Date: Fri, 2 Nov 2001 12:01:18 -0800 (PST)
From: Orrin Rush <orrinrush@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Lifeguard
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. If you are
offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go
somewhere else.
Copyright c 2001 by Orrin C. Rush. All rights reserved.
Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed
electronically or in any other manner without the express,
written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters
to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not
intended. They are all products of the author's imagination.
--------------------------------------------------------------
THE LIFEGUARD
Chapter 46
lg-47
Someone had mentioned that there might be a hijack attempt,
but shooting down a chopper was unbelievable.
"Did Hal have any details?" I asked, slumping into a chair.
"Just that someone found the wreckage earlier this evening."
"Let's get out of here really early in the morning," I
suggested.
"I'll call Ron," Eric volunteered. "What time do you want to
leave?"
"Let's shoot for 5:00 takeoff, that'll put us in Prescott
around 8:00 their time. Oh, ask Ron if there's enough runway
there for this plane, would you?"
While he was calling, I went to alert the boys and Jacques.
"I also called Hal to tell him what time we'd be there, he's
leaving tonight," Eric told me as he handed me a drink.
"I hope he was able to grab one of the other planes," I
muttered.
"He did."
Since there weren't any details, all we could do was
speculate, and Eric sensibly suggested that that was futile.
Everyone was up, packed, and ready to go in the morning. No
traffic that early so we made good time to the airport.
The boys commandeered the couch and were back to sleep before
takeoff. Jacques was busy in the galley. Eric and I took
forward seats to stay out of everyone's way.
I wasn't ready to wake up either, so reclined my seat and
dozed. I woke gradually, opening my eyes to see Eric
grinning at me. "Feel better, babe?" he asked.
Jacques brought me a cup of coffee, and soon served
breakfast, freshly cooked. The galley must have a great
ventilation system because I couldn't smell the cooking in
the cabin.
The boys woke up and joined us. We talked about everything
but what we were soon going to be seeing.
I thought about it, though. My thinking didn't go along the
line of hand wringing and "oh dear me". Instead, I was
thoroughly pissed. How could anybody kill a couple of
innocent men for something of questionable value? If the
local cops couldn't catch the assholes, I'd put Bob on it.
He had more manpower, resources and expertise than a lot of
big city police departments. We'd get 'em.
There was a delegation waiting on the tarmac. Hal, Loren,
and John, and Bob was already there too. All of them looked
pretty grim.
Jacques and the boys decided to stay at the airport, but Ron
and Jason wanted to see what had happened.
The crash site was several miles out of town and accessible
only with 4-wheel drive vehicles. The area was cordoned off,
and swarming with official looking people. Hal took over.
There really wasn't much to see. Debris was scattered over a
wide area, nothing big enough to be recognizable.
Two men separated from the crowd and came over to where we
were standing. Hal told them who we were, and they
introduced themselves - one was an FAA investigator and the
other was from the local Sheriff's office.
The Sheriff told us that someone had seen a fireball and men
from his office had investigated. It had taken them several
hours to find the wreckage, and by that time, all the canvas
bags were gone without a trace. What remained of the bodies
had been removed the night before. Their investigation was
underway.
The FAA guy didn't have anything concrete yet, but said that
their preliminary guess was that some sort of missile had
been used because the chopper, if flying in it's normal
pattern, would have been too high to be brought down by
conventional firearms. Their investigation would take
several days, or weeks, to pinpoint the cause.
Both of them wanted to ask all of us questions, particularly
Loren who was most familiar with the flights. Hal told them
that we'd be at the Hacienda Motel in Prescott.
After our briefing, we were invited to take a closer look.
Only Bob and the two pilots accepted.
The Hacienda was surprising, rustic but quite luxurious, and
even had suites, all of which Hal had booked for us.
Ron and Jason volunteered to go pick up Jacques and the boys
and get our luggage, and the rest of us congregated in Hal
and Bob's suite.
Bob was the first to speak up. "I spent a few hours at the
Sheriff's office last night," he said. "They did everything
they should have, in my opinion. Put up roadblocks in all
directions, but didn't see anything.
"This thing had to be very carefully planned," he continued,
"and my bet is that whoever it was is still in the area,
waiting for the heat to die down, they they'll take their
haul out piecemeal."
"If it was a missile, won't that be relatively easy to trace?"
Eric asked.
"Hell no," Bob grumbled. "You can buy 'em on the Internet."
"What can they do with the ore?" I asked the room at large.
Loren answered. "To make it marketable, they'll have to
refine it, and I don't think there's anyplace here in this
country that'd do it. My guess is that they'll head for
Mexico with it."
"Is anybody watching the border?" I asked innocently.
"Why bother," Bob said. "If they're smart, they'll keep it
in 50 pound lots, and that's easy to stash. It'd be
impossible to check every car going across the border, and
the Mexicans don't pay any attention to what's coming in."
"Then it doesn't look promising?" I commented. There were
lots of shaking heads.
"If they get away with it this time, either the same ones or
others will try it again," I commented. "How can we prevent
that from happening?"
"We can do it," Bob assured me. "It'll take some thought and
a lot of changes, but we can get it done."
The Sheriff joined us. He pretty much concurred with our
speculations. "They didn't just drive in, shoot the plane
down, then disappear," he said. "Somebody did a lot of
preliminary planning, and they had to be here to do it.
Somebody had to notice something, and we're going to find
that somebody. This is a small community and anything out of
the ordinary gets noticed."
He went on to say that it may take time, but eventually
somebody would make a mistake, or had already made one, and
they'd catch the culprits.
Hal and Loren agreed that no more ore concentrate would be
moved out until safety could be assured. Mining operations
would continue, but the ore would be stockpiled, and Bob
would supply additional security at the mine.
There wasn't a whole lot we could do, so I suggested to Eric
that we head on home. He agreed.
On Thursday and Friday, we attended funerals in Phoenix.
- - - - -
Joel called to see if we still wanted to go to Taiwan with
him and Aaron. Unfortunately, it was the same time as our
get-together with all the Milton Managers, so we had to beg
off.
Jeff briefed us on the meeting schedule. It would be three
days of golf and informal get-togethers at the Greenbriar in
West Virginia. With the new managers and the four of us,
there would be more than fifty, and not all were golfers.
Over Eric's protests, I volunteered to forego the golf and
give the non-golfers some attention.
Jacques was devastated when we wouldn't let him go along. We
did let up a little and agreed that he'd be our steward on
the flight.
I got along real well with the non-golfers. We met for a
later breakfast and then sat around and shot the bull while
the rest were out chasing that little white ball around.
When the golfers came in, they joined us. I noticed that the
first thing Eric did was come over and touch me. It was, I'm
sure, an unconscious move but it seemed like he was "marking
his territory", and made me feel wonderful.
On the third morning, after a night of heavy drinking, only
two of the guys showed up for breakfast. They were obviously
hungover, but were nevertheless cheerful. By now, we were
all pretty familiar with each other. We joked, teased, and
were all just pals.
They were sipping their coffee when one of them looked me
straight in the eye and asked "Is it true that you and Eric
are an 'item'?"
"This answer your question?" I asked holding up my left hand
and rubbing my ring. "Eric wears one just like it."
"I noticed," he said. "That is so neat!"
"Thank you," was all I could say.
"There's been a little speculation going on," he said.
"Nobody really gives a damn, we're just curious."
"Well, now you know," I told him, smiling.
One of the things that came out of the meetings was that many
of the managers wanted to provide an opportunity for their
production people to get together too. They were closer to
the action, and, comparing notes would certainly be
beneficial. If Metalco production people could join them, it
would be even better.
Another, and possibly the most important, had been learning
that all the Managers hated the Union they had to deal with.
It was felt that the Union was a nuisance and stifled
communications between workers and management. This was
definitely food for thought.
- - - - -
It seemed like we had barely gotten home when it was time to
go to Chicago to the Lundborg family reunion.
We left the day before, going first to San Francisco to pick
up Ryan, Diane, the baby and the nanny, and a ton of luggage.
Jacques took care of us and the baby was quiet the whole trip
in spite of the fact that the grandparents wouldn't leave the
poor kid alone.
That night, we "broke in" another of our hotels. No oil or
candles, but a whole lot of lube got used.
The reunion, which started at noon, was at a park in one of
the suburbs. It was a potluck-picnic sort of affair, very
informal.
When we arrived, there was already a good crowd. "Damn,
never knew I had so many relatives," Eric kidded his mother.
"All blondes, too."
"I think that's a dominant gene in the family," she answered.
When both limos were unloaded, Eric and I were at the tail
end of the procession into the throng. Karl and Ingrid were
followed by Ryan and Diane, then the Nanny, then us. Neither
of us knew a soul.
That didn't last long. We were passed around from group to
group, meeting everyone. The women were all very good
looking, and the men... well, let's just say there were more
hunks than I'd ever seen at one of our pool parties! From
pre-teen to adult, they were blond, square jawed beauties.
They had obviously been prepared for my presence. I was
introduced as Eric's "partner" and not one eyebrow was
raised.
I gravitated toward the older guys, and Eric and Ryan were
engrossed with their cousins of all ages, mostly male.
When it was time to eat, Eric pulled me aside. "Blond isn't
the only gene running through this family," he giggled with
an evil grin on his face.
"What're you talking about?" I asked.
"I'm just about dizzy from all the 'vibes' I'm getting. How
about you?"
"A few," I admitted. "I thought it was my imagination."
"I don't think so," he winked. "Let's stay cool and see what
happens. I get the impression that everybody already knows
about 'us'."
Shortly after we ate, the younger crowd organized a touch
football game. I was most definitely a spectator.
"I'm too old for that stuff," Karl said, sitting down on the
grass next to me.
I laughed and agreed.
The kids played hard, Eric among them. Of course, I had my
eyes on him most of the time. He was truly a natural
athlete. Graceful, agile and fast... and so damned sexy.
There was a lot more to look at too. Big, gorgeous blondes
ranging from, I'd guess, 16 or so, to probably their late
20's. They all had a definite family resemblance, including
Eric, with facial features that any modeling agency would
drool over. Talk about "eye candy"!
The boys played for more than an hour. Sweating profusely,
Eric dropped on the grass beside me, with the rest of his
cousins joining him.
They kidded each other about their game, then wanted to know
about life in California. "It's not this humid," Eric told
them, "and it sure as hell never snows. Think about us when
you're freezing your asses off this winter," he continued
gleefully, rubbing it in.
"We'll do better than that," his cousin Don piped up, "we'll
come see you. Got a place where we can put our sleeping
bags?"
"Hell, we've got a few spare bedrooms," Eric said. "Come on
out, we'd love to have you, you're all invited!"
"Don't be surprised to find a bunch of us on your doorstep,"
Don said.
"Anytime," Eric said seriously.
I was pleased that Eric had extended the invitation without
consulting me. He was finally considering "our" house as
truly OUR house.
When it was time to go, it was pretty clear that a lot of
bonding between Eric and his cousins had taken place. There
were a lot of hugs, several of them giving me one too, and
promises to "keep in touch".
Eric didn't say much on the way back to the hotel, seeming to
be lost in thought, but grinning at me whenever he saw me
looking at him.
"Sorry to be so quiet," he said as we went into our room.
"I've been thinking about what happened today, and didn't
think Mom and Dad were ready to learn that Dad's whole family
is queer," he giggled.
"Do you really think so?" I asked.
"I'm almost positive about most of the cousins," he said,
"and I'm not so sure about a couple of my Uncles. I'm
convinced that being 'this way' is genetic, so it makes
sense."
"Do you think any of them will actually come and visit us?"
"I'll bet on it," he answered, chuckling. "That could be VERY
interesting!"
- - - - -
Most everything was running smoothly, but there were two
issues that I wanted to look into. The first was what was
being done about the gold shipments and the second was the
Union situation at Milton.
Eric and I wandered over to Hal's office for an update on the
gold. Hal called Bob to join us.
"We've been too predictable," Hal said. "The flights have
been at about the same time every day, flying the same
route. Bob and I agree that that's the first thing we have
to change."
"We also need to know if there's anybody out there waiting
for us," Bob added.
"Any suggestions?" Eric asked.
"We were making several trips a day from the mine to
Prescott," Hal said, "bringing in supplies, parts and other
things, but the last trip of the day was always the ore. All
the trips were from the mine directly to Prescott and back,
following the same route.
"The armored car would arrive in mid afternoon, and that's
also a dead give-away. It wouldn't take much observation to
figure out which flight the ore would be on. That will have
to be changed. The armored car will have to be brought in
early in the day, every day, and not leave until late,
regardless of which flight the ore is on. Some days, we
won't even bring any out, other days, several loads."
"What's to keep 'them' from shooting down the wrong flight?"
I asked.
"We're coming to that," Bob said. "We've got an idea on how
to keep EVERY flight safe."
"It's going to be expensive," Hal said, "but when you
consider that we're bringing out four to five million dollars
worth of ore every day, it's not much."
"We'll need constant surveillance of the flight corridor,"
Bob said. "If we see any activity, we just won't fly,
period."
"How're you going to do that?" I asked. "That's rough
terrain and anybody could hide in those rocks."
"We'll need a second chopper, a small one, to patrol the
corridor," Bob said. "There will be visual observation and
also infrared equipment to detect heat anomalies in the
rocks."
"How does that work?" Eric asked.
"It's the same as the police use when they're following a
suspect. I'm sure you've seen it on TV. The human body
gives off heat at a different temperature than the
surrounding area, and the infrared scans pick up on that,"
Bob explained. "A little two-man chopper will do the job. A
pilot and someone to run the equipment. We'll also change
the route so the transport chopper will fly over terrain that
isn't so rocky."
"Do you think that'll work?" I asked.
"Nothing's a hundred percent sure thing," Bob said. "Both
Hal and I think that this would be the safest route to take.
We're also working with the local sheriff, and if we do spot
anyone, his men will go after them."
"When will this go into effect?" I asked.
"It should all be in place in a couple more weeks," Hal said,
"We're getting a larger transport chopper so we can carry
bigger loads, not have to make as many trips, and the smaller
one is being outfitted right now."
- - - - -
Eric and I discussed the Milton Union situation. He'd never
had any experience with unions, neither as a member or on the
management side. He did have strong opinions, though. He
thought they'd served their purpose, and were no longer
needed. In his opinion, they were dinosaurs trying to
survive in a world where they were no longer wanted or needed.
In the year or so that Metalco had owned Milton, control of
critical functions had been assumed by Metalco people, but
Milton was still run as a separate business for one
important reason - all Milton plants were unionized, Metalco
was not.
Over the years, some trades within Metalco had opted to be
represented by Unions, but, this had never lasted very long
because our workers soon learned that being represented by
outsiders was superfluous and ineffective. Metalco management
was responsive to problems in the workplace, and our wage
scales were universally higher than those negotiated by
Unions in similar industries and our benefits were much more
generous.
Consequently, no Metalco plant, anyplace, had experienced any
serious Union organizing activity in more than 20 years. Our
employees just weren't interested.
Milton was a different matter. Virtually all shop-floor
workers were represented by the Metal Workers Union, and had
been for at least 40 years. Wage agreements with this Union
would be up for re-negotiation in a few months, with
preliminary talks already underway. Under the Milton
brothers' management, Edward had handled all of this himself.
Personally, I didn't have much use for Unions. I agreed with
Eric, their time had come and gone. The exploitation of
workers was a thing of the past, and the Government oversaw
and audited the activities of virtually every employer.
Not only that, but enlightened employers realized the value of
getting and, more importantly, keeping good people. With the
booming economy, it was definitely a seller's market with
employers actually bidding for the services of the
diminishing supply of available, qualified people.
My main reason for disliking Unions was the fact that so many
of them really weren't interested in the welfare of those
they represented, but in the perpetuation of the institutions
themselves and the high paying positions and political power
they provided to their officials. Most had been proven to be
utterly corrupt too, which I didn't find very appealing.
Quite frankly, I hated Unions. My late father had considered
"union" the dirtiest word in the English language as a result
of some of the battles he'd fought with them.
From past experience, I knew that the only time the National
Labor Relations Board would permit a union de-certification
election was the six months prior to expiration of an
existing contract. I also knew that the effort couldn't be
initiated by management, legally. It had to be started by
the so-called "Rank and File".
The "window" of opportunity was open. Eric and I agreed that
we ought to try a little "Union busting" while we had the
chance.
I set up a meeting with Bill, Jeff and Jack to tell them what
we had in mind. Bill and Jack had been through this before,
and Jack knew every dirty trick in the book.
My decision to move forward wasn't altogether selfish. In
the short term, it would cost us more. Bringing all Milton
employees up to Metalco wage levels would be more expensive
than the levels we could probably negotiate with the Union.
But, in the long run, in my opinion, employee satisfaction
and company loyalty would offset the cost.
In fact, if the Union was as crooked and corrupt as I
understood it to be, for a nominal bribe, we could probably
get by a LOT cheaper, like the Miltons had done. But, we
don't work that way.
When I broached the subject, Bill was in full agreement, and
Jack relished the chance for a good fight. Jeff, however was
hesitant. "Our busiest season is coming up," he said, "do we
really want to make waves right now?"
"Actually, that's to our advantage," Jack told him. "The
Union won't expect it, and to call a strike before Christmas
wouldn't make any points with the workers."
"The managers made it pretty clear that they wanted to get
rid of the Union," Bill observed. "If we don't move now,
it'll be another three years before we can do anything."
We discussed strategy. Since the movement to oust the Union
had to be started by Union members, it was up to individual
managers to plant the seeds among people who would
cooperate. They, in turn, would start the petition process,
getting their fellow workers to sign. Neither the managers
nor other management people could openly support the
movement, but we could help in other ways such as providing
positive information to them on the advantages enjoyed by the
non-union employees of Metalco, and derogutory information
about the Union itself.
So far, Eric and I were the only ones who knew about the
surveillance that had been in place for months on Tony
Rizullo and the Miltons, and we had decided to keep it to
ourselves until later.
Jeff was given the job of contacting all the managers and
getting their cooperation. All of this was to be verbal. No
E-mails, nothing in writing that could be used against us
later.
The Union itself was in a highly vulnerable position. They
were small, independent, and not affiliated with any of the
big organizations. The AFL-CIO considered them renegades and
too crooked to join them, so they were on their own, and
didn't have the organization to fight a major battle like we
planned. But, since Milton employees represented a third of
their total membership, they'd no doubt try to put up a fight.
If decertification efforts got started at all of our 47
plants at the same time, the Union just wouldn't have the
manpower to fight on all those fronts. That's what we'd try
to do, hit them all at once.
Jeff left to start making calls. Jack was grinning. "This
ought to be fun," he said. "I wonder how dirty they'll get?"
"We've been through this before," I chuckled.
"I know, OUR one vulnerable spot is you guys," he said
nodding toward Eric and me. "They will probably try to go
after you personally, so be careful."
The ball was rolling and there wasn't much for Eric and I to
do except watch - until the petitions started circulating and
the Union reacted.
- - - - -
It was time for the annual "Critters" party at the San Diego
Zoo, a benefit for CRES (Center for the Reproduction of
Endangered Species), my pet charity. Every year, I was one
of the main sponsors of the event but used the name of one of
our Appliance brands instead of mine. It was always a fun
evening, starting with wine tasting put on by all of Southern
California's wineries, then all the restaurants in town had
booths where they dished out their specialties of the house.
This all took place right at the Zoo.
When I told Eric about it, he was eager to go. "Let's take a
couple of days," he suggested. "We can take a look at the
CLP property and just 'play' for a day or two."
That sounded good to me. We also had a hotel or two to check
out.
We left on Wednesday afternoon, driving Eric's Mercedes with
the top down. As usual, I had my hand on his thigh and when
we passed trucks who could look down and see, we got quite a
few toots of their horns and a big thumbs up. A few people
driving those damned SUV's noticed us too. Some gave us the
thumbs up, others glared. I blew kisses at the glarers, male
or female, and that really pissed them off.
We spent all day Thursday at the Zoo. It was Eric's first
time there and he wanted to see everything, particularly the
Giant Pandas. I'd been there many times before, but it was
so much fun to be with someone who was so enthusiastic. He
truly was a "Nature Boy".
The zoo's botanical collection rivaled the animal exhibits,
and we took time to "smell the roses".
Friday, we drove up to the Wild Animal Park north of the
city. This is where the breeding programs for endangered
species were carried out. I'd made arrangements for us to see
the "behind the scenes" activities, so we got to see a lot
that isn't open to the general public. As always, it was
fascinating to me, and Eric didn't miss a thing.
The Benefit event itself was informal. The objective was to
try to sample the food from every booth, and get thoroughly
stuffed in the process. During the wine tasting, we ran into
a group of zoo and CRES officials who I knew. I introduced
Eric and told them that they'd better go after him during
their next fund-raising drive.
The food was unbelievable. I think every ethnic cuisine
known to man was represented. All you got was a "taste" at
each booth unless you were greedy like I was, going back for
more of the unusual stuff.
Before hitting the dessert section, we took a walk. Most of
the walkways were dimly lighted, and some of the nocturnal
animals were out doing their thing. Not many other people
were wandering, so we strolled with our arms around each
other. Here we were, in the middle of the city with wild
animals all around us, no doubt watching. It was eerily
calm, somehow emphasizing the closeness I felt to the man
brushing along my side. I leaned my head onto his shoulder.
"Just us and the animals," I sighed contentedly.
We stopped, kissed lovingly, and continued. "I just like
being with you," Eric said softly. "When we're together like
this, nothing else matters."
Evidently that was the case with both of us because we were
halfway home when we realized that we'd forgotten to look at
the waterfront property.
- - - - -
Petitions had been circulating on shop floors in all Milton
plants for a couple of weeks. The only reaction from the
Union had been an abrupt end to contract negotiations that
had started earlier. The Union just canceled all further
meetings.
The first sign of trouble was in New Jersey, not
surprisingly. The trucks that normally hauled our product to
customers failed to show up. Our two plants in New Jersey
required a total of sixty trucks per day, only four showed up
at one plant and none at the other.
This was clearly a secondary boycott, highly illegal. The
trucking companies that we worked with used "Equipment
shortage" as an excuse. Jack, however, was ready, and filed
for an injunction immediately. It was granted, and trucks
started showing up again, but in much smaller numbers than we
needed.
This action spread to other plants in the Northeast,
including Metalco facilities. It spread like a brushfire and
kept Jack and his crew busy in several states.
Jeff and Mike reported that our warehouses would be bulging
in less than two weeks and we'd have to curtail production.
To this, Eric had a suggestion. "How about getting a bunch
of those inflatable buildings? I understand you can put them
up in a few days."
"Good idea," Mike said. "We've used them before."
"We can prioritize shipments," Jeff said. "Most of our stuff
is just going to another warehouse to be held for Christmas
anyway. I'm pretty sure our customers will work with us."
That would defuse the current problem, and give us time to
put pressure on the trucking companies through the courts.
It was time to look over the surveillance reports that Bob
had been collecting. Eric and I picked them up and spent
the weekend going over them.
There wasn't much "meat" in them until we got to the ones
covering the last few weeks. There was, however, a lot of
interesting background information that might come in handy
if things got really nasty.
Tony Rizullo's office, car and phone were all bugged, and we
learned a lot about how the Union operated. The Union
President was a figurehead, Tony actually ran the Union. He
wasn't what you'd call an upstanding citizen, either, closely
linked to the mob and involved in all sorts of criminal
dealings. He was also real chummy with Edward Milton.
Sunday morning, I asked Bob to come over to the house. He
wasn't surprised, and had anticipated my first request.
"I've already passed the word to beef up surveillance on
Marzullo, and to get the reports back to me the next day if
possible," he said, grinning. "He's a nasty SOB, and we need
to know what he's up to."
"You've read the reports yourself?" I asked.
"I've scanned most of them," he answered. "I've been looking
for any references to you or Milton or Metalco. Not much
until the last few weeks."
"We're interested in seeing transcripts of some of those
recent conversations," I told him. "Maybe we'd better have
full transcripts on everything from now on."
He was taking notes, and made a list of the conversations
that Eric and I had marked. "You'll want to keep these
originals," he said. "This is all I'll need to get full
details for you. Does anybody else know about these?"
"Not yet," I told him. "Jack's on his way over and we intend
to show them to him, but not tell him where we got them."
"Jack's OK," Bob said, grinning. "He and I've worked
together for a lot of years, and he doesn't mind 'bending'
the rules if it's in the Company's best interest."
"I'm still not going to tell him that you're involved," I
said.
"That's fine with me. I'll put the daily reports in your car
like I did before, if that's OK." I nodded.
Jack was chuckling when I finished telling him that we'd had
the Miltons and Tony Rizullo under surveillance for the last
several months.
"Dave, nothing you do surprises me," he laughed. "What made
you start doing it?"
"We heard a rumor that the Miltons may try something, and
then when we saw old Edward getting palsy-walsy with Rizullo,
we had him covered too," I said.
"I'm not going to ask how you're getting this stuff.
Afterall, I'm an officer of the Court, and I couldn't
possibly get involved in something like this," he said, then
busted out laughing. "Every advantage helps," he winked at
us.
"We've already requested full transcripts of some of the
recent conversations. They're marked, and if you want any
others, let me know. Reports will be coming in daily, and
I'll pass them on to you. They'll be complete, too, not just
references, but verbatim."
"I won't know what we've got until I read these," he said.
"Dale's working with me on this Union thing, and with your
permission, I'll ask him to read them too...at home. This
stuff isn't going anywhere near the office."
- - - - -
Bob reported that everything was set up for daily reports.
They'd be e-mailed to an untraceable address, then printed.
The transcripts we'd requested would be in my car by the time
we went home.
In the afternoon, Jack called to request an evening meeting
with us. He would be bringing Dale. I suggested that they
come to our house for dinner.
After they arrived, Jack and Dale scanned the reports that
had come in that day. Eric had read them but I hadn't.
"That Rizullo is pure slime," Dale commented. "There's
enough in those reports to put him away for the rest of his
natural life. The Miltons, too."
"Don't get indignant," Jack chuckled. "We'll worry about
them later. We need them now so we'll know what to expect."
"Well, did you find anything useful?" I asked.
"Since the reports we've seen aren't very current, we don't
have any idea what they're planning to do next. Hopefully,
with daily reports, we'll know more in the next few days.
There is, however, a lot of blackmail material. That's what
we wanted to talk to you guys about.
"What's your point?" Eric asked.
"So far, the fight's been relatively clean," Jack told us.
"Just the usual crap - the truckers, and attempted
intimidation of the membership. That's to be expected, and
we can deal with it.
"It hasn't degenerated to a personal level yet, and I hope it
doesn't, and for that reason, I don't think we should start
it.
"They all know that you, Dave, are behind this 'Union
busting' effort, or at least have given your approval. They
also know that you can stop it. The last thing that I want
to see happen is for either you or Eric to get hurt
personally.
"We already have the advantage, or soon will, by knowing
their next moves. We can counter those, and, I believe, win
this thing without resorting to too many dirty tricks. I
suggest we keep it 'clean' as long as we can."
"What could they do to us?" Eric asked.
"I don't think they'd try anything physical," Dale said, "but
with Tony's mob connections, that can't be ruled out either."
"Bob's increasing your security, but the ones I'm most
concerned about are the rest of the family - Annie and Tina,
and your parents, Eric," Jack added.
"Sounds like it's time for the Lake House again," Eric
chuckled.
"Let's not panic, for chrissakes!" I roared. "Aren't we
blowing this whole thing out of proportion?"
"Not according to Bob," Jack said. "He's really nervous.
Get him over here and he'll tell you so himself."
"I believe you," I said. "Let's keep our shirts on and see
what happens."
"I certainly didn't expect anything like this!" Eric said
when we were alone.
"They're all being overprotective," was my opinion. "But, I
think you ought to talk to your Mom and Dad."
"I will, but they'll laugh at me."
"I'm going to talk to the girls in the morning," I told him.
- - - - -
Jeff gave us daily reports. At one plant in Ohio more than
50% of the workers had signed decertification petitions,
enough to call for an election, and had filed with the NLRB
to hold one.
At other plants, workers in favor of the Union were causing
disruption and threatening their fellow workers who wanted to
get rid of the Union.
By now, the papers had picked up on the story, and when a
small bomb went off in the trash dumpster of a Metalco plant,
it became a major event.
Bob literally begged us to get out of town, someplace where
he could give us the protection he felt we needed. His
argument was that the Union stood to lose $30 million a year
in dues if Milton pulled out, and that they'd do just about
anything to hang onto it. Most of it was finding it's way
into Tony's pocket, and if he lived up to his reputation,
he'd kill for a helluva lot less.
I still felt that this whole thing was ridiculous. With all
the publicity, the Union, or their buddies, wouldn't dare try
anything. The intelligence we were getting kept Jack one
step ahead of every move the Union made, and we were winning.
Nevertheless, I wanted to be prepared for any eventuality, so
I formulated "Plan B" just in case.
A few days later, my whole attitude changed. I was opening
my mail, a large envelope to be exact. When I pulled out the
contents, there was a snap like a mouse trap makes. Some
sort of device was glued to a piece of cardboard, and below
it was handwritten "BANG, you're dead".
I called Bob immediately, and he must have sprinted to my
office. "It could have been a letter bomb," he pronounced.
"Will you take me seriously now?"
As he was examining the thing, Eric walked in. "Looky what I
got in the mail," he said, holding up a video cassette.
I've never seen a human being move so fast. Bob grabbed the
cassette from Eric's hand and was out the door in a flash.
"What's with him?" Eric asked as Bob flew by.
"He's MORE than nervous," I answered.
"Here's the note that came with it," Eric said, handing me a
folded sheet of paper.
"Back off or this will be on the net and in every newspaper,"
was neatly printed on it.
"Here's something I got in the mail too," I said, handing him
the fake letter bomb. "That's why Bob's so nervous. Have you
seen what's on that video?" I asked.
"Not yet. I hope Bob doesn't destroy it."
"It's only a video tape," Bob said when he came back a half
hour later. "We took it apart and there's nothing in it."
"This came with it," Eric said, handing Bob the letter.
"Let's have a look at the tape," I said, getting up. I had a
VCR and big TV in a cabinet behind my desk.
I popped the cassette in and hit 'play' on the remote. The
three of us were staring at the screen. As the picture came
on, I recognized the sofa in the den in the New York
apartment. I knew what would be next, so I hit the 'stop'
button and turned to Bob.
"If this is what I think it is, maybe you'd better look the
other way," I told him.
Eric hadn't caught on yet, but when I restarted the tape, his
first comment was "Oh shit!"
The tape ran about fifteen minutes. It was good quality,
sharp focus --- of Eric and me trading blow jobs. There was
no sound, but it was clear what was taking place.
"Well?" Bob asked. "Can I turn around now?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Eric said sheepishly, collapsing into a
chair.
"What was it?" Bob asked.
"A home video," I told him, "of Eric and me. Rather explicit
and damned embarassing if it got out."
"I'll need details," he said, taking over.
"It's a video I made at the New York apartment several months
ago," Eric said. "It shows Dave and me making love."
"Is it clear? I mean, is it in focus?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Eric answered.
"Are there others?"
Eric thought a minute. "No, that's the only one in New York."
"Are there others anyplace else?"
"We have a few here," he answered.
"Lock them up, now!" Bob advised, then gazed out the window,
thinking.
"I'm willing to bet that this tape was taken sometime since
the Union thing started," he said. "Who's had access to the
apartment since then?"
Eric looked at me for confirmation. "None of us have been
there since then, just the cleaning service."
"We can check that out easily enough," he said. "I'll have
somebody on it right away. We'll find out who took it, but
that's not really going to help us. By now there's probably
fifty copies floating around."
"Understand one thing, Bob," Eric said, looking him straight
in the eye. "I don't know how Dave feels, but I'm not the
least bit ashamed of what's on that tape. I'm just sorry
that I made it and didn't keep it locked up."
Bob walked over and put his hand on Eric's shoulder,
smiling. "I have to admit something, Eric," he said. "For a
long time after you came on the scene, I didn't like you or
trust you. I thought you were an opportunist, and yes, a
gold digger. As you've noticed, I'm pretty protective of
Dave here, and I didn't want to see him get hurt. You've
proven to me that I was wrong. I've grown to like you and
you've earned my respect.
"We'll do the best we can to protect both of you," he
continued. "Let me get my men together and we'll see what we
can come up with."
"I think we'd better let Jack, Jeff and Bill in on these
developments," I said. "Let's all get together this
afternoon."
"A council of War," Bob chuckled, "I'll be here."
"I feel like such a fool," Eric said.
- - - - -
To be continued.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I appreciate hearing your comments on the
story, my writing, and anything you would like to offer -
good or not so good. Send me a message at
orrinrush@yahoo.com