Continental Attack
A novel by
Mike Cunningham
Copyright 1999
For Jacqueline, who simply, these days, does not know how much I love her!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Continental Attack
Chapter 1
Tadeusz was dead, and the family had gathered to do him honour. The spadefuls of earth had thumped down upon the coffin lid within seconds of the last of the mourners leaving the graveside, as the undertakers had another seven burials to go before the end of the day's workload. "Jeez, that's what you'd call the pits! The old man was a bastard, but to go like that, left to die by some hit-and-run cowboy so soon after we finally got rid of the old Hitler off the assembly floor, I wouldn'ta heaved that on anyone." The overheard conversation was about his late father-in-law, but Joseph Kozcinski, instead of turning and belting the speaker in the face for the disrespect he had shown, merely nodded in silent agreement, held his wife just that little closer, as the crowd split up while they trudged across the cropped grass towards the waiting limousines. A sudden marketing thought slid into his consciousness, asking why there were no funeral cars in the range his own company manufactured, but he filed it away into the "things to look at" slot, and concentrated on trying to comfort his wife. She had been very close to her father, and besides having had him living with them for three years, she had looked after him for over ten years after her mother died. Her way of looking at the world had been coloured by the dictatorial old Polish immigrant who had laboured all his life, and hated the 'bosses' every second of his time in the giant works. The old man had almost burst a blood vessel when his 'little girl' had introduced a member of the hated 'boss' structure into his house, and she calmly announced that he was to accept Joseph as his future son-in-law, or she would turn around and walk straight out. It had taken two years for Tadeusz Bor to admit that not only was Joe a member of the human race, but also had some moderately acceptable ideas about sport, work, and how to treat his only, and favourite, daughter.
A heavy hand thumped across his back, as the owner took the advantage of the occasion to act in a familiar manner with the young executive; "We'll all miss the old man, down at the union hall, and at the Legion, Joe! It must have been a great blow to your wife, and if there is anything my Sadie can do, just tell Alex to call, and we can work sommat out, ya know."
Joseph Kozcinski looked across at the speaker, a squat, heavily-built, second generation Pole, with a beer gut that had taken a valiant effort to build, and smiled. "Don't worry, Jerzy, if Alex needs anything, she knows who she can depend on. Now if you will excuse me, Alex is very upset, and we'd like to be alone, before we get back to the cars. Thanks, Jerzy!"
As the couple slowly climbed the slight slope towards the waiting cars, Alex stiffened once more, and Joe prepared to hold her tight, for he thought that another crying jag was about to erupt, but his Alex surprised him by quietly asking him if he would let her walk alone. "If I can reach the car without breaking apart, I reckon it'll be O.K., Joe." Her soft voice reassured the tall husband that his wife could weather the storm, and relaxed, as they finally made the gravel drive of 'Rest-in-Peace' park. Joe never saw the cemetery sign without remembering the political machinations which surrounded the purchase and fitting-out of the cemetery area, with three brothers all going to prison for fraud, and a dozen political careers all on funeral pyres. He had been offered a five percent share, on start up, but the whole thing had smelt too good, and in one of the rare times when Tadeusz had given advice which he actually agreed with, the old man had simply said, "Joe, there's a polecat around the works, and I reckon you are far too smart to even consider getting your name up. You don't need it, and I wouldn't want Alex to be involved with a shifty funeral deal. I would not rest properly!" The old mans' eyebrows had risen vertically, as Joe started laughing, but the sense of humour which his daughter had in abundance, had simply missed out on her father.
He looked around for the other members of the Bor family, and one by one located them among the crowd as they closed in on Alex and him, as they prepared to get into the limousines. Alex' brothers, all six of them, wives firmly in tow, were grouping together, with the eldest advancing towards Joe, rather unsurely, for a change. "Er, Joe, everyone back to your place, is that the plan?"
"Sure, Sig, everything is set up, the family has been baking for three days now, and we wouldn't want anyone to go to the wrong house!" Alex' elbow bit into his ribs, as he realised that he should maybe stop poking fun at his wife's family, especially right now. "No problem, Sig, how would you like to organise everyone into the limo's, then come and share ours for the ride back home."
His brother-in-law mollified with a task which gave him a sense of control, Joseph looked down at his wife's face, saw it break into a reluctant smile, and knew he had done the right thing. "Don't worry, honey, I'll keep my big mouth firmly under control, so just don't hit me again. Sigismund likes to feel wanted, so I'll do my best to engender the family spirit. All the locals are here, and your father has been given the send-off he would have wanted, so let's get back to the house, and just make sure all the ornaments have been put out of the way." Alex shushed him once more before her brother, complete with Tracy, his wife, apologetically slid into the limousine, and sat facing Joe and Alex for the slow journey home.
Home, for the Kozcinski's, was a sprawling ranch-type house in a quiet street in Grosse Point, which was the equivalent in Detroit of Georgetown to Washington, D.C.. The affluence of the mansions and houses, nearly all owned and occupied by senior members of the automobile hierarchy of Detroit, stilled what little talk there was among nearly all the passengers of the limousines, used as most of them were to much more modest surroundings. The second limousine, which carried three of the remaining Bor brothers and their wives, who had been to Joe's house a few times, mainly on occasions to do with their father, was silent as the wives costed each house as they passed it, and the six brothers linked together in a mute alliance of envious antagonism towards the husband of the one member of the family who had made it out of the rut of the assembly plants. Lech, the second son of Tadeusz, voiced the thoughts of them all, by simply saying, "Got it all, some of these fat cats. The cars, the houses, the stock options, the feather-bedding in the organisation, there ain't no redundancies around here. Shit, I know Joe Kozcinski is more than smart, but its' like a million miles away from our life, or anything we could get."
His wife, MaryBelle, whose figure had occasioned a surreptitious design exercise in support techniques by an irreverent bunch of trainee auto design students, wriggled around, while still staring at the houses which sat near to Joe's; "I think that you all oughta give over. Alex did allright for herself, 'n they looked after Daddy when no-one else would, mainly because he was such a sourfaced old grouch; and they have done O.K., and thats' what it's all about, in America. All you guys make me tired, Joe is a real sweet guy, and you forget the number of times he has helped, without making a song and dance about it. Remember when there were four Bor names up on the
hit list for lay-offs at the plant two years ago. No-one found out how you were either removed from the list, or else sent for re-training and transfer, all to better jobs. That was Joe K. at work, and you better believe it; he didn't have to do it. No, he did that because we are all family, and Joe belongs just as much as Sigi, or Lech, or me!" As the crowd of family and close friends exited from the long line of black cars, and moved into Joe's house, the upshot of MaryBelle's spirited defence of their host led to a shamefaced acceptance from the Bor clan that maybe they ought to suspend their unspoken feud with Joseph, with the result that the gathering became much happier, and with fewer undertones, that just about any previous family gathering in years.
Alex Kozcinski stood in her bedroom, gazing at her reflection in the broad dressing table mirror. She took mental stock of what she saw, from the unusually reddened eyes, through the blonde hair, worn long now for the past year, the porcelain finish to her complexion, an inheritance from her mother; the black full-skirted dress covering the trim figure which she worked hard to keep in shape, the nylons and the black pumps. She knew that she ought to get out into the midst of the family and many friends of Tadeusz, but delayed, to say a private farewell to the man who had dominated her life until she had met Joe. She bent her head forward, her eyes gazing at the small framed portrait of her father, taken years before. She remembered the fuss he had made, before bowing to his Elena's demand that he have his picture taken, because his wife was the only person, apart from Alex, who could quell him with a word. The square, uncompromising gaze looked out from the photo, with the years of toil inscribed deeply into his forehead and cheeks, the mass of white hair which surrounded his head like a halo; "No," Alex reprised, "halo was the wrong word," for Tadeusz Bor had long since given up contact with organised religion of any creed, despite Elena's entreaties. She took one final look at the old man, gently raised the portrait to her lips, and gave him a farewell kiss, before turning to repair her light make-up, fluffing out her hair, and walking forward to join the clan in the main house.
The extended family, which was the mainstay of the Polish American lifestyle, had indeed been baking for three days, and the results of their labours, spread out on dozens of serving plates and trays, was fast disappearing as the appetites of over two hundred mourners came to the fore, aided by the unaccustomed fasting on the morning of the funeral. The many aunts, cousins and distant relatives who had helped cook all the food, watched in satisfied wonder as the piles emptied, were replenished, and dwindled once again. The booze side of things, the province of the male members of the clan, had been given deep thought, and the results were almost as gratifying as those on the food front. Watching the inroads on the beer mountain, Joseph was glad he had arranged for the taxis and limousines to pick up just about all the family members, and return them at a specified time, to their homes. He didn't want anyone to feature in the Detroit drink-drive listings, especially after the old mans funeral. He was therefore not really listening intently as yet another distant cousin stepped forward, and spoke of the times that Tad, and the cousin's own father, had endured in the old country, finally asking, "Do you think they will ever catch the clown who killed the old man, Joe?"
"No, the police say that they have received no sightings at all. Green or grey Chevy, two-door, about three years old. It wasn't a local car, they've swept the whole area looking for front-damage. No-one got the plate, seemed to be too dirty; the cops have been more than helpful, but I guess it's on the back burner now." Trying to change the subject, Joe asked, "How is your father keeping, you didn't say!"
The cousin's face fell, and a small voice answered, "Thought you knew, Dad died about three months back. It was only about six damn weeks after he'd retired from the Continental plant in Grand Rapids, he cut his hand on a tin can spur. Went into Dragon Bend hospital for a routine check-up, mainly because I told him to, got complications, and he never came out."
Joe reddened, sad that he had raised wounds which had started to heal. "Fred, I'm sorry. Haven't been keeping up to date with family matters, I apologise for even mentioning it. Everything settled with the company, no problems with the insurance?"
"That side of it went like a Cadillac, Joe. The hospital bills were all paid, the funeral the same. Nice guy came from the main office, and sorted out all the problems. Even though the old man only drew six weeks pension, got to admit, Joe, the company has really got the personal pension side of things sorted! Wish that the cars sold as well as the back office organisation functioned." With a smile, his wife's cousin headed for the beer, and Joe leant back against the patio support, watching the people who made up his only family as they milled around, catching up on all the gossip. He made a further mental note to inter-memo a congratulatory note to the Pension administration offices at Grand Rapids, mainly because there had been some almighty foul-ups in the distant past, and he was pleased to hear praise from the sharp end, as there had been a complete shake-up of both personnel and methods in that side of the administration.
The last words of cousin Fred stayed with him, as they formed an ongoing problem within the giant corporation which was Continental. The cars just were not selling, or at least not breaking into new market share, and no-one could figure out why. The old models, which had been running in production for the past three years, were still selling, and were the mainstay of the selling line. As Main Board Sales and Marketing V.P., Joe had been given the task of figuring why, even with a brand new line, fancy finance facilities, and the slickest ads that money could buy; Continental new market share remained dormant, with even a worrying tendency to decline, at less than thirteen percent. He had organised a cross-corporation team to brainstorm the problem, and so far they had come up with zilch. He smiled, partly because his wife was approaching along the terrace, and partly because he envisaged putting the extended Bor clan onto the same problem, sit back and watch chaos result.
"Hi, honey, I see you are slacking on the job again!" Alex's nose always wrinkled at the tip when she smiled, and slipped her fingers into her husbands big grip. "you should be swanning around, forcing more food down the assorted throats, there must be at least two pies and some fruit left. God, my family sure can put it away!"
"They didn't spend three days cooking just for fun. I reckon they had the quantities down to the last ounce. Hell, they would do great in the army, your aunts and cousins. It's not every day that a horde of two hundred get fed, all content, and there is virtually nothing left. I reckon they must have used a computer to check out all the supplies needed!"
The thought of her assorted aunts even venturing near a computer brought Alex to giggling, and the couple walked into the big living room, and were promptly engulfed in talk, and the thought of a super efficient pensions office dropped into the back of Joseph Kozcinski's memory.
The afternoon wore on, with the resultant acceleration in alcohol intake, with the usual unfortunate result, one of the Bor brothers; who happened to be Lech, who had solemnly promised his wife not to utter another word about Joe, taking long-distance, noisy, verbal swipes at his wealthy brother-in-law. Finally, Alex came into the fray, picked up the drunk by his ear, and loudly asked who owned the garbage. MaryBelle strode forward, her own face like a sunset, and claimed the wriggling body as her one and only. Alex, who had heard about MaryBelle's defence of Joe, simply smiled and asked MaryBelle if she was ready to take her husband home, as maybe he needed a rest, especially around the mouth. Knowing that Alex was capable of much worse, as she had a vocabulary which had regularly won contests, and she was ashamed of her drunken husband, MaryBelle simply squeezed Alex by the hand in thanks for taking it quietly, gripped Lech by the arm and marched him out of the gathering, and down towards the cars.
The gathering started to dwindle from that point, with the hire cars taking most of the visitors back into the other suburbs of Motor City. Joseph and Alex waved their final farewells towards the last of the mourners as they walked, rather unsteadily, towards the big limousi
ne, then watched until the car disappeared around the bend. Joe hugged Alex, and turned towards the house, murmuring, "Well, the old man got a good sendoff; not as wild as he might have liked, but you can't have everything!"
Alex grinned, as they walked through the wide doors together; "Dad would not be really content until there had been at least a minor damn revolution, preferably one which took out at least a whole management level in Continental Motors. He hated being dependant upon the assembly plants for work, hated the whole idea of working so that other people could sit back and collect dividends. Hell, you know old Tadeusz, you fought with him often enough, he took the money, but always under protest, and if the truth be known; he made things more difficult for the union men, because of the way he laughed out any move they might have made to come to terms with the management. It always had to be confrontation, had to be 'the struggle'. God knows, I loved the man dearly, but he was a right pain in the butt!"
Joseph Kozcinski squeezed his wife to him, before heading across to the bar, and mixing a drink for each of them. "Did you know about Fred's father, you know; the one who was almost attached to Tad by an umbilical cord?"
"Old man Chyman, is that the one? What about him?"
"Yes, you got him. Well, it seems he died just a short time ago. Fred was rather chopped up about it, and of course I jumped straight in and asked how his father was! Seems old Chyman went into hospital for a routine check after cutting his hand, or something, developed complications, and, bingo, slow walk time for Fred. Tough thing was he had only been on pension for six weeks before the accident. Seems the infection spread, or something; I didn't get all the details from Fred, only thing that lightened the gloom was the way the pensions office took care of the hospital and funeral expenses, on the double as it were. Most impressed was our Fred."
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 1