Dan Devore

Factory Swapper

CHAPTER ONE

For fifteen years the factory had successfully gone about its business of manufacturing plastics. There were over three hundred blue-collar workers and an office staff of fifty in the plant. The firm had always run smoothly and efficiently with a minimum of friction between the various departments. Since its opening day, the general atmosphere of the plant was one of all business and no nonsense. There was no company newsletter and no official bowling or softball teams. There was a family picnic for everyone in July and an employees-only party during the week of Christmas. Other than that, the plant was like a large, unemotional monster that drew in the workers in the morning and spat them out at night.

It was a sultry afternoon late in-June when Lou Masters looked out of his window in the executive wing of the building. His golf club was only six miles away and Lou closed his eyes and imagined himself striding the fairway instead of standing in his sterile office. There are those who thought that Lou had it made in life; but he knew better. Lou was forty-four years old and hopelessly locked in his position with the firm. There was no way that he could advance himself higher than his present job in this company and the pay was just a little too good and the security was just a little too strong to permit him the luxury of leaving.

Some executives could have lived quite happily under such an arrangement, but not Lou Masters. By now, the pangs of frustration had driven deep into his soul and he was constantly on the search for some method of escaping the boredom of his existence. Little did he realize that his efforts that day would begin an incredible chain reaction that would, in one way or another, affect the entire factory.

“A girl from Mr. Brandon’s office to see you,” announced his secretary, breaking his train of thought.

“Send her in,” he sighed. Mack Brandon was forever sending him reams of communications, none of which were worth the paper they were written on.

But then, Mack had to do something to earn his keep at the plant.

The girl was about nineteen, blonde and pleasantly buxom. He had never seen her before, he was certain, or he surely would have remembered her. He gave her body a professional appraisal and liked what he saw. He liked it very much, indeed. Her breasts, rich and ripe, were clearly outlined under the thin blouse she wore. Her hips were well rounded and her mini-skirt revealed a tantalizing pair of thighs.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“It’s Vicki, Mr. Masters. Vicki Thomas. I’m a temporary typist in Mr. Brandon’s office.”