Concrete Evidence
by Sami S. Khalil
By and
large, full of mettle, gutsy and by all appearances a go-getter fellow was
“Mallard Concrete” owner. A telltale sign of “little man syndrome” comes to
mind upon seeing him. It may not sound absurd to say that he was hated by the
few in town for he sparked in them many concerns of the environment.
A said
local artist, who had a small shop in downtown Northport, by the Kentuck
festival’s building, was one among them, woefully outraged at the sight of
concrete trucks going up and down Main Avenue. Northport, a small historic
town, with many local charms, was dotted with boutiques, restaurants and art
galleries. Clothing and local knitting was also plentiful. With all of that, it
was going through disorienting changes with big money projects that will change
its character. The locals wanted to keep it as is with no interest in bringing
in or expanding big companies like this concrete plant. Of course, they could
create jobs but history and aesthetics were more important. Those plants can
cause many health issues along the way like the problem of silicosis and
respiratory illnesses.
The
debate was highly polarizing between both camps derived from the pros and cons
or the two sides of the coin. Many residents petitioned the local council
members to reject the expansion of the plant to no avail. The most vocal was
this artist who would not budge an inch. But the nexus between big business
and the political elite was strong. Politicians were getting so called
“donations” which can be kickbacks in no dubious amazement. The mafia was also
involved connected to the enforcement of the lucrative growth. Any one stands
in the way has to be cut down to size.
The call
from Mallard concrete owner to the mafia boss was not shocking given the mutual
benefits of profit output both gained. It was natural and inevitable certain
people had to be silenced. And the greater the silence, the better. One day,
the artist went missing. There was no solid evidence to his whereabouts but
signs of increasing brittleness of life was evident. No one can simply vanish
or fade away easily especially if much-vaunted artist. The primary suspect was
a criminal activity. The correlation between his fate and enemies was no jaw
dropping. Clash of wills has metastasized into a murder. The stakes were high,
impressively siphoning off chances of finding him alive. Even dogs were used
around town along with search teams, who composed a vast network, to no avail.
His wife
shared with investigators his last text that said: “Concrete” which was baffling.
As time went on, his disappearance roiled the community with a longed-for cry
for justice in their prevailing moods. One day, a wake-up call came from a
driver who worked for Ballard Concrete wanting to talk to investigators.
Obviously, his conscience woke him up many sleepless nights. It was unbearable.
He confessed to the crime after asking for immunity from the death sentence
giving chilling details. He was ordered to pour him in the foundation of the
“Ambassador Hotel” after being dragged by a horse at Green Track racing by the
two bosses orders then dumped in the mixer truck afterwards. The investigators
sent a demolition team to find, uncover the slab containing his body.
The town
was sorrowful, had a notable funeral honoring him. After arresting the two
bosses for murder, they forced the plant to move outside the city limits. People
won their case after all. Next day, the Northport Gazette stated in one
article: Health and concrete don’t mix. Justice and cogent facts do mix.
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