White Hot

by Sandra Brown

  “Only thing, if you join their ranks, you’ll never work for me again, nor will anybody in your family, and you’ve made an enemy for the rest of your life.” He paused to let that sink in, then concluded by saying, “Y’all think about that. Now, we’ve wasted enough production time on this business. Get back to work.”

  He switched off the microphone and turned back into the room. Chris said, “Well, that should take care of any fence straddlers. It wouldn’t surprise me if we’ve heard the last from union sympathizers, too. They won’t have the balls to speak in favor of it now.”

  Huff didn’t share Chris’s confidence. “Fred, what do you think?”

  Clearly uneasy with being the center of attention, the laborer shifted from one foot to the other. “Uh, I’m sure you did some good, Huff. But this is Billy’s shift. Those men saw him bleed and heard him scream. The accident is still fresh in their minds. I know you’re doing a lot for his family. Just today, I heard about Beck going to see him. Alicia said—”

  “Beck went to see him?” Chris asked.

  Casting a wary glance around, Fred said, “That’s what I understood from Alicia. She called a few hours ago, said Beck came to the hospital and gave them a right sizable check.”

  Huff looked at Chris. With a shrug, Chris disavowed any knowledge of Beck’s gesture. “What were you about to say before Chris interrupted?” Huff asked Fred.

  “Well, I was saying that the men who work with Billy aren’t going to be forgetting what happened to him anytime soon. Their memories of it were fading somewhat, then tonight there’s little reminders all around.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a yellow ribbon tied to the padlock of Billy’s locker. Like his name painted on that conveyor. Somebody’s keeping memories fresh and stirring up resentment again.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know yet. Lots of conversations were stopped soon as I got close enough to overhear.”

  “Find out who’s responsible.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Huff pointed a blunt finger at him. “I don’t want you working on it. I want you doing it. Keep your ear to the ground and your eyes open or I’ll find someone who’ll get me the names I want.”

  Fred swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. What do you want me to do about the picket?”

  Huff lit a fresh cigarette. He didn’t answer until he’d taken a few puffs. “What I’d like you to do is take a scattergun down there. That would clear the area quick enough.”

  “I’ll load it,” Chris said laconically.

  Huff laughed and shook his head. “No, let’s not do anything tonight. They may go away on their own. They’ll get tired and thirsty, bit by mosquitoes, their backs will start hurting from carrying those signs. We may not have to lift a finger to see the end of them. So let’s give it another day or so. See how it shakes out. See how our employees react. But, Fred, have some men ready to knock heads at a moment’s notice.”

  “Just you give the word, Mr. Hoyle. They’re ready and willing.”

  “Good. But remember if there’s a fracas, it’s got to look like it was the picketers’ fault. They drew first blood and our men were only defending themselves. That’ll be our line.”

  “Understood.”

  Fred left. To those remaining, Huff said, “I don’t think there’s going to be any fireworks tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll carry on business as usual. Don’t be provoked by anything those pickets shout at you, or by anything printed on their signs, no matter how ugly it is. Ignore the sons of bitches.

  “In the meantime, maybe Beck can make some headway with Nielson and he’ll call off these jackals before any serious damage is done. Okay?” He got nods from everyone. “Y’all go on home now.”

  George Robson hung back. “Huff?”

  “What is it, George?”

  “What you said about us investigating the cause of Paulik’s accident—”

  “Only giving them what they wanted to hear, George. Don’t worry about it.”

  “What I was thinking,” he said, his eyes nervously darting between Huff and Chris, “is that maybe we should shut down that conveyor until it has been overhauled. Then nobody could come along later and finger blame.”

  Huff turned to Chris. “I thought you’d already discussed this.”

  “We did.”

  George said, “That’s right, we did. But on second thought—”

  “Stop thinking so much, George,” Huff said. “Chris is over operations, and he made his decision about that conveyor.”

  “Based on your recommendation, George, remember?”

  George nodded, looking uncertain and unhappy. “Yes. Okay.”

  “Go on home and try to salvage what’s left of the night,” Huff said.

  “All right. See you tomorrow.” George turned to go.

  “Give our regards to that pretty wife of yours.”

  George stopped and turned, gave Chris a measured look, then scuttled out.

  Huff looked across at Chris. “Saying things like that, you’re playing with fire.”

  Chris laughed. “I doubt George will challenge me to a duel. If he was worried about marital infidelity, he shouldn’t have married a slut.”

  Beck came in. “I met George in the hall. He said I missed a hell of a speech.”

  As soon as they were notified of the picket line, Chris had called Beck’s cell phone and caught him halfway back to Destiny from New Orleans. Beck had told them he would get there as soon as he could. Huff glanced at his wall clock, noting that he’d made record time.

  Now Beck placed his briefcase on the floor and, looking out of breath, plopped down onto the short sofa. “I leave town for a few hours, and all hell breaks loose.”

  Huff motioned Chris toward the credenza where he kept a bar. “Whiskeys all around, Son.”

  “I had to drive through our visitors as I came in,” Beck told them.

  “That’s the point, I think,” Huff said from behind his desk, where he’d lowered himself into the high-backed leather chair. “They didn’t pick that spot at random.”

  “Have you confirmed that they were sent by Nielson?”

  “They make no bones about it,” Chris said, passing Beck one of the three highballs. “I went out to talk to the guy who appears to be the leader. He’s a meathead, probably on steroids, but smart enough not to say anything except that he has a permit, which he showed me, and that I should refer all my questions to Mr. Nielson.”

  “Well, Mr. Nielson is making himself scarce.” Beck then told them about his unproductive visit. “His office isn’t very impressive. Modestly furnished. Only one secretary. She’s overly polite and earnest. Looked like she would bake you an apple pie or sew a loose button on your shirt if you asked her. But certainly no pushover. Not exactly a fount of information, either. She wasn’t very forthcoming on when I’ll get to see her boss face-to-face. She’s been well trained.”

  Huff snorted. “The coward knew you were coming, so he ducked out. He might be in Cincinnati, or he could’ve been waiting in the bar across the street until the coast was clear.”

  “A distinct possibility,” Beck conceded. “I’ve called his hotel several times. At first I was told he hadn’t checked in. Now, he’s requested a hold on all his calls. Either way I feel like I’m being played for a chump.”

  “He didn’t want to confront you on the same day his hired pickets showed up at our plant,” Chris said.

  “You’re probably right,” Beck said. “There’s more. I haven’t got to the good part yet. Guess who was in Nielson’s office, dressed fit to kill, and, despite the high heels, looking ready to take on all enemies, starting with me?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Chris exclaimed. “Sayre?”

  “Good guess.”

  “What was she doing there?” Huff asked.

  “Same thing I was, wanting to see Nielson. Of course her agenda differed from mine. She was there to enlist and offer him her help.”

&nb
sp; Chris asked, “By doing what?”

  “We never got down to the specifics.”

  “Was she with you when you went to see Billy Paulik?”

  Beck reacted with surprise, looking first at Huff, then back at Chris. “How did you know about that?”

  “Alicia Paulik called Fred Decluette.”

  “I wasn’t going to see him, Sayre was,” he explained. “I went along and used the cards and letters Billy has received from his coworkers as my calling card. I thought hand-delivering them might win points with Mrs. Paulik. Besides, I wanted to see what Sayre was up to.”

  “What was she up to?” Huff asked.

  “Nothing that I could tell. It appeared to be no more than a courtesy call.”

  “When Mrs. Paulik talked to Fred, she mentioned a ‘right sizable’ check. How much did that set me back?”

  “Nothing, Huff. I made the contribution without your authorization. You don’t have to reimburse me if you don’t want to.”

  “Hell, I’m the one who suggested we sweeten the pot. And just as I thought, the woman is weakening. She kept the check, right?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “There you go,” he said, raising his glass to toast their success.

  Beck said, “Before you drink to it, you should know that I also told the psychiatrist to continue the sessions with Billy indefinitely.”

  Chris groaned. “Are you trying to bankrupt us?”

  “I’ll admit that it was a bold, spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t have time to consult with either of you. But I think it scored points with Mrs. Paulik.”

  Huff winked at him. “You wouldn’t be worth spit to me if you couldn’t make some decisions on you own. I trust your judgment or you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in.”

  “But we’re throwing good money after bad,” Chris complained. “So we see to it that Billy Paulik gets as good as he can get. What good will it do us?”

  “I don’t imagine Beck was thinking in terms of Billy’s productivity as the payoff of that investment.”

  “That’s right, Huff. I saw it as a gesture of goodwill that could stave off a lawsuit which could cost us millions. Anything we can do to prevent litigation is a sound investment.”

  “I agree.” Huff tossed back his drink, liking the sting of the bourbon at the back of his throat and the heat it spread through his belly. “What was Sayre’s frame of mind when you left her?”

  Beck shrugged, but Huff didn’t think he was nearly as indifferent as he wanted them to believe. “We had dinner together. I bought her a trinket. We drank champagne.”

  Happily, Huff slapped his palms together. “How did it go?”

  Beck raised a wry eyebrow. “It would have gone better if Chris hadn’t told her about your attempted matchmaking.”

  Huff turned to Chris. “You told her?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Sayre may have drunk his champagne, but Beck’s not in her bed, is he? And she’s not about to invite him into it as long as he works for us.”

  “She might have. Now . . . Shit. You know your sister. She’ll balk.”

  “She would have balked anyway, Huff,” Beck said. “She’s too smart and headstrong to be seduced by a bottle of champagne. However, I hoped that the wine and a meal of fancy French food would loosen her tongue.”

  “About what?”

  “Nielson. I’m uneasy with the idea of the two of them together. He would exploit having a Hoyle in his corner. If nothing else, he could use that as a media hook.” He framed an imaginary headline with his hands. “Huff Hoyle’s daughter sides with opposition. Complete story and photos on page three.”

  Huff belched. The whiskey didn’t taste so good recycled. “I see what you mean.”

  “Beyond that,” Beck continued with obvious reluctance, “she thought McGraw was the noose that was going to hang both of you, only to discover that the rope was frayed.

  “But that didn’t dampen her resolve. She’s convinced that Chris did in Gene Iverson, that by finagling the jury he got away with murder, and that it’s up to her to see that justice is done. Despite the setback with McGraw, she has no intention of letting the matter drop.”

  He first looked at Chris, then turned to Huff. “I wasn’t your lawyer then, Huff. But I represent you now. I don’t want to be blindsided by something that Sayre may uncover. Is there anything regarding the Iverson case that I should be made aware of?”

  Huff knew how to keep a poker face. He’d been doing it since he was eight years old. He looked Beck straight in the eye and said, “If the state had been able to make a case against Chris, there would have been another trial. Sayre won’t uncover anything.”

  “Did you hear anything from Red while I was in New Orleans?”

  “Nothing except that Slap Watkins remains at large,” Chris told him. “So far there’s been no trace of him.”

  “Have they checked out all the places where he’s stayed recently?”

  “With warrants. His last-known residence had a drug lab in the bathroom. The couple who lived there were arrested, but they claimed not to know Slap’s whereabouts since they kicked him out. Red said they took the place apart but found nothing belonging to Slap.”

  “I hope they find him sooner rather than later,” Beck said. “And when he’s brought in, I hope he confesses to killing Danny. Because of everything that’s going on here,” he said, nodding toward the wall of glass, “we’re going to be viewed through a microscope. By OSHA in particular.”

  “Bastards,” Huff muttered around a fresh cigarette.

  “We had some play with them,” Beck said, “but it was lost with Billy’s accident.”

  “Can’t we head them off?” Chris asked.

  “I hoped to. I’ve tried several times to contact the regional rep. He won’t return my calls. Which leads me to believe that he’s planning a surprise inspection.”

  Huff said, “I thought you had bribed someone on his staff to warn us of any unannounced visits.”

  “I learned yesterday that she’s out on pregnancy leave.”

  “Fucking wonderful,” Chris said.

  “Yeah, bad timing for us. My point is,” Beck continued, “we’ve got to present a squeaky-clean image. We can’t give them one iota of ammunition more than Billy’s accident already has. They could shut us down pending a thorough inspection. And they would.”

  Chris expelled a long breath. “Well, on that happy note, I think I’ll go get drunk.”

  “Chris—”

  “I’m joking,” he said. “Christ, I’ll be glad when everyone around me lightens up. Can’t we look on the bright side for once? Paulik’s wife is backing down. The pickets? When the sun comes up tomorrow and it gets hotter than hell out there, they’ll break ranks and go home.

  “OSHA? We’ll beg forgiveness, promise to do better, pay their frigging fine, then go on about our business. As for Mary Beth, with any luck she’ll piss off her pool boy and he’ll drown her in the shallow end.

  “It shouldn’t be too difficult for me to find wife number two. I’ll sow enough seeds to people China—and believe me, I’ve got the swimmers to do it—and deliver the first Hoyle grandson to Grandpa Huff. Last but not least, I’m innocent of murdering my brother. See? What’s so terrible?”

  Huff laughed. “All right, you’ve made your point. Get out of here. I’m right behind you.”

  Still smiling, Huff watched Chris saunter out. But when he glanced at Beck, his lightheartedness disappeared. Beck was staring at the open doorway through which Chris had just passed.

  It troubled Huff that Beck looked so troubled.

  • • •

  It had taken Sayre a long time to fall asleep.

  After the eventful trip to New Orleans and the long drive home, she had thought she would fall into an exhausted sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. But to her aggravation, she tossed and turned for hours.

  The
air-conditioning unit was noisy. When it was running, the room became frigid. When it cycled off, the room grew stifling, and the odors left by every previous occupant, embedded in the carpet, drapes, and bedcoverings, were resurrected.

  But the lack of creature comfort was only partially responsible for her insomnia. Her conversations with Beck continued to replay inside her head. Had it been a mistake to entrust him with the secret of Danny’s engagement? And knowing that her father was contriving a match between them for his own selfish purposes, why had she let Beck get anywhere close to her? Why had she wanted him close?

  It wasn’t until the wee hours that she managed to drift off. That was why she groaned unhappily when she awakened before daylight. She was lying on her stomach, face half buried in the lumpy pillow. She opened one eye and lay very still, willing herself to go back to sleep before she became too awake.

  The air conditioner, she noticed, was silent, so the room was warm. She kicked the covers off her legs, thinking it was the mugginess that had awakened her and that if she got comfortable with the temperature again, sleep would reclaim her.

  But removing the covers didn’t help.

  Maybe a champagne headache was coming on. She was dehydrated from drinking the champagne and the red wine she’d had with her meal. She needed a large glass of water. And now that she thought about it, her bladder needed attention, too.

  Cursing under her breath, she rolled onto her back and pulled herself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Automatically she reached for the lamp on the nightstand but then decided against turning it on. If she kept the room dark, it was more likely she would go back to sleep sooner.

  Coming off the bed in a half crouch, she groped her way around the end of it, moving in the direction of the bathroom. By now she was familiar with the layout of the room, so she might have made it to the bathroom without mishap . . . if she hadn’t stumbled over the pair of heavy boots that blocked her path.

  That they had feet in them with legs attached brought her wide awake.

  chapter 28

  Her scream was trapped behind a grimy hand while another gripped a handful of her hair and pushed her facedown onto the bed. He fell on top of her, effectively pinning her down. But she didn’t stop struggling.