Sandusky Burning by Bryan W. Conway

Author:Bryan W. Conway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense, thriller, action, crime, veteran, Ohio, Midwest, summer, crime thriller, camping
Publisher: Bryan W. Conway
Published: 2020-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

Data 4

1:45 p.m.

My burner phone vibrated in my left-front pocket. I pulled it out; there was a text message from Randy.

Crunch BS info and pull shots

I was relieved. I was riding along in the work cart with Patrick, collecting the garbage left at the campsites. It was a gross job, and with the weather warming up, getting grosser. Some of the smells made me gag.

People left disgusting things out. Bags broke, spilling out dirty diapers, rotting food, coffee grounds, moldy plastic cups, dog crap, and other unidentifiable debris. When a bag broke, I had to get a replacement bag and pick up whatever spilled.

We pulled up alongside a transient lot. I grabbed the white garbage bag that was placed by the road, brought it to the back of the work cart, and placed it in gently.

Of course, I was always the one to collect the garbage because Patrick always had to drive. The one time I complained, Patrick just smiled and continued driving, so I let it go. I made a mental note to chat with Randy about it. If I was the invaluable tech guy, I needed to be afforded a minimal level of deference.

I was disappointed that I wasn’t spending more time in Trailer Alpha working data angles rather than doing manual labor. But I realized I had to keep up appearances. I was a campground employee, and if my probation officer were to drop in, I should be doing campground tasks.

I kept kicking myself over the data loss. Randy mentioned that we needed to talk privately, and I had a feeling it was about the breach. It made my stomach turn just thinking about it.

“After this row, I need to go back to the office,” I said to Patrick, who was stoically smoking a cigarette. He had been subdued all day, which led me to conclude that he was hungover. I liked this version of him, rather than the obnoxious, shit-talking one.

“We still have half the campground to collect from, man,” he said, irritated.

“Boss’s orders,” I said.

Patrick shook his head. “Tired of getting stuck with all the shit work,” he complained.

Cry me a river.

He dropped me off at the office. I went to the men’s room and washed the garbage residue off my hands.

I came out and unlocked my bike chain. Despite the risks, I opted not to wear my helmet, to avoid being teased. I rode toward the campground entrance. Nobody was in the security booth.

Ten minutes later, I was in the control room of Trailer Alpha. I took a moment to view what was happening at all the locations on the bank of monitors.

A large RV was being hauled alongside the security booth. A woman pushed a stroller and walked a dog in front of Cabin F, trailing a little girl dressed like a Disney princess riding a small bike with training wheels. A lonely elderly day drinker was sitting at the bar at Glory Bowl, with a tall draught beer and a shot in front of him.

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