CHAPTER 39: PROCESSING PLANT | PHILTERWORKS—I

  COMMONWEALTH INDUSTRIAL PARK—NOVEMBER 20th, 1992 | EARLY EVENING

  ?

  “Got your gun loaded?” Leroy asked.

  Cameron checked the magazine of his Reign 18, and nodded. “ Yeah.”

  “Threaten them if you need to. The workers,” Leroy said.

  Cameron furrowed his brows. “Threaten them? The goal is to get people out—”

  “And people are more inclined to leave, Kessler, if they aren’t given any other choice. But wait until I’ve figured out where the ether is. ” Leroy said.

  “How will I know?” Cameron asked, brows raised.

  “I’ll shoot my gun. Twice,” Leroy said.

  They stood at the bottom of the concrete stairwell, their silhouettes contained under sparse and flickering lights. Even behind the walls, Leroy could hear the churning of processing machines and the sound of industry, punctuated by what could’ve been half-noxious fumes. He could feel a headache coming on already.

  “So, this isn’t about discretion,” Cameron stated, matter-of-factly, while releasing Guts from its sprite-cage. The green-white wisp jolted up and around Cameron’s head.

  “Us getting inside was the discrete part. What do we do now that we’re here? Not so much. Remember—arbiter, underarbiter. Bluestein Philterworks can’t hold us accountable for what happens here.”

  “No. They can’t.” Cameron stared Leroy right in the eye and opened the door leading into the main workfloor of the processing plant.

  Leroy grabbed his wrist. “Kessler.”

  Cameron glanced at his hand. “What?”

  Leroy released his grasp. “The signal. Wait for it, and then you can get started with the evac.”

  “So I’m what, just supposed to wait in here with my thumb up my ass?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” Leroy said, wry smile on his face.

  Leroy pushed through a rusted door.

  Massive interconnected tubes and piping delivered strange liquids to and from different areas of the processing plant, which clung along the walls and slithered through different sections of the massive open floor plan. It looked spontaneous, chaotic, even, like the vats and glass tubing and conveyor belts grew from nothing and made twists and turns where they wanted to. Men and women in workwear jumpsuits and small cloth face masks operated different levers and switches, ensuring that different colored liquids filled pre-made vials.

  Security was present, but sparse.

  Leroy could only make out another set of two guards standing in front of the far side of the open floor plan, plain clothed with nothing but some kevlar vests and some sidearms. Steel steps lead to walkways constructed over what looked like massive mixing pots, but the glow that they gave the room was distinct. A blue-green; which meant it was more likely alchemical waste slowly being siphoned into the dam and river outside of the facility.

  Leroy paced through the processing plant, and noted that different sections were aptly labeled: CAT’S EYE, VIGOR, CAST-IRON, BREKER TONIC, FLEETFOOT, MANSBANE TONIC. Leroy vaguely recognized all of them; each of these were patents held by Bluestein Philterworks, mass-produced alchemical elixirs sent straight to their boutiques once completed. He’d taken a few of them before, and they all worked well enough, and there was a part of him that wanted to steal a vial of Vigor—a single vial of it could keep you up for two or three days. Perfect for long jobs.

  Enough people had already seen him for it to draw his attention. He’d need to work quickly. Maude Dupre, after all, apparently had a tour guide waiting for Leroy, who was expecting him at the front doors.

  “Hey, stop,” said a woman.

  She wore a gray jumpsuit with the logo of Bluestein Philterworks plastered on top of it, and she’d been tending to the Mansbane Tonic production line when she took note of him. She pulled down the cloth face mask covering her features. Brown hair, brown eyes, a mole just above her lip. She must have been in her mid-forties. She vaguely reminded Leroy of the kind of woman you’d see in an advertisement, and he wondered how a woman like her ended up working in a place like this.

  Leroy’s nostrils stung.

  All of the fumes inside of the processing plant assaulted his sense of smell as soon as he’d entered, but his headache was minor in comparison to what a woman like this probably had to deal with. He couldn’t fathom the long-term side effects. Worse, she was still working at this hour. Given the complexity of the facility and the number of staff, Leroy imagined that Bluestein Philterworks had people work in rotating shifts around the clock. He didn’t know much about alchemy or what it entailed, but by the looks of it, it seemed that mass producing elixirs required around-the-clock maintenance.

  Leroy raised a single hand, and with his other, withdrew his wallet. He let it drop open to show her his arbiter’s license. “Easy. I’m an arbiter.”

  She looked from side to side. “O-Oh.”

  “Look, I don’t have a whole lot of time, and I need your help—” Leroy scanned her uniform for a name. “Janice. Assistant overseer.”

  “I don’t know if I’m the person to ask, I can take you to my supervisor, though,” she said, and turned, preparing to walk the other way.

  Leroy grabbed her wrist, and she turned back to face him. “I've got some words for him, but that'll be later. For right now, I need you to show me something. Think you can do that for me?”

  Janice cleared her throat. “Okay.”

  “Bluestein is manufacturing something here, a product that hasn’t hit the shelves,” Leroy said.

  The two guards on the inside of the processing plant took note of him, exchanged skeptical glances, and began walking towards him and Janice at a steady pace, each of their hands tight around the grip of their handguns.

  “Ether. What do you know about that?”

  Janice blinked. “I—... well I don’t know, honest. My day-to-day is just taking numbers on alchemical values, monitoring changes if they arise, and reporting it back to my supervisor.”

  A dead end. Leroy set his jaw, and by the time Janice had finished explaining the breadth of her duties, the two guards had arrived. Both were taller men, likely in their late-thirties, one muscular, the other not so much. The muscular one was the first to speak. Leroy drowned out whatever he said, and like clockwork, raised up his wallet again to show them his arbiter’s license.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “You a cop, or somethin'?" said the muscular guard.

  “Read, you dimwit,” said the other, nudging him. “He’s an arbiter.”

  The muscular guard’s face drew into a look of subtle surprise. “Oh.”

  Leroy cleared his throat, and tipped his hat to the worker. “Thanks Janice. I won’t keep you.”

  She nodded and turned, making her way elsewhere—likely to inform her supervisor, who’d then inform the so-called tour guide Maude Dupre had arranged for Leroy to meet. If that happened, his plan, or lack thereof, would go south quickly. He gritted his teeth, and shifted his attention towards the two guards.

  Leroy folded his wallet back into his pocket. “Listen up, and listen good, ‘cause I’ll only say this once. I know ether is being produced here. One of you is going to take me where, or, you’re going to tell me where I might find it. So. Who’s going to volunteer to show me around?”

  The two guards exchanged a glance, and the muscular one’s eyes narrowed in sudden animosity. His partner’s eyes widened, and if he had a chance to say no, he would’ve, but that moment had passed.

  Instinct kicked in on two fronts.

  On one front, the muscular guard raised his gun. On the other, Leroy grabbed his wrist and forced it down. With his grip secured, he pulled the man forward and headbutted him.

  A groan escaped the guard, and before he could hit the ground, Leroy reeled an arm back and punched him in the stomach. He fell flat onto his back, and when the gun dropped out of his hand, Leroy kicked it away.

  The other guard stood still, with both of his hands raised. His own gun dropped onto the ground. “Okay, okay, easy. Easy.”

  Leroy rubbed his knuckles. “Your friend was awful quick to the draw there. My guess is, a single stray bullet in here could cause the whole place to blow.”

  The man nodded. “Well.. you’re not far off. Alchemical vapors and shit. Look, I don’t know exactly what this ether thing is, but I do know there’s a basement level, and it’s the one spot security isn’t allowed to patrol.. or even go into, for that matter.”

  Leroy shoved him forward. “Lead the way.”

  Plenty of Janice's coworkers in their company-issued jumpsuits and cloth face masks had witnessed the whole ordeal, but none of them dared to stop what they were doing. It was demanding work, Leroy imagined, and he didn’t imagine spirits were high at the processing plant. Some of them might’ve even been happy to see it. Among them was an older man, clipboard in hand, who locked eyes with Leroy. Leroy tipped his hat, and the man nodded.

  ?

  “How much they pay you here?” Leroy asked.

  The guard had ferried him through the nooks and crannies of the open floor plan until they arrived at a stairwell on the opposite end of it, far from where Leroy and Cameron had entered, and still somewhat out of the way of what Leroy imagined to be the doors leading to the front of the building, where the non-industrial employees—and, of course, Maude’s tour guide—lay in wait.

  At the bottom of the stairwell was a door. A very large, very heavy door, reinforced with steel, and, of course, sigilmasonry. Old and dim lights were built into the walls and flickered every so often.

  The guard raised a brow. “About a grand a week, why?”

  Leroy exhaled. “Doesn’t matter.”

  He should’ve figured. Private security was never cheap, and he wasn’t exactly carrying the kind of cash on him that would’ve swayed this guy to do him a favor. He held his hand on his hip, and paced back and forth in front of the sigilmasoned door.

  Someone had to have a key.

  That was the only way he’d get inside, and Leroy didn’t imagine that this guy had it. Leroy rubbed his hand over his face and exhaled. He’d given Cameron an entire spiel about why they had to take the back entrance, and why the trip through the Pines was worth the trouble, only to come to the stark realization that he’d have no other choice but to talk directly to whoever was running the processing plant. This whole ordeal made Leroy consider hiring a sigilmason on retainer, God knew having someone like that would be helpful in more ways than one.

  It wasn’t all bad.

  At the very least, he’d gotten a chance to catch up with Eisenhower. Better still, he saw his underarbiter improving. Cameron Kessler the gangster would’ve been chewed up and spit out by the garous, with or without the help of Leroy and the wardens. But Cameron Kessler the underarbiter? Not so much. Either way, Cameron was right. Again. He did suck at planning. But what Leroy lacked in preparation, he more than made up for in improvisation—at least that’s what he told himself.

  “Go and get the supervisor, or whoever the hell runs this plant. Tell them Leroy Waters is here to see them, and tell them Leroy Waters needs access to this door. Got it?”

  The man nodded. “Yeah.”

  Four vials of pasteurized demon blood. Three waterskins. His P89, a few bullet magazines.

  He didn’t expect a fight, but at the very least, he had the tools to get himself through one if push came to shove. Whirrs and clanks echoed upstairs, and Leroy allowed himself a moment to listen to the hissing and the whining of the processing plant. Enough time had passed for Leroy to consider going up there himself, but right as he took the first step upwards, something caught his eye.

  Silhouettes emerged at the top of the stairwell. Leroy recognized only one of them out of what seemed to be five. Leroy stepped back, and waited for them to reach the bottom of the stairwell.

  It wasn’t until they all reached the bottom that Leroy realized how cramped everything was. The small area in front of the steel-reinforced, sigilmasoned doors was large enough to fit all of them, but not by much.

  Leading the pack was a short man, olive-skinned man in a navy blue suit, with a copper-colored tie, and short, curly hair. His mustache was thin, and looked more like dyed peach fuzz. He wore a lab coat over his suit, with the company logo of Bluestein Philterworks, alongside a nametag that read:

  EMILIO LA CERVA

  OVERSEER

  “Ah, now you,” Emilio began, waving a knowing finger around. “You must be Leroy Waters. Ms. Dupre told me to expect you, though, I admit, this is not where I assumed I’d find you, nor would I have imagined you’d arrive well.. in the evening. The hour is late, Mr. Waters.”

  Around Emilio were men not unlike the armed guard Leroy had sent to fetch him. All of them had small sidearms attached to their hips, kevlar vests, and wore a similar-but-different set of denim and flannel. Some had tattoos, others piercings, and most were bald or balding.

  “Sorry. Got lost,” Leroy said, wry smile on his face.

  Emilio nodded towards the steel doors behind Leroy. “And yet you managed to find your way here.”

  Leroy exhaled. “Look. Let’s cut to the chase, alright? You know who I am. What I am. I need access to what’s behind this door. You’re going to open it.”

  Emilio frowned, and shuffled his hands into his pockets. “Ms. Dupre told me that your arbitration contract has led you here. I can assure you, Mr. Waters, that Bluestein Philterworks is not what you believe it to be.”

  Leroy set his jaw. Figured. The so-called tour guide was the overseer all along.

  “Uh-huh. That's why you need four armed guards to give me a tour, right?” Leroy asked.

  Emilio shook his head. “A precaution for my own safety. See, to my right here is James, who you have already met. James told me that you assaulted his partner, and I verified this only moments ago when my retinue and I found him upstairs.”

  Leroy rubbed his beard. “Did James tell you that his partner pulled a gun on me?”

  Emilio raised a brow. “No. He did not.”

  James’s face reddened, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, shifting his attention forward.

  “The door,” Leroy said, pivoting. “Open it.”

  Emilio cleared his throat. “And do you have a warrant?”

  “A warrant? Christ. You’re giving me a headache. You know I don’t need one, and Ms. Dupre told you why I’m here. Let's skip the mental gymnastics. Here’s how this is going to go, and this’ll be the last time I say it.” Leroy stepped towards Emilio, and as he did the four guards tensed up. Leroy stared at each of them, and their tension—the jittery kind—dulled into apprehension; a nervousness that stalled movement, two steps removed from proper fear, but liable to turn into it given enough time.

  Emilio stared up at Leroy.

  Leroy pushed his finger against Emilio’s chest. “Open the door, or I’ll find a way to open it myself.”

  You'll notice that I added a little something to the chapter title, 'PHILTERWORKS'. For the next several chapters you'll see this, and moving forwards, what I think I will do is make mini title lines/addendums for when Leroy & Cameron begin getting into the nitty gritty of their actual contract. Sort of like.. a mini-arc, if that makes sense? A mini-arc that is still very much tethered to the central plot line.

  At any rate, hope you all enjoyed! I'm super happy to see that our numbers keep growing, can you believe we're almost halfway to 400 followers? ?? I felt like just a week or two ago I was talking about how we reached 200! It's crazy to see. Feeling more inspired than ever to continue writing, thanks again to everyone for sticking around for the ride.

  LEROY WATERS

  CAMERON KESSLER

  GUTS

  JANICE OLIVERA

  EMILIO LA CERVA

  Enjoying BRINEHAVEN? If so, please a review or a rating, it helps this story gain much needed visibility!