The First End

  Chapter 4

  Bill paid the taxi driver off, and was just about to start for the main doors of the Wastend Corporate Headquarters, when a man wearing a chauffeur’s uniform waved at him from the door of a long limousine parked just up the street. “Mr. Gardner?” he called.

  “Yes?”

  “Please.” He opened the door and indicated that Bill should get inside.

  Shrugging, Bill ducked into the black car and sat across from a large man, bordering on fat, white hair, and a long, lined face. Bill recognized him immediately. “Mr. Vellore.”

  “Mr. Gardner.” The man nodded a greeting. “Thank you for coming.” He hit a button on his console. “Robbie, take us to the Per Se Restaurant at Columbus circle.” He looked again at Bill. “I hope you like French.”

  Bill shrugged. “It’ll do, although it is a bit early in the day for lunch.”

  “Less people to disturb us.” The Wastend CEO hit another button and then gave his full attention to his guest. “Mr. Gardner. To be direct, I need your help in ending this ridiculous strike.”

  “I gathered as much.” If the man wanted to talk business, Bill was game. “What do they want—and I don’t mean what everyone else thinks they want, but what they told you they want.”

  Frank spat out a curse. “Those thrice cursed pigs want to put me out of business, that’s what they want!”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They all want a 15% pay increase across the board, larger pension plans, and better health insurance.”

  “Okay. What is the problem with giving that to them?”

  Frank cursed again. “Aren’t you listing, Mr. Gardner? If I give in to their demands, they will ruin this company. We can’t sustain a level of cash flow to justify the increases. We’ll go bankrupt inside of a year.”

  Bill saw the problem immediately. In order to land the huge contracts, Mr. Vellore had to cut the basic prices so steeply that his margins were barely enough to bring in a profit. If the employees got what they wanted, he would not be able to sustain it.”

  “Doesn’t the union negotiators understand your situation?” he asked.

  Frank snorted out another curse. “I doubt it. They demand that we make cuts in other areas…areas that in the long run would allow a competitor to come in and steal our contracts.”

  “Aren’t you already in breach of contract?”

  “Not yet. I had a clause inserted into my contracts to cover this scenario. But I only have two more weeks, and then I will lose all of them.” Frank leaned forward, his eyes intense. “I just got a call from General Hynes office. You no doubt heard the President’s speech this morning?”

  “I got the short version from the taxi driver.”

  “Well, they need to dispose of some highly sensitive equipment in order to fulfill the President’s order.” He poked himself in the chest. “I have the contracts, but I need this strike to end now.”

  The limousine pulled to a stop and the driver opened their doors.

  “Come. We can talk it over in the restaurant.”

  The Per Se is one of the best restaurants in New York that offered its visitors a unique menu, a striking view and an environment of intimacy.

  Bill learned that Wastend held most of the military disposal contracts, and that if the strike didn’t end soon, the company would lose all of them. The result would be catastrophic to the company. The only thing that Bill couldn’t quite understand was why he had been picked by Vellore in the first place. Every time he broached the subject, the wily CEO just skirted the subject with a wave of his hand, or muttered some curse before changing the subject.

  Bill did manage to get a dollar amount that the man was willing to pay for his services. The amount shocked him. It was easily half his entire year’s wages. He idly wondered if the man could pay that much, why couldn’t he budge with the union?

  Finally, towards the end of the meal, Vellore slid a piece of paper across the table. Bill looked at the phone number written in a precise hand. “That is the Union Leader’s number.” Frank explained. “Her name is Rita Sully.” He added a few profane and uncomplimentary descriptions of the woman. “The fat cow is waiting to hear from you.”

  Bill raised an eyebrow, letting the ‘fat cow’ comment pass, seeing how Vellore didn’t have much moral ground to stand on in that department. “She’s expecting me?”

  “Yes. I arranged a meeting for two this afternoon at my offices. Please call her and let her know that you are coming.”

  “Very well. Anything else?”

  Frank tugged on one ear. “There might be, Mr. Gardner, but now is not the time to discuss it. Solve my strike problem and then we’ll talk.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  Before meeting the union representative, Bill decided to pay a visit to the waste treatment plant and see things for himself. When he arrived, the sheer ugliness of the plant immediately caught his attention. The entire place reeked of shabbiness and ill-maintained equipment.

  Only a dozen workers were on the site, men and women who for whatever reason had refused to join the strike and continued to work. But they didn’t look pleased, Bill noted. More than likely, they labored under huge financial pressure and felt they had no choice. Sweat ran down their faces and they looked to be in a state of shock or numbed disregard. The machinery that cleaned the city water from the sewers hummed in discord, and many of the remaining workers didn’t even wear gloves or masks as they worked on the filthy machines.

  Suddenly, a cry of pain resonated through the building, blending almost congruently with the sounds of the machinery. Hurrying over to see what had happened, Bill found one of the employees holding his sliced hand and staring numbly at a broken shard of glass, blood staining the jagged edge. Blood seeped from the man’s fingers and fell to the floor to blend in with the other discolorations there.

  Bill looked around, thinking someone would come over and see if they could help, but no one did. No one even looked up from their jobs. Cursing, Bill rushed to the injured man and shouted for someone to bring a first aid kit. A lady, startled by the commanding tone, rushed away to return shortly with a bottle of alcohol and a few small Band-Aids, not enough to cover the wound. Cursing still, Bill managed to find a somewhat clean piece of cloth. He ripped off a strip and began cleaning the wound.

  “You’ll need to get this looked at,” he told the man.

  The man just nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Raoul.”

  “I’m Bill. This is a real nasty cut buddy, so be careful.” He finished cleaning it, but the blood still leaked out. He bound the wound as tightly as he could. "Why do you continue working here while the others are on strike?"

  The man shook his head. "What choice do I have? If I stop working for even a day, my family will go hungry. We are not traitors at all, we are not what the strikers think of us anyway. We just have to keep working.”

  "My autistic child also needs to have his medication, who gonna pay for it? We need to work, that’s it.” the woman who had helped said softly.

  “This is intolerable,” Bill muttered. He retrieved his cell phone. “Look, I’ll call 911. You need help.”

  “No! Please don’t do that!”

  “You need to see a doctor."

  "Please don’t call! I will be fine."

  “I have to.”

  “Please don’t!”

  "Why?"

  "I'm illegal in the country."

  Bill struggled with what to do. He knew he should call, though the wound wasn’t life threatening and should heal fine—though it no doubt would leave a nasty scar. "Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor? Your injury could get worse."

  “I will be fine, sir. I will be just fine.”

  Bill had heard enough. He had seen enough. For him, the employees of Wastend deserved more than a pay raise. They needed a place where they could work and retain their dignity. Bill left the factory with a sense of
bitterness, and a firm conviction to push the company Wastend to make concessions.

  At exactly two that afternoon, the “fat cow” Vellore mentioned walked into the conference room at Wastend Corporate Headquarters. She was anything but fat. Her slim figure was tantalizing in a tailor-made business suit. Her auburn hair was rolled into a tight bun that allowed her high cheekbones to be displayed more prominently.

  Bill rose and offered his hand. “Miss. Sully.”

  She took it, her grip firm and strong. “Mr. Gardner. A pleasure.”

  Bill chuckled. “Well, we’ll see about that after our negotiations are concluded.”

  Rita allowed herself a slight smile. She noted the absence of anyone else. “So, Mr. Vellore really did want just us to meet.”

  “He felt that we would be more amicable to an agreement if neither of us were surrounded by a scowling team of representatives.”

  Rita’s smile broadened slightly. “We’ll see.” She gestured to a chair. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  They talked for three hours. Bill reiterated his client’s position and Vellore’s fears of bankruptcy. Rita countered by showing profit figures, and describing current employee working conditions. Bill explained that the profit figures were bloated and did not portray the true nature of the company’s earnings, especially when factoring in sizable loans. He conceded that the employees were entitled to a better standard of living, and she grudgingly let the profit figures go as a bargaining chip.

  In the end, Bill agreed to try to get Mr. Vellore to agree to a 5% pay raise across the board. If he could secure that concession, Rita felt she could get the union to sign off on it for a year—with the understanding that negotiations would continue under the new agreement for the duration of that year.

  “I think that in a year’s time, things will be clearer,” she said, rising to her feet. “The union will expect something more substantial by then.”

  “It gives everyone time to make adjustments,” Bill agreed, also standing. “Perhaps an improved economy and renegotiated contracts will solve everyone’s problems.”

  “Let’s hope so.” She extended her hand. “I must say, I was surprised to find a lawyer working for Mr. Vellore so…easy going.”

  “It’s all a facade,” he said, winking. “Underneath, I’m a ravening lion.” They shook hands. Bill said, “I’ll present this to Mr. Vellore immediately, and contact you with the results.”

  “Let’s hope for something favorable. I think I can get my side to agree to this.” She sighed. “It will be good to have the trash removed.”

  “Yes it will.”

  Vellore’s house sat back from the main road by a good quarter mile. The long driveway was lined with trees, perfectly manicured to match the lush green lawn that swept out into the distance on all sides. One of the bays of the five car garage was open to reveal a luxury car inside. Another one was parked outside.

  Bill climbed up a few steps towards the gigantic doors, when one opened and Frank himself stepped outside.

  “About time you got here. Did you set them straight?” A hopeful gleam glinted in his eye.

  “Let’s talk inside,” Bill suggested.

  “Yes. That would be best.”

  Once inside, Frank began pointing out expensive pieces of art, bragging as to how he had come to collect them. Bill's gaze stopped on a picture in a small frame of bronze deposited on the edge of an antique piano. The girl pictured within looked to be in her twenties. She was smiling at the camera and proudly wore a green t-shirt with a large inscription. "This is my daughter, Lisa,” Frank said, noting his gaze. “My one and only daughter. I’m very fortunate to have a daughter like her, a brilliant student at Harvard University and an engaging person. She is chairperson of the organization Eco-Waste, the non-profit organization."

  "Is waste a family issue or something?” asked Bill.

  "A family issue? Yes, I guess so and also a business," Frank replied.

  "Or you are using the issue for the business."

  "I like you Bill. I really do," Frank muttered unconvincingly. “Come. We go to my office.”

  In Mr. Vellore’s office, a bit later, Bill outlined the proposed agreement that he and Rita had hashed out. “I was under the impression that it is essential that the employees return to work,” he explained. “So I proposed a stopgap, something that would give you time to work out your differences, but at the same time getting your workforce back on the job. They have agreed to suspend things for a year.”

  “That’s great news!” Frank exclaimed, rubbing his hands. He froze, his eyes tightening. “So what’s the catch?”

  “They want a marginal increase in pay immediately.”

  “How much?”

  “5%.”

  Vellore’s face tightened. “Impossible. I can’t afford that. That would be millions of dollars.”

  Bill could hardly credit his ears. He had been so sure that Frank would agree. It seemed so simple. “It might strain you for the interim. But, after you had the chance to renegotiate some of your contracts—”

  “I said, no!” Frank cut in. “Impossible. It won’t work.”

  “But—”

  “Look, Mr. Gardner. Your job wasn’t to compromise. Your job was to get my employees back to work.”

  “If you don’t give them something, Mr. Vellore, they will just continue the strike.”

  “That is unacceptable!”

  “It is a fact!” Bill calmed himself down. “Sir, I talked at length with the Union Leader. She was absolutely firm on this point. Without you giving them something, they will just continue the strike. I understand that it is not what you wanted, but I believe that it will be the closest you get. If you fight them here, I fear they will just demand it all even if you change your mind later.”

  “Mr. Gardner, please understand me. I won’t change my mind. This company can’t afford a 5% pay raise. It would seriously undermine our ability to function. I am not in business to placate some disgruntled employees, I am in business to make money! This is my company! I built it from the ground up! I won’t let a few measly, third rate, middle class scumbags dictate how I run my business!”

  Bill sat across from the CEO, fuming. Finally he looked up. “Is this your last word on the subject?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I will inform Miss Sully.”

  For several days, Bill hadn’t seen his girlfriend Karen. Finding time in both of their busy schedules proved problematic at times. Bill had many cases to deal with and Karen was just busy with her advertising projects.

  Feeling despondent over the day’s events, Bill decided to break away and make a surprise visit to see Karen. He took a taxi and headed to Brooklyn where Karen rented a rather modest apartment. When he arrived, he used the intercom to buzz her rooms, but got no answer.

  He stood there, scowling, unsure what to do next. An old lady arrived and immediately recognized Bill. “You need to get in, aren’t you?” She asked.

  “It would be great, Ms. Carson.” he replied.

  “If there is no answer, you can come over and wait, Gardner.”

  “You bet, Ms. Carson.”

  The old lady let him in the building and Bill took the elevator to the third floor. He knocked on the door several times, but still got no answer.

  Bill finally sat down on a step of the stairs and waited. He needed the time to think anyway. Shortly after, Karen arrived, shopping bags in hand. She looked tired, but her eyes brightened the instant she saw him.

  "Bill! What the heck are you doing sitting on the stairs?"

  Bill got up immediately and removed the bags from Karen’s hands. He kissed her on the cheek and let her open the door. Karen seemed having trouble to open the door.

  “Hiff the key, Karen.” Bill asked.

  “What did you say?”

  “Turn the key in the other way…‘hiffing the key’ like showing the upper teeth…you know what I am saying?”

&nb
sp; Karen smiled, while introducing the key in the right position and the door opened.

  “Maybe I should make a copy of the keys,” she said brightly, moving into the apartment.

  “Only if you think I will have need of it,” he teased.

  They both entered the apartment. Once inside, Karen helped him put the groceries away and then they retired to the living room with a pair of glasses filled with brandy and some ice. Karen turned on her computer and started some soft music playing.

  He looked at her, openly admiring her beautiful form. Her skirt fell past her knees, but couldn’t hide how beautifully shaped her legs were. Bill leaned over and kissed her on the cheek again. She shifted to stare into his eyes.

  “Are you going to stay?” asked Karen.

  “I am afraid not. I’ve got a lot of work to do. My current client is a bear. Honestly, I would rather be working on the other side.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Oh yes. I’m representing the company Wastend. I’m just concerned, that’s all. The president of the company is both fishy and arrogant. He could be extremely dangerous too.”

  An hour later, Bill tore himself away from his girlfriend and said goodbye. Both knew that this new case could dominate his time and neither knew when the next time they would see each other. Not happy, at all, he left determined to see this through.