The Dinosaur Club Page 17

  “Sort of the herd mentality,” Chambers said.

  “Exactly.” Bennett raised another finger. “In that regard, our first targets should also be people who will walk away with decent pensions. That will spur them on when the pressure builds. They won’t think in terms of possible buyout packages. They’ll just want out. Then later, once we’ve set the tone, we’ll go after the ones whose pensions aren’t vested. By then the psychology should be set, and quite a few, I think, will be inclined to walk away with empty pockets.”

  “And those who don’t?” Chambers asked.

  Bennett shrugged, smiled. “They’ll pick up some buyout money. It’s unfortunate, but inevitable.”

  “Any particular areas you’d like to see hit first?”

  Bennett nodded. “Sales and manufacturing. Both are visible, and both are overloaded with middle-aged hacks. But pick the individuals wisely. I don’t know the personal facts about any of these people, so I’ll let you search your records and cull accordingly.” Bennett paused, thought. “People with past problems might be a good choice. Drinking, drugs, family difficulties, that sort of thing. But only if they fit the other criteria.”

  “The computer will do all that for me.” Chambers offered up a rare smile. “Do you have any particular methodology in mind?”

  “Yes. Let’s start by stripping them of perks and privileges—sort of a chipping away at their prestige—the more humiliating the better. Start with small, but very tangible, very visible things. Follow that up with letters of reprimand; official warnings of impending dismissal. Things that could become part of their personnel records and impede future employment. Also very heavy, and steady, criticism of their work. Get immediate superiors to do that for you where you can, but bypass them if you sense any resistance.”

  “If I’m too heavy-handed some of those superiors might lodge complaints.” He hesitated a moment. “I have to tell you, the mood in the building is a bit tense. People seem to sense what’s in the wind. In fact, security has brought some things to my attention….”

  Bennett waved him off. “Yes, I expect things maybe tense. But that’s only going to worsen as things move ahead. I’ll need you to handle it.” He had spoken the words sharply, and now smiled away the mild rebuke. “I also expect some complaints to be lodged. Unfortunately for those who make those complaints, I already have a plan to deal with that. It only needs Mr. Waters’s personal approval.” The smile widened. “I expect to have that this week. Then, I’m afraid, any complaints will get a fair, but somewhat disinterested, hearing.”

  Chambers decided not to press the other concerns he had. It was obvious Bennett didn’t want to hear them. And it was quite possible the security people were just being paranoid. Instead he gave off a small, mirthless laugh. To Bennett it sounded more like a bark.

  Bennett stood, placed both hands on his desk, and leaned forward. He wanted to bring himself intimately closer to the man. “Down the road, Willis—when this downsizing plan moves into full gear—the company is going to need its director of human resources to manage it all. I don’t have to tell you that’s a plum assignment, something that’s quite impressive to have on one’s résumé these days.” He paused a beat. “I’d like you to be the man who gets credit for implementing this plan.”

  “And I’d like that very much, too.”

  Bennett smiled down at him. “Enough said.”

  Thirty feet down the hall from Bennett’s office, Annie Schwartz came out of the ladies’ room, where she had spent the last twenty minutes with her ear pressed against a heating duct. She paused, gave her recently coiffed hair a final fluff, then threw a sharp glance toward Bennett’s closed door. “Enough said, indeed, you dick,” she hissed. Then she turned and hurried toward Jack Fallon’s office.

  Thirty seconds after Annie Schwartz left, Fallon was standing beside his assistant’s desk. “See if you can get me in to see Charlie Waters today,” he said. “I’ll be in Wally Green’s office, then up in legal with Samantha Moore if you get an answer.”

  Carol Hall looked up at him; her eyebrow rose infinitesimally at the mention of Samantha’s name; then she made a quick note. She was in her late forties, an attractive, very married woman with two grown sons. She had worked at Waters Cable for seventeen years, and with Fallon for the past ten.

  “Do I detect a maternal sense of concern?” Fallon asked.

  “Just noting a new name,” Carol said. She hesitated, then asked: “How’s the home situation?”

  Now Fallon elevated an eyebrow.

  “All right, I am concerned,” Carol said.

  “The home situation is static,” Fallon said. “But I think I’m getting used to it.” He grinned. “Not unpleasantly.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Carol said. “Be careful. You’re vulnerable.”

  Fallon’s grin widened. “Thank you, Mother.”

  Carol rolled her eyes. “Speaking of which, the nursing home just called. They said there was nothing urgent about your mother’s health, but the director”—she paused; checked a note on her desk—”a Mr. Montague, would like you to call when it’s convenient.”

  Fallon sighed inwardly; certain it concerned his mother’s bill. He made a mental note to see if Trisha had made the last monthly payment. He thought: Maybe she skipped it. After all, why dilute a soon to be looted checking account when there was a goddamned condo to be furnished?

  He shook his head. “If they call back, tell them I’ll get in touch as soon as possible.”

  Wally Green’s office was a glass-enclosed rectangle that overlooked a large bullpen area that housed the desks of his New York District sales force. Wally was on the phone. Fallon started to enter, then stopped when Wally’s first words reached him.

  “I don’t care what your shyster cousin says, I’m not footing the bill.”

  Wally looked up, saw Fallon standing hesitantly in the doorway, and waved him in.

  “Hey, F. Lee goddamned Goldberg can stick it in his ear,” Wally continued.

  Wally listened, his face turning scarlet. “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, Janice. Well, you go to court. You tell your goddamned cousin to be my guest. The company’s dental plan, which you’re still under, doesn’t cover middle-aged women who want their teeth capped. They all fall out someday? The policy will get you a nice set of choppers you can glue in. You get a cavity? It’ll pay for the goddamned excavation—they should only use a jackhammer. You want ‘em polished up like goddamned pearls? Be my guest. But no capping. The policy doesn’t cover it, and Wally Green, your former schmuck of a husband, isn’t about to fork over four grand so some goddamned orthodontist can have Corinthian goddamned leather in his goddamned Porsche.”

  Wally held the phone out in front of him and stared at it. He looked up at Fallon.

  “She hung up on me,” he said. He began to cackle, momentarily pleased, then stopped abruptly. “Now she’ll drag my ass back to court, and I’ll have to pay my lawyer four grand, just so I don’t have to pay some goddamned orthodontist four grand.”

  Fallon stared at him. “Is your wife’s cousin really named F. Lee Goldberg?”

  “Naw,” Wally said. “I just say that to drive her crazy. I used to call him Oliver Wendell Goldberg, but the woman didn’t know who the hell I was talking about. Then I tried Clarence Darrow Goldberg. Ditto. But F. Lee Bailey she knows. The woman spent half her life watching the O. J. Simpson trial.”

  Fallon shook his head. The whole world was being run by dentists and lawyers, he decided. “Hey, maybe she’s going to Howard,” he said. “If she is, let her go. He makes a quick four thousand, Trish might let me have some of my furniture back.”

  “Yeah, fat chance,” Wally said. “Learn this right now, my friend. Ex-wives do not give back.”

  “You ever think about becoming a marriage counselor?” Fallon asked.

  “I’d make a damned fortune,” Wally said.

  Fallon shook his head again, dismissing the madness. “While we’re on the subject of
making money, tell me what’s happening with the Sprint account.”

  Wally let out a long breath. “Disaster is what’s happening. The trials we’re running just keep falling apart. Or I should say our fiber optics are falling apart.” Wally shook his head and hurried on before Fallon could speak. “The shit they sent down from the plant keeps failing. We’re getting electrostatic interference, which should not be happening. According to the Sprint engineers, there have to be variances in our tolerance levels that no one on our manufacturing side can explain.”

  “Have you brought our technical support people in?” Fallon asked.

  “A whole army of those stupid sonsabitches. They fly in with their briefcases full of computer printouts that claim our tolerance levels are all within acceptable limits. But I’m telling you they’re wrong. They have to be. In the meantime”—he held his thumb and index finger an inch apart—”Sprint is that far away from eighty-sixing us from any shot at a contract.”

  “Do we have replacement product in production?”

  “As we speak, they’re setting up a run for next week,” Wally said.

  “Why next week? Why not this week?”

  “Earliest they could get to it, according to our resident geniuses.”

  Fallon stared at the floor and shook his head. “Okay, let’s you and me and Jim Malloy take a little trip to the plant for that run. Just see what we can come up with.”

  “Been there. Done that. Got blown off,” Wally said. “Hey, if that’s what you want, I’m happy to try again. I just don’t hold out a lot of hope those assholes will listen to us.”

  “They will if we take product right off the line, and into the testing labs, and find out it’s not what it should be.”

  “That’s gonna put their noses out of joint,” Wally warned.

  “Into every life,” Fallon said. “Besides, we’re on the balls of our ass, and I don’t plan to give Carter Bennett any more ammunition to toss our overfed butts out the door.”

  Wally’s eyes filled with apprehension. “You hear something I should know about?”

  “Yeah, a little bird named Annie whispered something to me. Seems her ear was pressed to the heating duct in the ladies’ room this morning, and she heard Bennett and Willis Chambers doing a bit of plotting.”

  “Now I know why women always go in pairs when they gotta pee,” Wally said. “One’s gotta be there to give the other one a boost up to the heating duct. So what did Annie find out?”

  “Just that they’re ready to start pressuring people to resign. Except, according to Annie, they’re calling it voluntary relocation.”

  “The shits say who’s first on their list?”

  “Nothing definite, as far as names go. Bennett just set some parameters and left it up to Chambers. Let’s just say it fit the scenario we talked about.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Don’t get your tail in an uproar,” Fallon said. “It’s not all bad news. It seems Chambers expressed some concern about the mood he senses in the office—also about some things security has come up with. You know anything about that?”

  Wally offered up a look of mock innocence. “I suppose it could be those gun magazines Ben Constantini and Joe Hartman have been leaving in people’s offices.” He let out a cackle. “Benny showed me one. It had a picture of a three fifty-seven magnum on the cover. Benny had circled it in red, with the words ‘Downsizing Special’ written next to it.” He cackled again. “If that’s got Chambers worried, wait till he sees this.”

  Wally opened his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of photocopies. He handed one to Fallon. It was a three-page article titled: “How to Make a Bomb from Everyday Household Items.”

  “I planned to start leaving those on people’s desks next week,” Wally said. “Hell, maybe I’ll start tonight. I may even leave one in Chambers’s office. If the little prick thinks we’re turning into a bunch of militia bombers, he might decide to voluntarily relocate his own skinny ass.”

  Fallon grinned at him. He noted the toy dinosaur on Wally’s desk. It was the one he had given him at their lunch the previous week. The others, he had noticed, also had their dinosaurs prominently displayed.

  “I love it,” Fallon said. “Keep it up. And tell Joe Hartman to get started on that guerrilla newsletter we talked about.”

  “It’s already in the works,” Wally said. “We’re calling it The Daily Downsizer, even though it will probably come out only once or twice a week. And Annie’s put together a memo she’s gonna send out on everybody’s E-mail. It tells people to call a special number in Carter Bennett’s office if they’re worried about their job. It’s 1-800-Pink Slip.”

  Fallon laughed. Bennett would not be amused. “That’s great. I had another idea. I think we should all get together a couple of times a week and hit the company gym after work.”

  “What?” Wally’s face filled with incredulity that bordered on outrage.

  “It couldn’t hurt our image. And it might help work off some of the frustration. Talk to the other dinosaurs this morning. See how many are willing to show up after work on Wednesday.”

  “Jesus,” Wally said. “I think I’d rather get canned. I know I’d rather get canned.”

  Fallon ignored him. “And get a fix on exactly when the new product is being run, then coordinate something with Jim so we can all be there.”

  “Jesus,” Wally said again, his mind still fixed on the company gym. “Carter Bennett won’t have to fire me. He can come to the company gym and watch me croak.”

  Fallon started for the door, then turned back. “You might be right,” he said. “He’s there three times a week. But maybe the next time he goes, we’ll have a little surprise for him.”

  Samantha stared at the papers on her desk, not seeing any of the words spread across the report she was trying to read. Her mind was fixed on Fallon, her thoughts a jumble, none of them making any sense. The man was wonderful, and she couldn’t get him out of her mind, couldn’t wait to see him again. Maybe you’ve just lost your mind. And maybe you’re falling into a relationship that will do nothing for either of you—serve no other purpose than to screw up two lives. She drew a deep breath and tried to drive the thought away. But it pushed its way back. Think, woman, she told herself. Just think. And look at what you’re doing. You’ve even begun handing out privileged information, putting yourself in a situation that could get you disbarred—even telling yourself it’s the right thing to do. She clenched her jaw. It is, damn it. No matter what your law professors would say. She shook her head again, still trying to shake the arguments away. More madness. Even thinking like this is just pure, unadulterated madness.

  Samantha looked up, startled to see Fallon entering her office. All her arguments shattered. She smiled at him, her eyes holding a sudden sparkle. “It must be telepathy,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

  “Not as much as I’ve been thinking about you,” he answered. “You make a strong impression.”

  She immediately wished she could reach out and touch him, was surprised by the depth of the impulse. “Are you here for legal advice, or is this strictly social?”

  “I just wanted to see you,” Fallon said. The words made him feel like a schoolboy. “I also wanted to know if you’d have dinner with me tonight,” he quickly added.”

  Her smile returned. “I’d love to,” she said.

  “Great. I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer at four. Seems he’s been in touch with my wife’s attorney.” He rolled his eyes. “How about I pick you up at seven.”

  “But you’ll have to travel back and forth,” Samantha said.

  Fallon grinned at her. “You’re worth it,” he said.

  They stared at each other for several seconds, the heat between them slowly building.

  “Why don’t you bring a change of clothes, and stay at my place tonight? Then you won’t have to drive back and forth a second time.” She spoke quietly in deference to the open door to her off
ice, but her tone was matter of fact, and she watched Fallon’s jaw drop slightly, and started to laugh. “You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of brazen vixen.”

  Fallon grinned again—at himself this time—then glanced back at Samantha’s still open door. “I wish I had thought about closing that,” he said.

  Samantha rose from her chair, walked past Fallon, and closed the door. Then she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Wow,” Fallon said, as she pulled back. “And to think, in all these years, I came up to legal only when I had to.”

  “You should come more often,” she said. “It might even improve your image of lawyers.” Then she kissed him again.

  Samantha’s intercom buzzed two minutes after Fallon had left, and her assistant announced that Carter Bennett was on the line. Reality suddenly flooded back.

  “Just wanted to know how our settlement package was coming along.” Bennett began. “And … to see if you’d be free for drinks tonight.”

  Samantha listened to the subtle pause in his words; she could almost see the confident smile that would be fixed to his face. Just the thought of it made her angry.

  “I’m still a day or so away from finishing the revisions,” she said. “But I promise you’ll have it by week’s end.” She let a small silence play between them, then went on. “And I’m afraid I have plans tonight.”

  The silence played out again; then Bennett finally said: “I see.”

  It was a rebuke, but she wasn’t certain which of her statements it referred to—probably both, she decided.

  “Let’s set up a definite meeting,” he said at length. “How’s Friday, ten o’clock, my office?”