Kill and Tell

by William Kienzle

  Hoffman glanced at his watch. Time to go.

  They turned and moved toward the clubhouse.

  “More than anything, Michael, we are cut from the same Company cloth. We are Company Men.”

  Ratigan wanted to hear no more. But there seemed no way he could prevent Hoffman from continuing.

  “From time to time, I’ve seen those questionnaires they send to Very Important Catholics when they’re looking for nominations to the episcopacy. You’ve seen them, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Add up the desired answers to those questions and what have you got?”

  Ratigan shrugged.

  “A Company Man. Orthodox in theology, faithful to Church law, obedient to superiors, and above all—above everything—loyal to the Pope. A Company Man! And why not? You don’t need or want a rebel in the hierarchy. And what is really convenient is that new members of the hierarchy are selected by the existing hierarchy.”

  “Now wait a minute, Frank. That’s not true. We’ve had bishops demonstrating against war, disagreeing publicly with positions taken by the National Conference . . . even some that left and got married. Hardly Company Men!”

  “No one’s perfect, Mike. Even the Church blows one now and then. But, by and large, you are all Company Men. And so am I.

  “Know why I’m wearing a blue three-piece pinstripe suit? Because that’s what Frank Martin wears. The same response answers such other pertinent questions as why my reading glasses are gold-rimmed, what time I get to work, and when I leave. People like Iacocca and DeLorean were our exceptions to the rule that people who succeed, especially in the auto industry, are Company Men. We’re all colorless clones of top management. To borrow from the Gospels once more, we must decrease while The Company increases.

  “You could do it, Mike, but ask someone else—ask your friend Father Koesler if he can name the president and/or the chairman of the board of Ford, GM, Chrysler, AMC. Chances are, even though he’s lived in Detroit virtually all his life, he can’t do it. We’re colorless, Mike. We disappear into the corporate fabric of The Company.

  “And look at you! Look at your daily uniform!”

  Ratigan found himself briefly examining his attire, as if he’d forgotten what he had put on this morning. The lines around his eyes crinkled, but his mouth remained firm. “What did you expect, a green and coral zoot suit?”

  “Hardly. But look again. A very plain black suit, navy blue Aquascutum, simple black fedora, and a plain silver ring.”

  “So?”

  “It’s not you, Mike. No more than this blue pinstripe is me. Left to your own devices, you’d be wearing a black suit, yes—but a three or four-hundred-dollar silk, a Burberry, and a splashy jeweled ring. But: Who dresses the way you do? Mark Boyle. Cardinal Mark Boyle. Your clerical equivalent of my Frank Martin. You’re a clone of Mark Boyle. A Company Man in simple black.”

  They had reached the large double door of the clubhouse. They paused on the threshold.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Mike; I’m not disparaging the Company Man. Hell, I freely admit I’m one. Neither The Company nor the Church could function without people like us. It’s just a good idea to know yourself. And,” Hoffman locked eyes meaningfully with Ratigan, “to know we are very much alike.

  “In keeping with that thought,” he continued as their eyes remained locked, “earlier this week I revised my will. I’ve named you executor.”

  “Frank, I—”

  “Let me finish. I’ve left a substantial sum for both you and the archdiocese.”

  “Now, wait a minute, Frank—”

  “If I should go before you, not only will you be well fixed; you’ll also be able to bring a handsome gift to the Church. Which should endear you to the powers that be. Just as that private audience with the Pope is going to endear me to Frank Martin. You see, just about everything in life is a quid pro quo. And so it should be, especially between Company Men.”

  They walked in silence past the main dining room, where a big luncheon party was beginning to break up.

  As they went through the front door, Ratigan noticed there were quite a few people waiting for cars. He also noticed that Johnny recognized Frank Hoffman the moment he appeared in the doorway. Obviously skipping over several of those waiting, Johnny dashed off to retrieve Hoffman’s car.

  They parted with a simple handshake. Ratigan felt he should say something. Something between a protest and an expression of gratitude. But there was no time. Nor did anything come to mind.

  Ratigan stood under the awning watching Hoffman drive away. As usual, he had mixed emotions regarding Hoffman. Now, those emotions were more confused than ever.

  He was happier when their relationship ran on a lighter level. He knew there was a distinctly dark side to Frank Hoffman. For his own peace of mind, Ratigan tried not to focus on the Mr. Hyde who was The Company Hoffman. But it had been Hoffman who had focused Ratigan’s attention on his other self. Worse, he had suggested that Ratigan was the ecclesiastical equivalent of Hoffman and that The Company and the Church were not all that dissimilar.

  Ratigan felt somehow soiled. As if he had been invited not to an exclusive country club but to a sandbox where they had dabbled in mudpies.

  An oft abandoned resolution again presented itself to Ratigan: He would break off this friendship. It demeaned him. The relationship was almost antithetic to a good spiritual life.

  But there was no getting away from it: He enjoyed golf at Hilton Head, first class flights to exotic vacations as a sort of personal chaplain to the Hoffmans, parties with Detroit’s elite, casual invitations to lunch at the country club.

  He enjoyed these and all the other lagniappes that were part of a close relationship with Frank Hoffman.

  He wished he were stronger, but knew in truth that he was not. At this moment, he hated himself for his lack of integrity. And, along with self-hatred, he despised Hoffman for dragging him down.

  As Hoffman’s car disappeared around the bend, Ratigan mused that someone like Hoffman should not go around letting others know that they would profit from his death. The concept might prove too tempting to someone who could bear to contemplate murder.

  10.

  He patted his paunch as he looked in the mirror. It was not a significant bulge, merely the combination of gravity and years causing a shifting of weight.

  Charlie, he said to himself, you’re too old for this nonsense!

  But he was in “this nonsense” up to his ears. He’d dived in when his old friend and golfing buddy Frank Martin had persuaded him to join The Company. Had it been a mistake? Had Charlie Chase blundered in leaving behind what he’d built?

  It was one thing to own one’s own business and quite another to become a cog, albeit a very important cog, in a gigantic corporation.

  He and Louise had known hard times, without doubt. But by dedicated hard work and, here and there, a little luck, he’d built his auto supply company into a business that was successful by anyone’s standard. He’d grown comfortable in the familiar surroundings and routines. Then had come Martin’s offer.

  Perhaps the chief reason that had motivated Chase to chance the traumatic move was the apparent stability of The Company. Should the auto industry fall upon bad times for an extensive period—and that certainly had happened often enough in the past—it was always the smaller feeder companies, the suppliers, the ancillary industries that suffered most. As the owner of such a concern, such a catastrophe could have spelled financial ruin for him. In such an event, he could envision himself pouring his life savings into his business in a desperate attempt to keep it afloat.

  It was very possible—probable—he could have lost everything.

  But nothing like that was likely to happen to him now, surrounded and shielded as he was by The Company. Recessions might come and go, small companies might founder; hourly and even some of the lower echelon salaried employees might lose their jobs, possibly forever; but nothing short of a total breakdo
wn in business nationwide would affect his present position. And certainly not before he could retire in comfort and security.

  So, he had traded his baby, the business he had created and which he knew and understood inside and out, for The Company, in which he was less sure of himself, less knowledgeable, but—theoretically—more secure.

  There were some obvious and immediate advantages to his move. He was looking at one of them now. His office space was generous, comfortable, and attractive, as well as functional.

  The room he was in now adjoined his main office. It was, in effect, an efficiency with a kitchenette with full refrigerator, a sofabed, wet bar, table and several chairs, and a full bathroom attached.

  The office proper was divided into two large sections. One held an executive desk with straightback chairs around it and a swivel chair behind. The other section was less formal, embracing a large coffee table. Spaced against three walls were couches and upholstered chairs. The fourth wall comprised large picture windows that displayed an impressive view southward toward the downtown skyline highlighted by the Renaissance Center.

  Between the office and the corridor a reception area provided more than adequate facilities for his secretary, Brenda McNamara.

  Brenda was a prize that Chase had been able to bring with him from his company. She had been with him nearly twenty years, fifteen of them as his private secretary. In the time he’d been with The Company, she had been his one oasis of familiarity and dependability in a desert of unpredictability and strangeness.

  Chase could not quite put his finger on why he should have these lingering feelings of uncertainty relieved almost solely by the presence of his old faithful secretary. His responsibilities in The Company were not that new to him. The corporate structure was, of course, a vastly different way of conducting business than that which he had been used to when he had been independently responsible for an entire company. But there was something else; some element that seemed to elude him—that seemed to be keeping him off balance.

  He had not yet identified it. But he would.

  There was a quiet knock at his office door. From his adjoining suite he could scarcely hear it. He slipped into the office at the same moment Brenda entered from the reception area.

  “Mr. Chase, there are three men to see you.” She had never addressed him on a first name basis. Nor he her. “It’s about next week’s board meeting.”

  “Three?” Mild surprise. “I was expecting two . . . just Kirkus and Keely.”

  “I know. That’s what the log shows. But there’s a Mr. Zaleski with them. He’s from the ad agency that handles the Cheetah account.”

  “Hmmmm. All right; send them in.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Yes, Mrs. McNamara?”

  “It’s probably nothing.” She hesitated. “It’s just that from the beginning, I’ve had a feeling about those two. They seem to be somehow different while they’re waiting in my office than they are when they come in here.”

  “Oh? Can you be more specific?”

  “They always strike me as being . . . oh, somehow conspiratorial—at least while they’re waiting. I’m afraid I can’t really be more specific. It’s just something I feel. But,” she looked at him earnestly, “it’s a very strong feeling.”

  “That’s interesting, Mrs. McNamara.” He seemed to be thinking. “I’ve gotten no bad advice from either Kirkus or Keely . . . that I know of. But,” he smiled reassuringly, “we’ll have to keep our eyes open, won’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then; let’s not keep them waiting. Show them in.”

  “Yes, sir.” She left the office.

  He circled behind his desk and sat in the upholstered swivel chair. His three visitors would use the straightback chairs. He would keep this meeting on a formal basis.

  As he waited, he briefly considered his secretary’s suspicions. While he valued her efficiency and professionalism greatly, he was less influenced by her perceptions. Being a nuts-and-bolts type, he put no stock whatever in intuition. Which was the category in which he slotted her opinion of Al Kirkus, Clem Keely, and any hypothetical conspiracy.

  As he was dismissing her speculation, his visitors entered. Kirkus introduced Ziggy Zaleski. The three were then seated across the desk from Chase.

  “We’ve got the presentation for the board meeting pretty well mapped out, Mr. Chase.” Kirkus took the lead. “What we want to do now is to submit our research and approach for your consideration and approval. If you approve of our approach—and I think you will,” he smiled and glanced confidently at his two companions, “then we’ll get to work on the draft for your presentation.”

  “Very well.” Chase propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and made a steeple of his fingers, which he rested against his lips. His face was expressionless. The ball was in their court. And they would have to be convincing.

  “The first item on next week’s meeting will be the new Lemon Laws that are up for congressional action this session,” said Kirkus.

  Both Kirkus and Keely began arranging documents, pads, and charts at the edge of the desk nearest to them. It was a delicate and deliberate arrangement. Each man used no more desk space than he minimally needed. None of the piles came close to infringing on any area that Chase might want to use. They were so to speak, polite piles.

  Zaleski watched the building of the piles with passive interest. He had brought nothing to this meeting except his effervescent self.

  “This is, of course, by no means the first time Congress has considered Lemon Law legislation,” Kirkus proceeded. “As you know, the bills presently before both houses would call for a full refund of the full purchase price of any vehicle if, after three attempts, a problem cannot be solved, or if the vehicle is out of service for a total of at least thirty days during one calendar year.”

  “Yes,” added Keely, “a full refund or a replacement vehicle, whichever the owner prefers.”

  “That’s right,” Kirkus confirmed.

  “I know all that,” Chase observed.

  “Yes, sir. So,” Kirkus continued, “the question before the board next week will concern just what approach The Company should take on this proposed legislation.” He paused for effect. “We think The Company should take a public position of backing the legislation.”

  Chase’s right eyebrow arched; his steepled fingers slipped down and became entwined.

  “That position may come as a surprise to you,” Kirkus correctly analyzed, “but it is the result of a study of the voting records of some pivotal Congressional leaders, plus an analysis of the information our Washington lobbyists are feeding us.”

  “What it comes down to, Mr. Chase,” Keely picked up the cue, “is that the forces proposing this legislation simply haven’t got the votes. There is no way in hell they can possibly get this legislation through either body, given the makeup of the current Congress. Our friends in the House outnumber our enemies by a two-to-one margin. In the Senate, it’s three-to-one.”

  “So you see, sir,” said Kirkus, “this gives us a marvelous opportunity for a public relations coup. We, as one of the Big Five, come out in favor of something that is undeniably consumer legislation. In effect, we are making ourselves liable for in the neighborhood of billions in refunds or replacements.

  “Now this would appear to be a form of corporate suicide . . . an absolutely unique stand on the part of any industry: sacrificing our company in favor of our customers. I don’t think, sir, you could find such an example since the industrial revolution of any corporation comparable in size and importance willing to combine confidence in our product with respect and care for our customers.

  “In effect, sir, we will appear to favor legislation which would force us to guarantee our customers complete satisfaction.”

  “Meanwhile,” Keely picked up the theme, “we know the legislation we appear to be supporting can’t pass. We’re in an all-win, no-lose position.”

  “We
stutterstep, we give the opposition a leg and then we take it away!” Ziggy Zaleski, gesturing orotundly, was picking up the mood created by Kirkus and Keely. “We send out the word that we’ve come to play. The opposition is just going through the motions while we’ve come to play. We are giving 120 percent.”

  Chase’s eyes moved slowly in the direction of Zaleski. Without turning his head, Chase contemplated this creature afflicted with an apparently terminal case of sportsspeak.

  “What of the other major auto firms?” Chase asked, after a moment. “Do we have any indication regarding their stand in this matter?”

  “Yes, we do, sir.” Keely shuffled through several documents until he found the one he wanted. “Ford, GM, Chrysler, and AMC—all of them have their lobbyists working overtime, trying, in effect, to save the saved. They’re so scared that this idiocy will become law, they keep going back over ground all of us have covered.

  “As we said, sir, we’ve got the votes. There is no doubt about that. But the others apparently can’t believe it. They keep lobbying not only the few who may vote against us, but the rest—the majority we know will be with us.”

  “In other words,” said Zaleski, “we’ve got the momentum and our opponents don’t know it. Our penetration is good. We’ve got them on the run. They’re in a prevent defense. They’re going to let us have the short ones. And we’ll take ’em while we eat up the clock. It’s a two-minute drill and we’ve got the momentum. Yes, sir; we’ve got the momentum!”

  Chase was able to ignore the verbal yardmarkers and go on.

  “In the event we do decide to adopt this position—and as of this moment I cannot commit my support to it—when would you propose this position should be made public?”

  Keely deferred to Kirkus. “You’ve hit on the most important point of all, sir,” said Kirkus. “The timing has to be perfect if we’re going to have maximum impact. We considered this question in great detail and we would suggest a delay of no more than a month. Congress is scheduled to debate these bills the end of November, beginning of December at the latest. Just before that happens, the other automakers are sure to voice their opposition in the strongest terms possible. Then we take our stand in favor of the legislation and sit back and watch as the bills go down to defeat. And The Company reaps a public relations bonanza!”