Joe captured her fingers, and gently brushed her fingertips with his lips, "Sure, honey?"
Alex leant over, and snuggled into his arms, "I'd want you to want one too, my love, but I think we would be, well, more complete with a baby. What is more, it could well be fun ensuring the survival of the line!"
Joe grinned as he reached for her, but Alex wriggled free, calling, "Now, Joe, eat first; make love and babies afterwards; modified American plan!" They served up the stew together, gently touching each other as they passed back and forward, then ate the whole heap. Smiling across the table at her husband, Alex asked, "Do you want to go to bed now, or shall we have a look at what Pop has left for us as an appetizer?"
Joe wrinkled his nose at his wife, then reluctantly reached across to the briefcase which held the last Testament of Tadeusz Bor; and together with Alex, began studying the documents which lay together on the table. His father-in-law had marked up sections of listings from his Union, and pencilled in dates next to names. There were pages with statistics from the Bureau of the Census, with sections highlighted with a marker, and hand-written lists marked up as membership of the American Legion. The old man had obviously spent quite some time gathering all his information together, but there was no pattern visible to the experienced eye of his daughter's husband. He had written comments all around the margins of one of the pages from the Census Bureau, and that was where Joe got his first inkling about where Tad had been heading. He had the listings which gave life spans for various types of employment, and had been working out the characteristics for a whole bunch of people who had been working at the Continental plants, both in Detroit and at Grand Rapids. Joe asked Alex to sort out the pages which gave the listings from the Union, and then from the American Legion, while he pulled out the notebook computer, booted up and went in to a spreadsheet. He input the listings, and established a norm for lifespans within the auto industry, then keyed in the results which Alex had separated from the untidy pile on the table. He then output a graph showing the standard curves, and that for the Continental workers, and sat back in disbelief at the result.
"Jeez, Alex," he said in a hushed voice, "your pop was on to something. What this graph is showing is proof that Continental auto guys are dying faster than the average. Shit, they must be exposed to something at the plant, and they are dropping faster than the rest. What we got here, is dynamite, on wheels. If this ever gets out, before we can find out what they are inhaling, or touching, we will be in court for ever. Tad must have noticed the trend, with him being near to a heap of the guys on the shop floor, and decided that he had found the handle that he could finally use to show the 'bosses' were in fact driving the working stiffs into the ground. Look; this row here," scrabbling across for the sheet, "he found that the Continental guys were retiring, then dying an average of ten years earlier than anyone would expect them to. We are gonna have to do a full check, both Grand Rapids, and Detroit, for whatever is killing these guys." Joe reluctantly shook his head, while his wife stared at him; "Dunno what triggered it, but your Pop was right!"
He saved the spreadsheet, then switched off and tidied up all the paper into a bundle. He was about to suggest that they return to Grosse Point, ready for an early start on the Saturday morning, but remembered what his Alex had been talking about, and how misty her bright eyes had been, and decided that the whole process could just as well be started up on the Monday morning. He leant over, caught her by the shoulders, and simply asked, "Shall we start trying tonight?"
"Well, we can get into practice, but we shouldn't hurry, we have the whole weekend." Alex met his lips with hers, and they moved slowly into the bedroom, and then to the deep, welcoming double bed which awaited them.
Chapter 14
Joe was virtually first into the office on the Monday morning, keyed in the disc he had worked upon over part of the weekend, and after pulling up the graphs, plotted the whole thing onto the printer. He then waited impatiently until he saw the customised Stiletto, which had been given to Nick Cavalieri, gliding into it's favoured position, right by the main entrance. He gave his boss five minutes to get sorted, then rang through, and asked if he could come over. Nick assenting, Joe picked up the sheets, and walked along the corridors towards Cavalieri's office. His secretaries were just entering as he came through the door, but he waved and announced he was expected. Tapping on the door, he opened it, and found his boss seated, coffee already in hand, gazing up at him. "Nick, I've found something out, worked it out from documents that old Tad had been shovelling around. We have big problems. There is something in the plants, both here and Grand Rapids, which is shortening the life spans of a broad section of the workforce. It may be something in the paint, or the oil, I just don't know where to start, but if you check the graphs, you will see that my old man was right. He suspected something was wrong, and started making notes. The only thing Tad didn't have was a computer, and I worked this out in an hour. Look, the guys are dying ten years ahead of the norm, and there is something in the plant which is responsible. Nick, this could cripple us!"
The C.E.O. took the small sheaf of paper from Joe, and laid them all down on the desktop. He looked long and hard at the graph lines, at the population norms listed in the Census curve, and then at the selection from the Continental workforce. "How do you know these dates are genuine, Joe? Have you done any cross-checking?"
"No, Nick. I mean, Pop would have the dates right, and the lists from the Union register and the American Legion are straight copies, other than that, I haven't had time. I think it's a genuine problem, Nick, but its gonna be a godawful thing to trace, and then stop. We'll have Class Actions going on for the next ten years. Jeez, Nick, where are we to start?"
"Say nothing, and let me do a little digging. We will have to bring it up at the Board Meeting, but say nothing to anyone until I give you the word, Joe. O.K.?"
As his Marketing V.P. left the office, Nick Cavalieri had to restrain himself from hurling the coffee cup across the office in despair. He opened up a side closet, slid out a telephone which was fitted with a non-standard red button on the side of the case, hit the keys and waited for a reply. "Watcher here, Scramble?" was the words he first heard.
The auto executive pressed the button, and began talking to the urbane man in the office which overlooked Battery Park in downtown New York. "You guys got it wrong," Cavalieri began, "old man Kozcinski had paperwork, papers about his goddam notion that something was happening to the Continental guys who retired. Joe, his son-in-law now has those papers, and access to a computer. He ran the figures and came up with the idea that the early deaths are due to them being infected around the plants! I told you to look harder before bumping the old guy off. Hell, you Pistol Pete's are all the same! What the hell are you gonna do now, Guido?"
The man in New York, whose lips had grown thin as the Detroit-based voice had issued the old insult, paused for five seconds to calm himself down before replying. "There ain't no need to start throwing names around, Mr. C. We have gone far away from the old Pete image, and I would ask you not to repeat such slogans. The reports from Detroit, about the late Mr. Bor, and his snooping around, were queried intensely before we decided that there were no files, or papers. We organised the 'hit' on Tadeusz Bor after consultation with you, if you remember? As for young Joseph, he is now firmly on the wrong track, and you can put him in charge of a taskforce looking for a non-existent contaminant. We can put our Selection file process on 'hold' for a month or two, and then when he gives the plant a clean bill of health, we can resume once again; calling the rise in early deaths a, what is the term, statistical anomaly?"
"Joe Kozcinski is no patsy, Guido! He may have started from the wrong angle, but there ain't a great deal of space between an industrial accident, and deliberate action!"
"Do you then wish us to arrange a termination of young Mr. Kozcinski ?" the urbane mobster asked. "He has friends, and it would not be the easiest of tasks. We would have to ensure that the papers which
he possesses are retrieved, and presumably his lovely wife as well should be included in the contract. His father was relatively easy, an elderly man who went for an early morning run every day; we simply imported a 'soldier' from California, fitted him out with a vehicle which was scrap metal less than two hours after the old man was dead, and then flew him out again the same afternoon. Hell, the 'soldier' didn't even know who he was to 'hit'."
"For hell's sake hold off on any plan to wipe Joe and Alex Kozcinski, Guido. We can always agree to do something terminal, like an accident within the plant; when I find out how many people he has told. What I can't have is a wholesale massacre of senior Continental staff, so just chew your oats on that one. I don't agree that the Selection process be put on hold, until we make our minds up one way or another. There's simply too much money at stake. If you wish, you can get your boys to do a run-down on Joe's habits, in readiness for action if we agree there is no alternative. Slap a tail on him, and make sure that all strings are tied; okay, Guido?"
"Okay, Mr. C., we will hold off on the Kozcinski burn, but tail him and his wife in readiness. The Selection process will continue for now, but may be put on hold. Goodbye, Mr. Cavalieri, and have a nice day!" The view from the window seemed to engross the wavy-haired man, as he stood in deep contemplation, before making his mind up, and calling his associate on the outside line, "Ray. We may have a change of plan. Empire State, in thirty minutes. See you on top!"
As the taxi rumbled through the potholed canyons of New York, Guido Soncini added a third action to the two he had prepared while gazing through his window, overlooking the harbour. His taxi driver, who seemed to have come from an obscure part of Ethiopia, and therefore spoke absolutely no English whatsoever; had obviously learnt to drive in Demolition Derbies, and it was a slightly shaken Italian-American who was deposited on the cross-street along which ran the famous building. As no car, from the constant following stream had checked, or pulled in to deposit passengers, he reckoned he was once more surveillance free, and walked confidently forward to meet his young friend, on the balcony at the very summit of what was once the tallest building in the world.
"Tell me, Guido, why do you always choose the windiest, crap-ridden spots for us to meet? It's either the goddam ferry, some skyscraper, or a cemetery!"
"Ray, I have survived for nearly sixty years, and no-one has ever put a tape, or a wire device, anywhere near me. Not getting thin blood, are you?"
"It's just that I'm cold. I drive in, in an air-conditioned car, work in an air-conditioned office, and I ain't dressed for this goddam wind! Howsomever, you called?"
"Yes, our Friend in Detroit, on the Selection File, has a young associate who thinks he has uncovered an environmental hazard at the Continental Plants, which is taking the retired auto workers away from their well deserved retirement, and killing them ahead of their time in the sun. Unfortunately, we organised an very early retirement for Mr. Bor, the man who thought he had something sniffed out, and the young associate is Joseph Kozcinski, the late Mr. Bor's son-in-law! Our Friend is positive that there is documentary evidence, and he is understandably pissed!"
"You mean we are looking sloppy, by not finding the papers. Hell, Guido, the old man lived with his daughter and her husband. He was always dropping in and out of the house, and there was just no way we could organise a thorough scan of the home without alarming someone, besides which there is a fair population of nosy kids around, and they would spot a stranger a short mile away. From what our guys found out by listening, he just had this idea that there was something wrong at the plant, he never came out and said anything specific; so everyone he knew just put it down to the fact that he was an angry old asshole, and let it go at that! Which way do you want us to go?"
"First, call Vince Lombardi in Detroit, and get him ready to call out and hold off on any further Selection action, but don't put the brakes on just yet. Then get Harry Mettaliou to organise a good tail, plus intelligence, on the Kozcinski 's, both Joseph and his wife, just so we know their movements, in case we decide to go for a 'hit'. Then I want you to take a short holiday from your New York job at the commercial analysts, and when you come back, I want a firm run-down on whether a good clean termination is possible on Nick Cavalieri!"
"Jeez, Guido; but he's a.."
"A Friend. I know, and I ask this with reluctance, but things just may start to unravel, and we need to cover all exits; okay Ray?"
The smartly-dressed young man soberly nodded his head in assent, gripped his leader by the hand, and quickly left the balcony of the building, while Guido Soncini breathed deeply of the air of the City he loved, and had corrupted, for over thirty years.
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The Police Forensic Department of the Town of KingsBurgh was as fully equipped as could be, under an administration which queried the spending of every dollar. The extra-powerful microscope which was being gently manipulated in the Forensic Laboratory, had been the subject of intense argument before it's purchase had been approved; but it had been responsible for the detection and conviction of four criminals who otherwise may have been allowed free, and was therefore deemed to be 'cost-effective'. The manipulator, a thirty-five year old forensic scientist who daily thanked his stars to be working and living outside of New York, slowly wound the cross-travel of the 15000x magnification system as he traversed the short length of charred rubber tubing. He drove the table back and forward at least four times before raising his head from the eye-piece, and making a note on the pad beside him. The phone bleeped briefly, and he reached over and answered, "Forensic, Haskins here." before listening to the voice at the other end, waited until it finished, and gazed at the ceiling in despair, before answering, "I've just started checking that item, and I will not be rushed. Now drop it and I'll call you when I am through!"
He worked on for another hour before he was satisfied that his conclusions were sound, and would stand up in court if necessary, before hitting the phone keys which connected him to his earlier persecutor. "Mario, it's Lenny Haskins. You want to come down and talk about the Klein killing,"he paused, "yes, I did say the killing! See you in five minutes."
Mario Guareschi dropped quickly down the staircase which lead to the laboratory complex, mentally composing the short report he would have to send to that cop in New York. The call from Ken Melchek had intrigued him, and he had indeed run the family Klein through the mill, and found out lots of good things about Howard Klein, one of the best being the constant visits he made to the local hardware store, as he conscientiously kept abreast of the repairs on his house and contents; of the inspections he had arranged from the local electrician, who remembered saying that the Klein home was the safest he had worked in, and the further comments from the garage where the Klein automobiles were regularly serviced. He went through the forensics door, perched on a bench stool, and simply asked, "Killing, Lenny?"
The scientist simply pointed to the microscope, and guided the detective through the items he was inspecting under an intense light and heavy magnification. "This is a similar sample of the reinforced rubber pipe, standard for KingsBurgh installations for Propane-fuelled Gas systems and Stoves, okay? This rubber, as it has been treated and reinforced with nylon, doesn't have the same 'memory' as ordinary rubber. In other terms, Mario, if you compress this rubber tube, it doesn't bounce back like ordinary rubber does. Now I have had a hose-clip tightened on that section," pointing with a fine pencil tip, "to simulate the Kleins' hose connection from the valve. See the indentation? Now turn the table forward so we come to the charred tube section, recovered from the fire department evidence bag, together with the hose-clip which was attached to it, and the valve connection. Okay?"
Guareschi, who had glued his eye to the viewpiece, simply grunted, "Uhhuh!"
Haskins began once more, "Now take the table along until you see the change in diameter of the rubber, see, there! Now I have measured that diameter, and completed tests on the hose-clip, and I can positively s
ay that the hose-clip which was recovered from the fire scene was definitely not the same clip which made that indentation in the rubber hose. It starts slipping through the threads of the worm more than a eighth of an inch before getting down to the diameter which would be needed to make the indentation on the burnt hose. So, the clip was replaced for the original, and everything made to look like an accident. Secondly, we got the guys to trawl around the scene, just as you asked, and we found lever marks on the frame of the patio door, where the lock may have been forced, after the whole window had been lifted out of the track. the char marks disguised the outer scrapes, but when we lifted the door away, we found the main set of marks. "
The forensic man raised his hand, just as Guareschi was about to speak, "The third thing is a little less certain, more of a hunch! We got the Electric Utility guys to check the central heating timer, the one that actually blew the gas, and they reported something very strange. The foreman said that there was no way that the time switch for the water would be set so far forward, because everyone he knows has the timeswitch cam set for somewhere around six in the morning, which gives the heating plenty of time to heat the water up for showers, and definitely not two in the morning! This was a hit, Mario, and from someone who knew exactly what they were doing. After all, they nearly got away with it!"
After slapping the scientist on the shoulder, and asking him for a fast report for his file, the detective went back up the stairs to his office, and called through to the 95th precinct in New York, asking for Patrolman Melchek. He was asked to leave his name, as the officer in question was out on patrol, but would be paged to return his call. The senior detective on the KingsBurgh force next called the Coroner, and asked him to re-open the inquest, as new evidence had emerged regarding the deaths of the Kleins, with a view to changing the verdict to read, 'Murder, by person or persons unknown'. As he sat back to ponder his next move, his phone rang, with Ken Melchek on the other end of the line.
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 13