Red Tag

Thursday morning brought a heat that felt personal. It wasn't just weather; it was an oppression .

The temperature inside the plant had climbed to ninety-eight degrees by 10:00 AM, and the humidity hung in the air like a wet wool blanket.

Jax moved through the factory like a man possessed, fixing machines with a speed and precision that bordered on desperate. He needed the distraction. When his hands were busy, his brain couldn't dwell on the mess he had made of his life .

He checked his phone.

Misty: "My machine is making a weird noise. Can you come check it? ;)" .

He sighed. This was it. He would go over there, fix the machine, and tell her it was over. Gently.

He walked toward Line 4. As he approached, he saw Misty. She was wiping down her press, bending over in a way that was entirely unnecessary for the task. She saw him coming and straightened up, beaming .

"Hey, hero," she said.

"Machine trouble?" Jax asked, keeping his voice professional.

"It was squeaking," she said, stepping closer. "But I think it just needed some attention.".

She grabbed his hand, her fingers hot and insistent, and pulled him toward the narrow gap between her press and the cinderblock wall. It was a shadowed, cramped corridor filled with hydraulic lines and dust bunnies .

"Misty, stop," Jax said. "I'm serious. I can't do this anymore."

"Shh," she whispered, pushing him back until his shoulders hit the vibrating metal casing of the press. "You're just stressed." .

She didn't give him a chance to argue. She dropped to her knees.

Jax froze. He looked down at her. The concrete floor was dirty, stained with years of grease, but she didn't seem to care. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and dark in the shadows.

"Let me help you," she whispered.

Jax’s resolve wavered. He was a man who had been starved for affection for years, and now he was being offered a feast. His brain said stop, but his body wasn't listening .

He tangled his hands in her hair. He meant to push her away, but instead, his fingers tightened, holding her there. She hummed against him, a vibration that went straight to his spine .

For five minutes, the stress of the week, the guilt about Stacy, the pressure of the job—it all faded away, replaced by the sharp, blinding pleasure of a woman who wanted nothing more than to please him.

When it was over, Misty pulled back slowly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her pink lipstick. She looked up at him, flushed and triumphant.

"See?" she whispered, standing up and smoothing her tank top. "She can't do that. Not like me." .

Jax fumbled with his zipper, his hands shaking. He felt a wave of post-adrenaline clarity wash over him, followed immediately by a crushing wave of guilt.

"I have to go," he said, his voice rough, avoiding her eyes.

"Okay," she smiled, reaching out to touch his cheek. Her fingers were sticky. "Text me later?".

"Yeah. Sure." .

He stepped out from behind the machine, adjusting his belt, desperate to get away from the smell of her perfume and his own bad decisions.

He turned the corner and stopped dead.

Deb was standing at the end of the aisle.

She was holding her clipboard. She was wearing her high-vis vest. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking past him, at the narrow gap between the machine and the wall where Misty was just emerging, fixing her lipstick .

Deb looked back at Jax. She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She looked disappointed.

"So that's how it is," she said quietly.

"Deb," Jax started. "It's not—"

"Don't," she cut him off. She raised her clipboard like a shield. "Don't insult me, Jax.".

She walked past him, heading straight for Misty's machine. She walked up to the bin of finished parts sitting next to the press.

Misty was still smiling, humming to herself, oblivious.

Deb reached into the bin. She picked up a bracket. She didn't even look at it.

"Reject," she announced loudly.

She tossed it into the red scrap bin. CLANG.

Misty jumped. "Hey! What are you doing?".

Deb picked up another part. "Reject." CLANG.

"Stop it!" Misty yelled. "Those are good parts!".

"Reject," Deb said again, her voice calm and cold. She picked up the entire bin—two hours of work—and dumped it into the scrap dumpster.

The crash of metal on metal was deafening .

"Deb!" Jax shouted, running over. "What the hell are you doing?".

Deb turned to him. Her eyes were ice.

"I'm doing my job, Jax. Just like you were doing yours behind the machine.".

She turned to her henchman, Pam, who had materialized out of nowhere with a red tag.

"Tag the press," Deb ordered. "Shutdown for quality review. Until further notice.".

"You can't do that!" Misty screamed, tears springing to her eyes. "My quota!".

"Your quota is zero," Deb said. She stepped close to Misty, towering over her. "Maybe if you spent less time on your knees and more time on your feet, your parts wouldn't be garbage." .

Misty gasped. She looked at Jax, pleading. "Jax! Tell her!".

Jax looked at Deb. He saw the warning in her eyes. Defend her, and I burn you down.

He looked at Misty. He saw the desperation.

He looked at the floor.

"I'll check the die," Jax muttered. "If it's bad, it stays down.".

Misty let out a sob. "You're letting her do this?".

"Go take a break, Misty," Jax said, refusing to meet her eyes.

Misty ran off toward the locker room, crying.

Deb watched her go. Then she turned back to Jax.

"You're sloppy, Jax," she whispered. "And I don't tolerate sloppy work.".

She walked away, leaving him standing in the wreckage of his own making.

***

Barb and Tammy were watching from the window.

"Did you see that?" Tammy whispered. "She scrapped the whole bin.".

"She scrapped the whole girl," Barb corrected. "And Jax just stood there."

"Jax is realizing something, Tammy," Barb said, lighting a cigarette. "He thinks he’s the ringmaster of this circus. But he just realized the lions aren't tame." .

"You think Deb knows?"

"Deb knows everything. She smelled the cheap perfume on him from ten feet away. And now? Now she's marking her territory."

Barb exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Act Two is over, honey. The intermission is done. Now comes the part where the tent catches fire.".