“I talked to him yesterday. They don’t have much. The shot came from a deer stand. Paul had a vest on. Nice bright orange. Lot of good it did. They can’t find a soul who was in the area at the time. No tracks. No nothin’. The funeral’s tomorrow. I hate funerals.”
He agreed. In the past eleven years he’d attended only two. First Paula’s. Then his dad’s. More than enough.
“What brings you by?” he asked.
“I need you to look at somethin’ else and tell me what you think.”
Hank slipped a sheet of paper from his back pocket and handed it over. He unfolded a memo from Hamilton Lee on the upcoming contract negotiations and an instruction about not seeking five years in duration.
“Hank, this deals with negotiations. I’m out of the loop on this one. I don’t have any idea.”
“Does the memo sound reasonable to you?”
“You know more about Lee than I do. I’ve never met the man.”
Hank pointed a finger. “You’re flip-flopping like a fish on a hot dock.”
“And you’re pushing things to the breaking point. I can’t breach my employer’s confidence. Maybe it’s like the memo says. Going for five years is just not worth the trouble this time. How did you get your hands on this?”
“Same as that list of numbers. The company’s computer obliged me.”
He remembered Thursday’s management meeting at the mill and decided to pick a little himself. “What do you want from this collective bargaining, Hank?”
“I need at least three to five percent on wages. My guys aren’t going to be satisfied with two percent. There are several side issues on call-ins and sick days that need adjustment. And I’ve got a ton of retirees on my butt about medical deductibles. There’s also a stupid point the members rammed down my throat on assured overtime. But the company’s never going to agree to that.”
“What do you have to offer?”
“Nothing, if they don’t want five years. That’s my problem.” Hank paused. “Come on, help me out, have you heard any talk on this?”
No way he was going to breach confidentiality. “Like I said, Hank, my boss is handling the negotiations. I’m the new kid on the block. Workers’ comp cases are my problem.”
“Then why include you in that powwow Thursday with the big cheesers?”
He grinned. “I saw one of your guys tinkering at a power outlet when I went into the building. I figured you were keeping an eye on things. You know I can’t talk about that.”
“Without five years on the table, I’m screwed.”
“Tough tour of duty for an old warrior, huh?”
“Have you got any ideas?”
“Doesn’t Lou Greene have any wisdom?”
“Lou’s good for drafting things, but useless on strategy. He’s too accustomed to workers’ comp, which for him is like shootin’ fish in a barrel. Right now, I need finesse.”
“What does Greene think of that memo?”
“He reads it just like it says. The company isn’t interested in five years.”
“Why don’t you agree?”
“It just seems fishy, considering how hard they fought for that last time.”
“Hank, you always think there’s a sinister plot. It could be you just got your hands on something you weren’t supposed to see. After all, I don’t think the company expects you to invade their computers.”
“You meant what you said? You wouldn’t let them snooker me, would you?” Hank asked.
He owed Southern Republic loyalty. His inclusion at Thursday’s strategy session had surely been a test, his discussion with Bozin afterward a message. But he and Hank had been through too much together. Not to mention Ashley. A paycheck was one thing, a friend another. Especially a close one. Even one who chose to put him in an untenable position.
