Inside, the tavern looked like a dive—Georgia’s favorite kind of bar. Shades on the windows dimmed the interior so you couldn’t tell what time it was. It reminded her of the tavern next to the UPS facility at home. Whether you were getting off the graveyard shift or starting early morning, it was always the same: shadowy lighting, a well-stocked bar, a juke box sadly out of date, and couple of pinball machines against the wall.
There was no hustle like downtown bars. A waitress served food with a stained apron around her waist. Customers, mostly men, with stubble haircuts, some steely gray, pot bellies, and lots of ink sat around nursing beers. Even Mickey’s was two steps up from this.
She headed to the end of the bar and took a seat facing the door where she could see who came in and went out. The bartender, a fortyish guy with a mustache, came over. She ordered a beer on draft.
“We only got Miller today,” he said.
She nodded, scanned the menu, and ordered a cheeseburger with fries. If nothing else, she could give Owen a comparison report.
The bartender went to the other end of the bar to confer with two men. All three stole surreptitious glances at Georgia. The bartender shrugged. A minute later he brought her the beer.
“Could I get some ice water too, please?” She asked.
“Where you from?” the bartender asked.
“Chicago suburbs.”
“Long way from here.”
“Only two hours.”
“What brings you here, Chicago girl?”
She studied him. He was obviously doing recon for his pals. She would pitch her story. She ran her tongue around her lips. ““What’s your name?”
“Holt. You?”
Ellie and she had agreed to use her real name, in case she needed to show ID. Plus, Ellie said, it would boost her credibility. She had nothing to hide. “Georgia Davis.”
“You on vacation? On your way to Detroit? Or Canada?”
“Work, actually. I’m a free-lance journalist in Illinois, and I’m working on an article about the unsung heroes of the pandemic. The truckers and people who make sure the vaccines get to their destination safely.” She stopped to gauge his reaction. So far, so good.
The bartender raised his eyebrows. “Who do you write for?”
Smart question. Fortunately, Ellie had told her what to say. She pulled out a card with her name, email, and phone number that she’d printed out last night and handed it to him.
“Well, I’m free-lance, so I write for a lot of papers and magazines. This one is for the suburban section of the Chicago Tribune. But if it’s good enough, it’ll go into the national edition.” She tried to smile in a way that was both proud and humble. “I’m hoping to talk to one or two truckers for Jefferson Medical. If you were picking a couple of guys to interview, who would you choose?” She waved generally toward the customers.
Holt rubbed his mustache, as if he didn’t know what to say. “Interviews, huh?” He sounded doubtful.
Georgia sensed his unease and nodded. “I’d like to get their stories. The precautions they take, what they think their responsibilities are, how they feel about helping eradicate the virus, that kind of thing.”
Holt grunted. He turned away and returned with her water. Georgia took a long swig. Followed by a swig of beer.
“Well, lady, you’re in the wrong place for that.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“Because most of the truckers here are either FedEx or UPS. They’re the only carriers approved to ship the virus. They’d have to get permission from their employers to talk to the media, and I reckon those employers would say no.”
She cocked her head. “How do you know?”
Holt shrugged. “Hey. I’ve been here ten years. Jefferson Medical only talks to the media when they got something to say, and right now, they’re praying the vaccines work. I expect UPS and FedEx have the same policy.”
“So you’re saying no one is going to talk to me on the record?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Georgia’s hope deflated like a punctured balloon. Had she come all this way for a bum steer? She should have known only the big guys were distributing the vaccines. Why hadn’t she come across that in her research? No wonder the place reminded her of the UPS bar back home. The customers were UPS.
“And you’re also saying that Jefferson Medical doesn’t deliver the very vaccines it manufactures?”
“That’s what I’m saying. The vaccine’s too important. ’Course the Jefferson fleet delivers other medicines.”
He gazed at her. She saw no compassion in his eyes, but no rancor, either. “I’ll get your burger started.”
“Thanks.”
But instead of heading to the kitchen behind her, he went back to his pals and showed them her card. They looked it over and stole more glances at her. They couldn’t have been more obvious.
Holt shuffled back over. “Told ya.” He flipped up his palms. “One of those guys is FedEx. They’re not allowed to talk to reporters.”
“What about the other guy?”
“He’s with Jefferson Medical, but he’ll tell you the same thing.”
Georgia took a sip of water. “Could you tell him I’m happy to talk to his supervisor and work through him?” She looked over. They were watching her. “Oh, hell, I’ll tell them myself.”
She slipped off her stool, grabbed her water, and walked over. “Hi,” she said with a smile, making sure not to sound too overbearing. Maybe even a little shy. “Which one of you is FedEx?”
A man with bristly gray hair in a crewcut jerked up his head. “That would be me.”
“Holt told me you’re not allowed to talk to reporters. I get it. That’s too bad.” She turned to the other man who was bald with a big pot belly. Probably a guy who could put away a six-pack at one sitting. “You drive for Jefferson Medical?”
Potbelly nodded. “Could you introduce me to your supervisor? Maybe he’d let me ask you a few questions.”
“I aint got nothing to do with the Covid.”
“Oh.” Georgia smiled. She didn’t care about Potbelly, but the supervisor could probably answer a few questions, like who to call at UPS or FedEx. Maybe even some questions about how vaccine distribution worked.
The two men exchanged glances. “I dunno,” Potbelly said. “He’s a she anyway,” he grumbled.
Potbelly might resent the fact that their boss was a woman, but for Georgia that could be a good thing. Female executives could be useful allies. She could play the “working women” card to extract information she wouldn’t necessarily get from a man. She could ease into the conversation talking about working long hours and the difficulty of balancing work with family. On the other hand, some women could be insecure about their own climb up the corporate ladder and jealous of anyone or anything that might derail their career. She’d have to take that chance.
She took another swig of water. “If you could help set me up with her, that would be awesome.” She smiled, hoping she looked appropriately grateful. “Then maybe I could talk specifically to you. That is, if you’re willing.”
Potbelly’s expression said he wasn’t all in. She needed to get him on her side. She bit her lip, then said, “I could give you the questions ahead of time, so you’d know exactly where I’m going. You can even practice your answers.”
Potbelly brightened. Relieved, Georgia forced herself to flash him a smile. But her eager reporter act was getting old. She needed to remember she was doing it in order to trace the history of a specific vaccine lot number and whether it was contaminated. This better be worth it.
Crewcut glanced over at Potbelly, who replied with a subtle nod. Potbelly pulled out his cell.