“I’ll be right there,” she said, reaching for her housedress. She went down the flight of steps. The McManus door was ajar. She knocked on it before she went in. Mr. McManus was in front of the radio in much the same position as her father upstairs. Mrs. McManus came to the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Melanie said.
“That’s all right,” the woman answered.
Melanie went into the tiny hallway between the kitchen and the bedrooms. The phone was on a small table. She picked it up. “Hello.”
“Melanie?” asked the familiar voice.
“Yes.”
“I want to see you right away. I’m in St. Joseph’s Hospital.”
“I know,” she said. The stories and rumors were all over the plant. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “But the stupid doctors won’t let me out. They want to keep me for observation.”
“Maybe you’d better rest,” she said.
“I want to see you.”
“I was just going to take a bath,” she said. “Besides it will take me almost two hours to get there by trolley.”
“I’ll send a car for you,” he said flatly. “You be downstairs in front of your door in half an hour.” The phone went dead in her hand and she put it down.
She went back into the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said to the little Irishwoman.
McManus turned from his radio and looked at her. Something in his policeman’s eyes told her that he knew she was naked under the housedress. Unconsciously her hand pulled it closer over her chest. “Is your father workin’ yet?” he asked.
“Not yet, Mr. McManus,” she answered politely, moving toward the door.
“Times are bad,” he said heavily. “No tellin’ now what’s goin’ to happen.”
She was almost out of the door. “Thank you for letting me use the phone, Mr. McManus.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “As long as you don’t abuse it like some people I know.”
“Good night,” she said, closing the door behind her. Half an hour later she came out of her room fully dressed.
Her mother looked at her in surprise. “Where are you going this time of the night? It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“I’m going to see Mr. Warren,” she said. “He’s in St. Joseph’s Hospital.”
Her father turned from the radio. “What happened to him?”
“He had an accident. He says it’s nothing serious.”
“It’ll take you almost two hours to get there this time of the night,” her mother said. “It’s not safe for a girl to be out alone in this neighborhood now that the niggers are only a few blocks away.”
“He’s sending a car for me.”
Her father got to his feet. “He must want to see you real bad. What for?”
“I don’t know. But he is my boss. It’s probably business.”
Her father leered. “Monkey business, you mean.” He turned to her mother. “I think maybe Mr. Warren has got something on for our little girl.”
Her mother made a face. “Stop thinking with your dirty cracker mind. I know my Melanie. She’s a good girl.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Melanie said, slipping out the door.
Her father called after her as she went down the stairs. “Don’t forget to remind him of the promise he made to your daddy!”
He was sitting up in bed, his right arm held out in front of him on a pulley sling, his head bandaged, and several large square patches on his right cheek. He didn’t wait for her to speak as she came into the room.
“Personnel told me over the phone that they didn’t receive the usual nightly batch of blind carbons from your office today.”
“There weren’t any,” she replied. “Mr. Hardeman didn’t dictate a single note.”
“That’s strange,” he said. “He was in three days last week and spent all day writing memos.”
“There were none today,” she said. “There are stories all over the plant that Mr. Hardeman beat you up. What happened?”
“I tripped on a rug in the office and hit my head against the corner of a desk, that’s all.”
She looked at him without speaking. If it had happened in Number Two’s office like they said, he should know better than to tell a story like that. Mr. Hardeman, Jr., did not have any rugs in his office.
“They didn’t get your telephone call sheet either,” he said.
“Mr. Hardeman came out at the end of the day and took it away from me. Besides he made all his outside calls on his private line. That doesn’t cross my desk.”
“What about his meetings? Who came to see him?”
“First thing in the morning, he called Mr. Coburn, Mr. Edgerton and Mr. Duncan.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “He sent me down to the canteen. When he called me back, they were gone.”
“Who else came to see him?”
She thought for a moment. “In the morning, Mr. Williams of Sales and Mr. Conrad of Purchasing.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were told to keep your intercom switch open whenever there was a meeting in his office so you could make notes!”
“I did,” she said. “But nothing came through. He pulled the plug every time someone came into his office.”
Warren was silent for a moment. “Anybody else come?”
“In the afternoon, no one from the plant.”
“Anyone from outside?”
“Yes,” she said. “A Mr. Frank Perino.”
“I know what they talked about,” Warren said. “Perino’s his bootlegger. And Number One likes his whiskey.”
“That wasn’t it,” she said. “Mr. Perino’s son is a doctor and he wanted Mr. Hardeman to get him into a Detroit hospital. It seemed he was having trouble because of his background. Mr. Hardeman fixed it.”
He was surprised. “How do you know about that?”
“Mr. Hardeman called me into his office for coffee and aspirin. I was there all the time with Mr. Perino.” She hesitated a moment. “Mr. Hardeman takes a lot of aspirin. He must have had at least twelve tablets during the day.”
“Okay,” he said. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. Find out as much as you can and call me every night.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “How long do you expect to stay here?”
“The doctors say they’ll let me out in a couple of days.”
“I’m sorry you were hurt,” she said.
He looked at her. “Do you know why I picked you to go into Number One’s office?”
She shook her head.
“Because you’re a big girl and he likes big women.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “You know his reputation. Sooner or later, he’ll make a pass at you.”
“Then what do I do?”
“You pretend to go along with him,” he said. “Gain his confidence. Then we’ll have him.”
“What if I don’t go along with him?”
He stared at her. “There are other girls who would like that job.”
Her eyes fell. She was silent.
He laughed. The tone in his voice changed. “You said you were going to take a bath. Did you have anything on when we talked on the phone?”
She didn’t look up. The look on McManus’ face flashed through her mind. “A housedress.”
“Anything under it?” His voice was getting husky.
“No.”
“Come closer to the bed.”
She raised her head, looked at him, then at the man who had driven her here. He was standing, his back against the door, watching them impassively.
Warren caught her glance. “Don’t mind Mike. He’s my bodyguard. He really doesn’t see anything.”
She didn’t move.
“I said come over here!”
Reluctant
ly she moved to the bed. He took her hand and put it on the sheet between his legs. “I got a hard-on just thinking about it,” he said.
She was silent.
“Pull the sheet down.”
She started to move the sheet. He winced in sudden pain. “Carefully, damn it!”
She moved the sheet down slowly until the bottom of his hospital gown revealed skinny, hairy legs. The front of the gown hung like a small tent over his erect phallus. “Push the gown up and jack me off,” he said. “But be careful, don’t shake the bed because that hurts my arm.”
She raised the gown gently. His organ was full and erect, the red tip of his glans trying to push its way through his foreskin. Slowly she freed it and began to massage him. Soon her hands were wet and slippery with the fluid that came pouring from him.
“Oh, Jesus, that’s good,” he said, leaning his head back against the pillows, his eyes closed. “Put your other hand under my balls and squeeze them a little.”
His testicles felt like small rocks in her hand. “Faster, faster.”
She began to pump him rapidly; his mouth opened and his breathing seemed to keep time with her motion. “Now you really got it,” he groaned.
A moment passed. “Take me in your mouth!” he said suddenly. “I’m going to come!”
She hesitated, glancing at the man standing against the door. His eyes looked blankly back at her. Then she felt Warren’s hand in her hair, pulling her face down to him. Her mouth opened automatically.
He had already begun his orgasm by the time she reached him and the first hot drops of his viscous semen spat against her cheeks and then she got it in her mouth. She swallowed quickly to keep the frantic flow from choking her and after a moment it was over.
He leaned back against the pillow, his eyes closed. “You’re almost as good a cocksucker as some of the little pansies I know.”
She didn’t answer.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, then at his bodyguard. “What do you think, Mike? Is she as good as our little friend?”
“It don’t look like it, Boss,” the bodyguard replied. “He seems to like it more.”
Warren laughed. “Maybe when we get out of here, I’ll have you give her some lessons.”
For the first time the bodyguard’s voice was shocked. “You know I don’t like girls!”
Warren laughed again. “I don’t mean that. I mean show her how to really do it.” He turned back to her, his voice going cold. “Get a washcloth and a towel and wipe me off.”
She went into the small bathroom. In the mirror her cheeks were shining and wet with his milky fluid. She wiped her face and then went back into the room.
A few moments later, the sheets were straightened over him once again. “That’s better. No point having the nurse know what’s going on.”
She didn’t speak. This was what happened every time she went with him. Not once had they ever had sex together nor had he ever wanted it. Had she been a virgin, her hymen would have been intact if it were up to him.
“Give her five dollars and send her home in a cab,” he said to the bodyguard.
Mike came toward her, a five-dollar bill in his hand. She took it from him and he walked back to the door. She turned to the bed.
“You call me here right after work tomorrow,” he said.
“I will,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he answered.
Mike stepped aside and opened the door to let her out. She heard the door close behind her as she walked down the long hospital corridor.
Once outside, she looked down at her hand. The five-dollar bill was still clutched in it. The clang of a streetcar approaching came to her ears. She looked at the bill again, then at the taxi line. Suddenly she began to run toward the corner to the trolley stop.
It might take her more than two hours to get home. But five dollars was more than a whole day’s pay.
Chapter Ten
Edgerton walked across the office. “I’m worried, Mr. Hardeman,” he said. “This is the second payday the banks have been closed and we’re getting a lot of complaints from the employees. The stores won’t accept our checks.”
“We’re good for it,” Loren said.
“It’s not only us,” Edgerton said. “It’s the banks. Too many have already closed down for good. Now I hear talk that the men won’t show up for work unless they get paid in cash.”
“Pay them in cash then,” said Loren.
“We haven’t got it,” Edgerton said flatly. “Our weekly payroll is over a hundred and forty thousand. Nobody keeps that much cash on hand.”
“Get it then.”
“Where? The banks are closed to us as well as to them.”
Loren was thoughtful for a moment. “What does Personnel have to say about this?”
“Warren bucked it to me. He says it’s the treasurer’s job to provide the money for the payroll.”
“Has he explained the situation to the employees?”
“He says he has.”
“That’s not what I asked. Has he?”
“I don’t know. I heard that a group of men came in to talk to him about it and that he fired the whole bunch of them.”
“Why?”
“He says they were troublemakers. All Wobblies trying to unionize the plant and that they were just using this as an excuse.”
“What do you think?”
“I know some of those men. They’re old-line employees. I don’t think they are Wobblies.”
“If they were would it make any difference? Wouldn’t they still be entitled to their pay?”
“Yes,” said Edgerton.
Loren flipped the switch on his intercom. Melanie’s voice answered. “Yes, Mr. Hardeman.”
“Ask Mr. Warren to come up here right away,” he said, flipping off the switch.
A few minutes later, Joe Warren came into the office. His arm was still in a sling, his eyes wary.
“Warren, I hear we’re having problems over the fact that employees can’t cash their pay checks.”
Warren began smoothly. “You have to recognize the fact, Mr. Hardeman, that during the past few years we have been infiltrated by the I.W.W., Communists and union organizers. It isn’t our men stirring up the trouble. It’s them.”
“You mean to say our men can cash their checks?”
“No,” Warren said. “But our men aren’t complaining.”
“How do you know?”
“I know the good ones and the bad ones,” Warren said.
“And only the bad ones are complaining, is that it?” Loren asked sarcastically.
“Yes, Mr. Hardeman.”
“Did you explain the situation to them?” Loren asked.
“There’s nothing to explain,” Warren answered. “Every other company in town is in the same boat. They all know that.”
“But if they can’t cash their checks and they can’t get credit at the stores, how are they going to eat?” Loren asked.
“That’s not our problem,” Warren said. “We can’t be expected to manage our employees’ money. If they can’t establish their own credit, it’s unfortunate.”
“If the stores won’t accept our checks,” Loren asked, “don’t you think it’s our credit that’s being questioned, not theirs?”
Warren didn’t answer.
“Have you taken any steps to assure the local merchants that Bethlehem Motors will back up their checks regardless of the bank upon which they were issued?”
“I didn’t see where it was necessary,” Warren answered.
Loren was silent. He studied the man sitting in front of him. Warren had a feral quality, even while sitting still. There was an air of cold ruthlessness about him that no amount of surface amenities could dispel.
“I don’t see why you should concern yourself with such petty details, Mr. Hardeman,” Warren said. “I can control the situation. Meanwhile we can use the circumstance to smoke out the bad employees in our plant and get rid of them.�
��
Loren didn’t speak.
“We’ve already rid ourselves of more than twenty troublemakers,” Warren said. “And we have our eyes on more of them.”
Loren was still silent.
Warren rose to his feet. “Just leave everything to me, Mr. Hardeman. I’ll work it out, you’ll see.” He started for the door.
“Sit down, Warren!” Loren snapped. “I didn’t give you permission to leave!”
Warren hesitated a moment, then returned to his seat. Carefully he rested his sling on the arm of the chair.
“I want you to send a letter out to every merchant and store in the area that Bethlehem Motors will guarantee every pay check issued by them regardless of the bank concerned.”
Warren shook his head. “Can’t do that, Mr. Hardeman. Such a letter has to be approved either by the president of the company or the board of directors.”
“Then get the president to sign it,” Loren said.
“I don’t know where he is,” Warren said blandly. “I haven’t seen him for over two weeks. Have you?”
Loren stared at him. Warren knew damn well he hadn’t seen his son since that day in the office. “Then prepare the letter, I’ll sign it.”
“You haven’t the authority,” Warren said calmly. “You cannot commit the company to that kind of loss in case the banks should fail.”
“There’s nothing in the company bylaws to prevent me from guaranteeing those checks personally, is there?”
“What you do personally is none of our concern,” Warren said.
“Then prepare the letter that way for my signature,” said Loren.
“If you like,” Warren said. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Loren said. “Also inform the employees that the next payroll will be cash.”
“I’ll do that,” Warren said. “But all hell will break loose if the money isn’t there on payday.”
“That will be my problem,” Loren said. “You can go now.”
They were silent until the door closed behind Warren, then Edgerton turned to Loren. “Where are you going to get the money?”
“I’ll get it someplace,” Loren said. He looked at the closed door. “What’s the latest report from Duncan?”
The Betsy (1971) Page 25