That was a shock. But a nice one. “Hang around as long as you can.”
“It won’t be long. I can only unscrew and rescrew this power plug from the wall so many times.”
“Be imaginative. Break something. Keep me posted.”
He hung up.
The machinists and paperworkers outnumbered electricians nearly eight to one. But they were all confined to designated work areas. Electricians, because of their reduced number, were rovers, their assignments and locations constantly changing from day to day. He’d long ago forged that mobility into a network of eyes and ears that kept him instantly informed.
He knew management would gather. They always did right before negotiations. Too bad he couldn’t bug the room. But why go to all that trouble? He had ears on the inside. Since no matter how much Brent protested, he knew where his loyalty lay.
Even if Brent didn’t.
He shook his head, thinking again of the possibilities.
He always said he’d rather be lucky than good.
9:00A.M.
BRENT FOLLOWED HIS BOSS INTOBUILDINGA.THE COMPANY’Sgeneral counsel was a half-bald, middle-aged man, with a rotund M&M body. The weather-beaten face liked to sport a smile of permanent courtesy. That, and his archaic wire spectacles, gave the man a polite, resigned, timid look. Perfect for a company lawyer. A month ago, during his interview, Brent had immediately taken a liking to the man. The lawyer had been with the company fifteen years, hired from a Savannah firm where he’d been slowly inching his way toward partnership. The promise of a title, a steady paycheck, and excellent benefits had lured him away. He definitely thought he was going to like working for him. Comforting was the fact that his new boss dressed a little like his old one at the Fulton County District Attorney’s Office. Dark suits, white shirt, silk tie, and suspenders. But unlike the DA, who always said he liked the look and feel of pants supported by braces, his new boss seemed to wear them more out of necessity.
Building A was one of the two newer administrative complexes, trendier since it housed upper management. There were newly carpeted floors, upscale wallpaper, and furniture more of wood than metal, the décor leaning closer to fashionable than functional.
“Why am I included in this meeting?” he asked, as they walked.
“Beats the hell out of me. I was told to bring you along.”
“What’s this about?”
“Contract negotiations. One of the owners, Mr. Bozin, is down from Atlanta and wants a rundown. Have you ever met him?”
“I remember seeing him at the Concord Fourth of July celebration a few times. But that’s about it. What’s he like?”
“They call him the Silver Fox for a reason. He’s smart. Knows every dime this company has, and ever did have. Actually, I’m glad it’s him this time. Mr. Lee and Mr. Hughes can be a pain. They’re too impatient. Hard to get along with.”
“But why me?” he asked again.
“I was told this would be a good opportunity for you to see the negotiating process.” His boss then flashed one of his trademark Cheshire Cat grins. “From our side.”
Apparently, his reputation had preceded him.
But he should not be surprised.
They strolled into the conference room. The walls were south Georgia pine, stained dark, and dotted with aerial photos of the mill and bag plant. Twelve goose-necked armchairs lined a coffin-shaped table. An overhead projector and screen angled from one corner, a chalkboard from another. He knew three faces among the men present. Southern Republic’s chief executive officer, its industrial relations manager, and the head of personnel. He’d dealt with industrial relations and personnel during past battles between the company and IBEW, all while at Hank’s side.
He glanced toward the far end of the conference table.
Christopher Bozin sat silent. He studied the gentle face of the older man, noticing its distinct lack of color. The eyes looked tired and the folds that lined his cheeks and neck were dry and brittle.
“I’ll introduce you,” his boss whispered.
They walked over.
Bozin stood and they shook hands, the grip clammy and light. After a few pleasantries, the older man said to the group, “Why don’t we get started.”
Everyone took seats around the table.
“It’s that time again,” Bozin said. “Hard to believe five years have passed since the last negotiations. Seems like just yesterday we were doing this. What is the substance of our first offer?”
