SIX
One Fucked and Two Fucked Up
It was the third night of my second week, and I was on gate duty. That meant I was responsible for checking people into the compound in addition to providing security for the equipment and men working and supporting the drilling rig. The compound was far more area than one man could effectively cover alone, but the high fence, lights, and the rig being active and manned twenty-four hours a day, probably kept the goons away.
Nobody liked working the gate on the graveyard shift, which was why it rotated. While the gate could be busy during the day, nobody came or went much in the dead of the night, which meant eight hours of standing around and doing nothing. Unless there was an emergency, you couldn't even leave the gate area for a change of scenery.
When Ken had asked for volunteers, I'd raised my hand when nobody else had. I'd been at the gate only an hour or so on my first night, when I began to understand why nobody wanted the duty. It was boring as shit, and time passed at a glacial pace. At least when patrolling the field, I got to drive around in a truck.
Now, three nights in, it was no better. I paced along the fence, my rifle dangling comfortably from the sling. I figured so long as I kept the approach road in sight, and could get back to the gate before the vehicle arrived, I was close enough. I glanced at my watch for the third time in the last fifty minutes and grunted. It was approaching two in the morning, but it felt like I'd been on duty for days already.
I was standing in a shadowy area taking a leak on the fence when I saw the headlights approaching. I finished my piss, zipped, and then hurried back to the gate as the truck slowly approached. I'd just stepped through the man trap, a fenced left, right, left switchback that allowed one man to move through the fence easily, but was a kill zone if someone tried to force their way in. I waited as the truck ground to a stop well back from the gate.
I frowned. Most people drove up to the gate, the guy on duty checked their pass, opened the gate, and then the driver proceeded through. The truck had the PerforMex logo on the side, but a white Ford looked like every other white Ford. I kept my rifle pointed at the ground, but I gripped the handle, my finger and thumb falling easily into their ready positions. I carefully approached the truck, wary and on edge.
"Shit!" I snarled when I finally got a good look at the driver from the gate lights illuminating the inside of the truck.
I jerked the driver's door open. It was clear the shit had been beaten out of the man behind the wheel, and there was blood all over the inside of the truck. I'd only been on site for a week, not nearly enough time for me to recognize all the workers, but the man had come to the gate and was driving a PerforMex truck. He was sitting slumped to the right like his ribs might be broken, his nose was clearly ruined, his right eye was nearly swollen closed with his left not far behind, and the rest of his face was one big, bloody, swollen mess.
"Hey, friend," I said as I reached in and touched the man on the shoulder. "What happened to you? You okay?" The man slowly licked his split and swollen lips and nodded. "You work here?" I asked, and he nodded again. "Can you slide over? Let's get you some help."
The man started to move, but as he did, the truck started rolling. I quickly reached through the spokes on the steering wheel, grabbed the gear lever, and slammed the truck into park. The truck's sudden jerk caused the man to slump forward into the steering wheel with aloud moan, before he painfully pushed himself erect and started sliding over again.
I squeezed the mic on my shoulder as I stepped away from the truck to open the gate. "I've got a medical emergency at the front gate. We need a doctor to the infirmary." I walked through the man trap and slapped the button to start the gate opening. "Hey! Wake up in there! I said we have a medical emergency and I need a doctor to the infirmary."
At the gate? Do you know what time it is?
a tinny sounding voice responded.
I ground my teeth as I walked around the slowly opening gate. "Yes, I know what time it is, but there's a man here that's had the shit beaten out of him and needs help. So get off your ass, wake the doctor up, and get his ass to the infirmary, before I come over there and shove my boot so far up your ass that
you
need medical attention. Clear?"
There was a momentary pause.
Understood. One of the doctors will meet you at the infirmary.
"Prick," I muttered as I climbed into the truck. The man was leaning heavily against the passenger door. "Hey! Hey, friend, stay with me, okay? We're going to the infirmary. The doc is on his way and he's going to fix you up, okay?" I said as I pulled the truck into gear and gently pulled through the gate, being as smooth as possible so I didn't cause the man any more discomfort.
I debated leaving the gate open, but it would take a few minutes for someone to rouse a doctor, so I braked to a gentle stop, closed the gate, and then slowly drove to the infirmary. As I slowed to another gentle stop, a couple of men were waiting. I reached across the truck and gripped my passenger's shirt as they slowly opened the door, hauling against the man's weight and holding him so he didn't tumble out of the truck when the door was opened.
As the two men help their coworker out of the truck, the injured man wailed loudly in pain. I bared my teeth with a sympathetic hiss and grimace. As gently as possible, they helped the man up the two steps into the portable building that served as a clinic.
Like the barracks ORSS slept in, the infirmary was composed of easily moved trailers that had been mated together. Unlike the barracks, this space was well lit, clean, and by comparison, luxurious. The infirmary was to treat minor injuries and, if required, stabilize the severely wounded prior to transport to a better equipped medical facility. The injured man looked rough, but he'd made it back to the compound on his own, so his injuries probably weren't life threatening, and the doc could patch him up onsite.
The two men were helping RaĂșl, as I learned from listening to his friends comfort him, to lie down on the exam table when Doctor Moreno entered the room in a flurry of motion, his lab coat covering purple pajamas.
"What happened to this man?" Moreno demanded as he carefully examined RaĂșl.
What had happened to him was obvious, so I answered the question the doctor was really asking. "He drove up in a truck like that."
RaĂșl hissed in pain as the doctor carefully touched his ribs. "Who did this to you?" Moreno asked softly.
The injured man slowly licked his lips. "Don't know," he mumbled, his speech slow and labored.
My eyes narrowed. "You don't know, or you won't say?"
"Don't know."
"How'd it happen?" RaĂșl shrugged his left shoulder, the side without the sore ribs. "My job is to protect you. I can't help you if you don't talk to me."
The man looked at me for a long moment. "Whore. Tried to rob me," he said. His words were so slurred from his busted mouth I had to listen closely to understand him. He paused but I said nothing. This wasn't the work of a single woman, or even a single man. "Took money back and threw her out. Didn't pay her."
"When was this?" I asked.
"Couple of days ago. Today, two guys came into the bar, dragged me out." He paused and licked his lips again before hissing and jerking back as Moreno began cleaning his face. "Told me they were there to get the whore's money. I gave it to them, but they beat me anyway. Stole all my money." The man looked away, clearly upset. "Most of that money was for my wife and children."
"You don't know the men that beat you?" RaĂșl shook his head slowly. "What's the whore's name?"
"LetĂcia."
"Where did this happen?"
"ChamĂĄn."
"What's that?" I asked.
ChamĂĄn
was Spanish for a witch doctor or shaman.
"Bar."
I nodded. "Take it easy, okay?" I said. "I'll explain it to... whoever... that I'm not going to stand around while they beat the shit out of the guys here."
RaĂșl's less injured eye widened slightly. "I don't want any trouble," he slurred.
