Whitewash
Thursday, June 8
EchoEnergy Industrial Park
Tallahassee, Florida
Dr. Dwight Lansik refused to look down. He hated the smell wafting up from the steel grates beneath his feet, reminding him of an odd concoction—fried liver, raw sewage and spoiled meat. He knew that no matter how many times he'd shower or how hard he would scrub—leaving his skin red and bruised—he'd still be able to smell it. That's why he usually avoided the catwalks overlooking the tops of the silver-gray tanks and the maze of pipes that connected them. He especially avoided walking over this particular holding tank, its massive lid left open like a huge, smiling mouth while the last trucks of the day emptied into it. But this was exactly where Ernie Walker had asked to meet.
That was Ernie, always wanting to emphasize whatever his moronic point might be by going to the extreme. Just last week the man had insisted Dwight meet him directly under the flash-off water pipe so Dwight could feel the excessive heat for himself. "Ernie, you could have just told me the damn thing's too hot," he scolded the plant manager, who had simply shrugged and said, "Better you feel it for yourself."
As much as he ... read full excerpt from: Whitewash ebook
