?” I asked as pointed to the portable crane.

“That’ll certainly make this easier,” he said as he started toward it.

The crane looked a bit like an electric pallet jack, but instead of forks, it had a small boom with a lift cradle attached. It was only rated for a two thousand pounds, but that was plenty for what I used it for. I twisted the key to energize the crane, then using the handle and thumb switches, guided machine to the open door. As I worked the crane into position, Colt jumped into the back of the truck. I lowered the cradle, he hooked it to the two rope handles, and I lifted the sample out of the truck before depositing it on one of the four carts I used for moving the samples to the lab. Two more trips, and we were done. I parked the crane back where it belonged, closed the door, and then we pushed the two carts down the hall to the lab, me pushing one with Colt pushing the other with one with two cases on it.

“Willow!” Arnie called.

“Morning.”

“Is it true?”

I kept going. “Is what true?”

Arnie fell into step with me. Arnie worked in the lab where they analyzed samples of the crude to determine the volatility, viscosity, and probably a thousand other properties. I found the stuff, then Arnie and his team figured out the best way to turn it into something useful.

“That drug runners tried to gun you down.”

I allowed my cart to roll to a stop. Before I could answer, I heard the grunt of Colt trying to stop his cart before it ran over me.

“What did you hear?” I asked, more than a little curious what the rumor mill was saying.

“Only that you were shot at during a car chase out in the scrub, and then a few days later, you had to crash a roadblock in your RV to escape another attack by a bunch of guys with machine guns.”

Arnie was in his mid-sixties and was worse than an old woman for gossip. Larke Oil had its own version of the old joke about the three fastest forms of communication… telephone, telegraph, or tell Arnie.

“Mostly true. I had–”

Arnie’s attention shifted to Colt as he extended his hand. He wasn’t interested in details. He had confirmation and pretty soon anyone who hadn’t heard the story will have. “Arnold Zimki. People call me Arnie. You must be Willow’s bodyguard. We’re all so thankful you’re staying with her and keeping her safe.”

Arnie was fishing for information. Colt must have recognized what Arnie was doing because though he took Arnie’s hand, he only nodded, becoming the strong and silent type, and refused to divulge anything.

Realizing he wasn’t going to get anything out of Colt, Arnie turned his attention back to me. “Did one of the drill rig crew really get shot protecting you?”

“Enrique Cardenas took one in the shoulder,” I confirmed touching myself about an inch down and halfway between my arm and neck. “I saw him yesterday and he was already back on the job.”

“Wow! He’s lucky to be alive. So are you.”

I glanced at Colt. He was glaring at Arnie, his eyes hard. “Yeah. Four good men lost their lives to protect mine.”

“Four! I’m so sorry!” Arnie glanced at Colt before looking back to me. “Good thing they were there.”

I leaned into my cart to start it rolling again. “A very good thing.”

Arnie was a gossip, but he wasn’t a bad guy, and realized I was done answering his questions. I had little doubt he’d circle around several times over the next few days and weeks, trying to pick up a tidbit of information here and there.