Crime & Passion 2: A Brush with Death

Ben moved along Sixth Avenue at a crawl. This new street sweeper, just like the old one, swept at about six miles per hour. No doubt in his twenty-two years working for the Department of Public Works, street sweeping was the most laidback position he’d held. But, all those years participating in sports had played havoc on his knees, and this was the best job for him.

The position did have its perks though. He was the eyes of the city. Driving around day after day clued him in to all the dirty little secrets of the rich, the poor, and the in-between. Being the only street sweeper driver, the whole city was his route, and after years on the job, he knew everyone’s habits. Who went to the gym before work, who went to breakfast and where, who walked their dog.

Ben paused and smiled as he caught a glimpse of Jessica Benoit slipping out of her lover’s back door. She jogged through Brian’s yard, over the alley, into her yard, and then through the back door of her house—the home she shared with her husband, Mike. Poor bastard probably didn’t have a clue this had been going on every Tuesday night for the past year or so. Like clockwork. The woman must set her alarm to ensure she’d beat her husband home. Mike worked third shift at the shipyard six blocks away.

Since it was beginning to get fairly light out earlier in the mornings, Ben assumed Jessica would soon be adjusting her alarm for a sooner hour. Or, maybe she didn’t care who saw her slink out of her lover’s house and into her own.

Ben shook his head. He’d often thought he should write a book about all the stuff he observed as he drove the sweeper around town. All the secret rendezvous. On second thought, he imagined the money he could make for his silence, especially from the more well-to-do.

He arched his brow and chuckled out loud. Divorces would be more costly to those folks than paying him for his silence. Ha, if only he could do something like that, but he never could.

Ben wheeled the sweeper around the corner. Now that daylight had broken, his day would be less eventful, in terms of shenanigans anyhow.

Daybreak, his indication it was time to make his way back to the shop for the mandatory monthly meeting scheduled for seven o’clock, the time most of the public works employees began work. Though he kind of missed going to work at that time, it was nice working the four to noon shift. Leaving that early gave him a large chunk of the core day to get things done, and since he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore, it didn’t put a damper on his nightlife. He sighed. What nightlife? He hadn’t had one of those in years.

He parked the sweeper and entered the shop through the back service door. Five coworkers were tucked in the corner playing cards. Bud, with his mouth full of chew, verbally beat down Don for the stupid card he’d just played. Ben shook his head, some things never change, but still, he missed playing the game. Since he’d taken the street sweeper position, he came in too early to play. The card-playing gang came in about one hour before their shift started, which was two hours after his day began.

A brush of cool air washed over him. He shivered, then turned to find his boss had stepped through the doorway behind him with two large, white bakery boxes in his hands. Though Director Mueller was small in stature, he was gruff, and generally didn’t take shit from anybody. But, he was also that boss, the one who’d stand behind an employee he believed in when push came to shove. He was the perfect kind of guy for running this gravelly crew.

The man walked over to the mechanic’s workbench and plopped the boxes down. The cardboard had hardly hit the surface before the mob dug in. It was always a race for the chocolate custard-filled donuts. Ben held back, he didn’t like custard. He was more of an apple fritter kind of guy.

Ben stood with his coworkers wolfing down their pastries as their boss ran down his list of announcements. First was the standard reminder to wear safety glasses and earplugs. Why did he even say that anymore? Those two items were as common as putting on pants.

“I wouldn’t have mentioned it, except for the fact the safety inspector was here last week and noticed someone, who will remain nameless, wasn’t wearing his safety glasses out in the field,” Director Mueller said as his gaze landed on Glen.

“I can’t tell you enough about how important safety equipment is for both you and the city.”

Mueller held up a wad of dog-eared papers bound together by a large binder clip. “As you already know, this is the Department of Public Works Employee Manual. In here it states you will wear safety glasses. You all signed a form stating you read this. The next person caught without safety glasses will be subject to discipline. We’re done fooling around with this.”

Glen’s gaze was glued to the floor. Feeling bad, he got his boss in trouble?

After five more minutes of routine announcements, Mueller deemed the meeting over.

Clyde Bauldry nudged Ben’s shoulder. “So, did you catch Jessica doing the backyard shuffle this morning?” the man asked with a crooked, sly grin.

Though Clyde smiled, his dark, hard gaze told another story, as if Jessica’s affair bothered him. But why? What did he care about her or her husband? As far as Ben knew, they weren’t related or even friends.

The tall, burly man tapped his toe. Waiting impatiently for a response, he presumed. “Just like clockwork,” Ben replied.

A forced chuckle escaped Clyde’s cracked, dry-looking lips. “You should write a book about the shit you see. If the book doesn’t sell, you could always make money blackmailing the guilty parties.”

Interesting. His very thought. “I know, right.”

Ben wasn’t the only one who knew the dirty business of the residents of their small town. His sightings were the topic of conversations during lunch break. The guys were all ears when he spoke of the early morning shenanigans he witnessed. But, there were a couple he kept to himself—those that had to do with his coworkers. Clyde’s sister, Julie, for example, married to the city’s best, and most highly priced, litigator. Julie had been messing around on William for years. Lonesome, Ben supposed. William kept long office hours leaving his wife home alone at night with the kids. That was until they became empty nesters—then she was just alone. That was about the time she started sneaking off to warm Spike Callihan’s bed. A man—bad boy—at least ten years her junior. Built like an Olympic wrestler. Looks of Adonis. Every man’s nightmare when near their wives or girlfriends.

On the flipside, William’s long office hours weren’t always spent working cases. He worked over District Attorney Stacy Kennedy often enough. Those two really should remember to pull the window shades completely down. Just because the windows of William’s office faced a desolate street didn’t mean they shouldn’t be cautious. Unless they didn’t care that anyone noticed.

Ben often wondered why Julie and William didn’t divorce. Perhaps she liked the lifestyle he provided, and maybe he didn’t want to part with fifty percent of his assets. Finance was the obvious reason.

William would be the perfect person to blackmail. A divorce would be bad for his pocketbook and his reputation.

There were so many possibilities in this town full of cheaters.