Fracked Read Free Page B

see you.”
    Tracy frowned and glanced up at him.
    “Another new laborer, huh? At least you speak English. What’s your role?” Tracy asked.
    “I’m a forklift operator, sir.”
    Tracy narrowed his eyes and studied him carefully, sitting the expense reports down.
    “You sober?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “You do time?”
    “Sir?”
    “Prison. Were you in prison?”
    “No sir.”
    “Good, I don’t want to worry about you trying to steal stuff. Do you smoke pot or anything like that?”
    “No sir.”
    “Good. I don’t need someone hopped up on anything driving one of my forklifts around like they’re in the Indie 500. We do random piss tests, you know. I test my drivers as often as I can.”
    Mike nodded.
    “I understand, sir. I won’t be doing anything I shouldn’t.”
    Tracy pushed his hat up and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest.
    “You best not come to work drunk either, boy,” Tracy said as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a file folder. “If you come to work drunk, you’re fired. Understand me?”
    “Yes sir.”
    Tracy frowned and opened the folder.
    “What’s your name, son?” Tracy asked.
    “Mike Terrance.”
    “Hold on a second, let me find you.”
    Tracy scanned the latest report from personnel. He ran his fat finger down the list of names, mumbling.
    Mike waited patiently and stared at one of the posters on the wall. The poster showed an image of an oil rig in the middle of a field of sunflowers at sunset. The caption along the bottom of the poster read ‘TRIBURTON: CREATING JOBS, SAFE ENERGY, AND A SUSTAINABLE FUTURE FOR AMERICA’.
    “Your PIN is 1718,” Tracy said as he closed the folder and threw it back in the drawer. He slammed the drawer shut. “Anything else?”
    Mike turned his attention away from the poster and shook his head.
    “No sir, thank you.” Mike turned and started to walk towards the door, but stopped. “Actually, there is. What am I going to be doing today…?”
    Tracy yawned and shrugged. He kicked his shiny cowboy boots up onto the desk and laced his fingers behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.
    “Aw hell I don’t know. I’m too busy for all of that micromanaging bullshit. I have a whole site to run. I imagine that he’ll have you hauling around barrels of chemicals since we’re about to prep the pipe for pumping. Go to the warehouse and ask for Hank. He’s easy enough to spot since he’s the biggest goddamn black guy you’ll ever lay eyes on. He’s your direct supervisor. Go see what he wants you to do.”
    “Yes sir, thank you.”
    Mike exited the trailer and closed the door.
    Tracy chuckled to himself and closed his eyes as he kept his feet on the desk and his chair leaned back.
    “That scrawny little shit won’t last a week,” Tracy mumbled to himself. He pulled his cowboy hat down over his face, covering it.
    It wasn’t long before he started to drift off to sleep, snoring loudly.

Chapter 3
     
    It was almost two and John’s boiler uniform was covered in grease and drenched in sweat.
    Away from the eyes of his foreman, John took off his leather gloves and sat on a stack of pallets underneath the shade of a tattered blue tarp to take a break. He pulled an unlit cigarette out of his pocket and tucked it between his lips, closing his eyes. He let out a sigh as he tried to escape the harsh sunlight and unrelenting heat.
    Even though he was in the shade, the humidity still made it miserable.
    He was starting to get a heat-induced headache.
    Another man sauntered up to John, yawning. The man’s boiler uniform was soaked and his boots were coated with sand.
    John glanced over at the man and nodded.
    “Hey Greg.”
    “John,” Greg replied with a nod.
    Gregory Lopez was a tall, middle-aged man with dark skin, brown eyes, and black hair with a few strands of grey. His was fairly fit and had a well-defined jawline. He definitely looked like the sort of person who could hold his own in a brawl. He started as