Claude gripped the middle armrest, but managed a slight smile. Scotty didn’t see either. Claude’s smile widened.
“Elton also said he wasn’t gonna tell who did it,” Claude said. “I know Elton’s been looking for a chance to run me in for a long time, and I’m not surprised he sees his chance now. The way I see it, Warren was too smart to let so many people in on what he was doing. I think when Warren slipped up and got caught for the world to see, Elton figured he’d get off easier if he fessed up quick.”
Scotty bit the nail on his left index finger. He held his teeth together, rolled down his window, and spit the tiny nail chunk to the wind. He rolled up the window.
“Number one,” Scotty said, “Elton said he wouldn’t tell Schulke, and to my knowledge he hasn’t. But he’s not shy about telling us. Number two, at the moment, Warren don’t look so smart in my eyes. Number three, Elton wouldn’t mention the piss if it was going to hang him. You’re right about him cutting his losses—that’s exactly what he’s doing. But he’s fingering you, and I want to know how you’re going to respond.”
Scotty snapped on his blinker and whipped the car to the curb. He shifted to park and looked to Claude.
“Bugsy, if you tell me you didn’t do it, I’ll go to the mat for you, no matter what Elton says. If you tell me you did do it, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you only get a DML and not the outright boot. But if you tell me you didn’t do it and the tests say it’s your piss, I swear I’ll help Shepard bury you.”
Claude’s pulse took off again. His chest muscles tensed. He forced himself to remain motionless.
“Now tell me,” Scotty said, “did you do it?”
Claude looked his companion in the eye. “You know my dad would’ve beaten the crap out of me if I ever touched drugs, so I never did. Not once. There’s nothing wrong with a good strong drink, but drugs are a no-no, and I have nothing to do with them. You know that, and Warren knew it too. And since Schulke screwed me with that last performance warning, who’s been a perfect employee? Me. You’ve been in early all week— who’s the first guy in in the morning? Me. There are no invoices left in the stack, because I entered them all, and there’s nothing sitting on the dock all day because I come over and receive whatever’s been delivered, but do I get any credit? Nope. Elton goes to Schulke and tells him he entered all the invoices, and Schulke gives him a ‘good boy, good boy,’ then Elton goes to Darezzo and the guys and gets them to line up against me for being a kissass—like I’m the kissass, right? So now Warren gets caught stealing wire, and is about to name names, and lo and behold, here’s Elton standing up in front of everyone pointing a finger at me. Not even standing up in front of everyone. Playing closed-mouth tough guy in front of Schulke —because if he gets caught lying to Schulke he could get in big trouble —then going around to everyone else saying, ‘oh, it’s ok to tell you; it was Bugsy.’ What kind of shit is that? He admits he gave piss to Warren, and he thinks that gives him the authority to take me down too? He’s always had it in for me, and when he felt the pressure on his own back he spouted off the one name he knew Schulke wanted to hear. It’s a royal screw-job. A royal screw-job.”
Scotty flopped back in his seat and looked over at the steering wheel. He clicked off the blinker.
“I’m glad,” Scotty said. “I’m glad. Believe me, it’s a big relief.”
After lunch, Claude sorted through the day’s deliveries for something to keep him in a corner of the department. His hands shook, he perspired. When a shipment of raincoats arrived, he signed the packing slip while the driver still held the clipboard. He wheeled the raincoats deep into the stacks, sorted them by size, and thought.
I didn’t help Warren, he told himself. No matter what, I didn’t help Warren.
#
Jamie burst through the front door after school that afternoon, tossed her book bag to the couch, and raced for the downstairs bathroom. Once inside, she noticed an unfamiliar silence. Her father’s truck was in the driveway, but in the family room, just on the other side of the wall from where she sat, she didn’t hear a television.
When she finished in the bathroom, she found Claude staring at a blank screen.
“Hi precious,” he said to her.
“Hi daddy. Everything ok?”
“Fine,” Claude said. “How about a big hug?”She sat in his lap, and he held her tight. He placed his cheek against hers and squeezed her in his arms.
“You’re shaking,” she said.” Are you sure everything is all right?”
He released her, sniffled, and looked away.
“Tough day at the office,” he said. “Another hug.”
She returned to him, and he embraced her again.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
She thought about asking, but didn’t. She knew her father pretended things were well when they weren’t, and all her inquiries usually got her was a flimsy story, something so silly it couldn’t possibly be true, something only a child could believe, and she wasn’t a child anymore, she was a woman, and the fact that her father would think she’d swallow something ridiculous in those moments sent her to her room in silent fury, and for days interrupted communication between them, until at last she decided to be the grown-up and return to him as if nothing had happened. She was a woman, she insisted to herself, yet her father didn’t trust her with any of his troubles.
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m going upstairs now. Is that ok?”
He nodded, and she left. When Joan arrived home, Jamie escorted her to the kitchen.
“I think something’s wrong with daddy,” she said. “Something happened at work. He was practically crying in there.”
“Oh Christ,” Joan said. “Him and work, always him and work. What this time? Mouthing off to the boss? Napping in one of the trucks?”
She raised her voice. “Finally get fired, did you? Well, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, was it? I’m sure somebody was out to get you, as usual. Whatever you did, don’t worry, it couldn’t possibly effect me and Jamie, your family. We don’t matter. You just worry about finding someone to blame, some excuse to make, some lie to get you out of it.”
She broke into sobs. She wept for a moment, then smashed her hand to the table. “I’m sick of it! Sick, sick, sick of it!”
Joan rose from her chair and stormed out the door. Jamie heard the Buick start and rumble away. She crept to the family room, taking care to stop in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” she asked her father.
Claude’s back was to her. “Yes,” he said. “I’m all right. And when your mother comes back, tell her I did not get fired.”
Jamie took her books upstairs and shut the bedroom door. She called Peter at the mall, but spoke in a low voice and kept the conversation short. She did her homework, listened for her mother’s car, and fell asleep with the lights on.
Claude went to bed early but did not sleep. He rehearsed one story after another with no success. Around one o’clock, he heard Joan come through the front door and sat up in bed, waiting to forgive her, so she would hold him, but she went straight to the family room instead. Two hours later, he figured she had to be asleep, so he gave up his vigil. Although Claude nodded off for brief stretches, tense period of wake dominated his night.
#
“So how about that Taylor?” Jim Shepard said as Clarke settled into his big chair and Schulke and Mickleson adjusted themselves in theirs. “All those thefts were him. The company’s been paying his coke habit for months—isn’t that something?”
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Schulke said.
“Brianna, what’s the word?” Clarke said. “Did Warren make bail?”
“He didn’t,” Mickleson said. “He’s still behind bars, and we expect him to be there for the foreseeable future. I spoke with legal, and they’ve advised us to use the stolen wire as leverage with Warren’s attorney.”
“Leverage against wha
t?” Shepard said.
“Termination. We agree to drop the stolen wire charges, he agrees not to challenge his termination.”
“What leverage do you have with me?” Shepard said. “National don’t like terminations. Before I can go along with a termination, I have to take a hard look to see if it really benefits the UUW.”
Clarke pulled his necktie away from his collar and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “You can’t be serious, Jim. He stole wire, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s innocent until proven guilty.”
Clarke removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “What does the contract say, Brianna?”
“Well, I’m sure it allows us to terminate him.”
“Where?” Shepard yelled. “What clause? What paragraph?”
“I don’t have a contract on me,” Mickleson said.
“Well then how the hell can you be sure it allows you to terminate him? Run off to your little office and get a contract, then show me exactly where it says Warren Taylor can be terminated.”
Mickleson didn’t move. Her face reddened beneath her light freckles. She looked at Clarke, but spoke to Shepard.
“That’s true, that’s true, we do need to refer to specific language in the contract. But we all well know that felonies constitute grounds for termination. We have a clear track record of that.”
Clarke stood. “Jim, give us a minute, will you?”
Shepard left the room. Clarke walked to a set of built-in shelves, removed 18 inches worth of small pamphlets, and began sorting through them. As he did, Schulke reached into his leather satchel and produced a current copy of the UUW contract.
“Here you go, Mr. Clarke,” Schulke said.
Clarke took the booklet and handed it to Mickleson. Before she opened it, Clarke put his hands on his hips and breathed a heavy sigh.
“Forget it, Brie,” he said. “Let’s hold off on the termination for now.”
“But Mr. Clarke,” Schulke said, “in light of what he did, how can we even appear to condone this? I think we should terminate him immediately and make the union fight to bring him back.”
“Not now, Tom,” Clarke said. “Do you know how much work that is? It’s work for us, it’s work for you. It isn’t worth it. We’ll put him on crisis suspension, so he won’t get paid, but it doesn’t hurt us to leave his benefits running. If he’s convicted, we can terminate him. If not, we can deal with him when the time comes.”
“What, and have me have to take him back in stores? No way.”
“That’s enough, Tom,” Clarke said. “I have enough of a headache without lip from you. We’ll keep you updated. On your way out, send Shepard in so I can give him the news.”
“What about the urine?” Schulke said.
“What about what urine?”
“The urine from the drug test,” Schulke said. “Can’t we test it to see who gave it to Warren? If we find out who it belongs to, maybe we’ll be able to rid ourselves of another nuisance.”
Clarke and Mickleson broke into laughter. “Are you shitting me?” Clarke said. “Look, every time we catch a union employee red-handed, the union does everything it can to coax us into a procedural misstep, because that’s the only way to spring a guilty man. Remember the Colin Smith case?”
“No,” Schulke said. “I wasn’t in the loop on that one.
“Ronnie Hopkins caught him in his line truck with a can of beer in his hand and five empty cans on the floor. Smith was slurring his words, and his breath smelled like alcohol. Hopkins took Smitty out of the truck and drove him to our off-site doctor for a fitness for duty test. Open and shut case, right? Not quite, because after the test Hopkins brought Smith back to the company and let him drive his own vehicle home. Bang, case ruined. The union argued that if the supervisor allowed the employee to drive himself home, the supervisor could not have felt the employee was drunk. We never even saw the results of the fitness for duty test—they went straight to the garbage. If we test Warren Taylor’s urine, Warren’s automatically off the hook. No question. It’s not even an option, so forget about it.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“The only thing we can do is wait for someone to come forward with information. We’re certainly allowed to ask questions. Does anybody in your department know who did it?”
“Well I have my own suspicions, that’s for sure,” Schulke said. “And Elton MacGibbon claims to know. He actually claims to have witnessed the urine handover. But he said he’s not talking, and believe me, he means it, because he’s a tough nut to crack.”
“A tough nut to crack, eh?” Clarke said. “Send him here. We’ll bust him out of his shell.”
Back in stores, Claude looked as miserable as he felt. When Schulke called the men together, Claude hung toward the rear behind Darezzo and his forklift. He longed for a nap.
“This won’t take long,” Schulke said. “I just came from Mr. Clarke’s office. Nobody came to Warren’s aid, so he did not make bail. Because of the seriousness of the offense, Warren has been placed on crisis suspension without pay. Mr. Clarke intends to show that behavior of this kind will not be tolerated at Rhode Island Electric, and that union or no union, any time you steal from the company there will be serious consequences. Is that understood?”
Half the men nodded, half snickered.
“Because of the indefinite nature of Warren’s situation, I suspect we will be allowed to replace him through the normal bidding process, so Scotty, get a posting ready. In addition, Mr. Clarke decided it was not worth the expense to DNA test each of you to determine who donated the urine to Warren. Since the sample was indeed negative, it has no bearing on Warren’s case, and I assume it will be kept only as long as any other sample and discarded along with the rest.”
Schulke asked if there were any questions, and there were none. He dispersed the group.
Ten minutes later, he remembered something he was supposed to say. He went to the far wall of the department, where Elton catalogued streetlights.
“Elton,” Schulke said, “I forgot to tell you. Mr. Clarke wants to see you in his office.”
#
Elton went to morning break a little earlier than usual, then went to Clarke’s office as requested. When work resumed after break, nobody noticed he was missing. At 11:20, Elton walked into stores, plucked his coat from the rack, and headed toward the door. Only John Carrollton saw him.
“Where are you going?” John said.
“Half a vacation day,” Elton said. “See you.”
“Did you tell Clarke Bugsy gave Warren the piss?”
“We danced a little. I told him some things without telling him some things. I told him I deserved a warning for helping Warren once before, and I got an oral. Have a nice weekend.”
Activity slowed as lunch neared. Claude walked beneath the crane and looked up to Frank. “Lunch a bunch. That’s my hunch.”
“Be right down,” Frank said.
Next Claude ambled up behind the taller Scotty, threw an arm over his shoulder, and rubbed his knuckles on Scotty’s head. Scotty laughed and twisted himself free.
“What’s into you?” Scotty said. “You’re exuberant today.”
“Exuberant, am I?” Claude said. “I’m not sure what that means, but if it means it’s Friday and I’m happy I’ll soon be pouring a few beers down my throat at the Dub-a-dub-dub, then exuberant it is.”
Claude and Scotty waited for Frank to climb down the ladder so they could eat, but just as Frank appeared around the corner, Schulke asked Scotty if he could see him a minute. Scotty sent Claude and Frank on without him and returned to the office to see the boss.
He never did make lunch. When Claude and Frank came back to stores, they saw Scotty and Jim Shepard in the office with Schulke.
Schulke leaned through the door. “Could you come here, please, Claude?”
Claude looked to Frank, then entered the office. Schulke closed the door behind him.
A row of three chairs faced a fourth chair. Scotty and Shepard selected end seats and sat down. Claude remained by the door, and Schulke motioned for him to sit, too.
“No,” Claude shouted. “I’m not sitting. I’m not sitting at all. In fact, I’m getting the hell out of here.”
He opened the door of the office, slammed it behind him, and with a scowl on his face charged toward the bay doors. Scotty bolted through the front door of the office and headed Claude off before he escaped. When Claude tried to pass him, Scotty grabbed him by the collar with both hands and pinned him against the time clock.
“Let go!” Claude screamed. “Get the fuck out of my way!”
“Listen,” Scotty said. “Listen.”
“No! This is fucking bullshit, and you know it. They have no proof I did anything, and I won’t go along with it. They can fuck themselves.”
“Listen!” Scotty shouted as he pulled the shirt up under Claude’s nose. “If you leave, you’re fired. Understand? Fired. Forever. It’s only a decision-making leave, and that isn’t bad. I stood up for you to get it, so I’m telling you—no, Bugsy, I’m asking you—to go back and sit. You don’t have to speak. Just sit. Take the DML, and come back refreshed.”
“But it’s bullshit. I didn’t do anything.”
“I know it’s bullshit,” Scotty said, still pressing Claude’s shirt against his throat. “Yes, you got ratted out, but look, the deal is you’ve got two last chances. You can use them both now, or you can use one now, and live to work another day. What’s it going to be?”
Claude stopped struggling and Scotty released him. Claude’s collar, stretched out of shape, hung to one side. He ran his hand through his hair, flipped his bangs into place, and walked into the office. He sat in the end seat, and Scotty sat in the middle.
“Claude,” Schulke said, “I have a problem.”
Schulke proceeded to read a prepared description of the offense, and stated without mentioning names that a reliable witness identified Claude as the offender. The boss offered Claude a chance to give his version of events, but Claude remained silent.
“Claude, this is a serious step in the company’s positive discipline program,” Schulke said. “We are granting you a decision-making leave. For the next three work days, we want you to reflect about your responsibilities here in the department, and your obligations toward making Rhode Island Electric a superior company in all regards. In this time, we ask you to decide if you are willing to make such changes in your work habits as to allow you to continue as a Rhode Island Electric employee. If you indicate a willingness to make such changes, you must demonstrate your commitment by working incident-free for 18 consecutive months. If you do not indicate a willing, or have a discipline incident within 18 months, your employment will be terminated. At this time, do you have any questions?”
The Jig of the Union Loller Page 19