Stuart Woods - Heat

The two men entered the room and took seats opposite the man who sat at the desk. Casey saw Coldwater only once a month, unless there was some special reason, and this was the regular monthly meeting.

Coldwater was bent over the desk, reading a document, and the sunlight through the window fell on his white hair, which was long and tied at the nape of the neck. The effect was nearly that of a halo, and Casey wondered if the man had planned it that way.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Jack Gene Coldwater said in his rumbling voice.

“Morning, Jack Gene,” Casey said in unison with Ruger. They were the only ones who were allowed to call him that, in memory of their early days together in Vietnam.

“Let’s hear from finance first,” Coldwater said, nodding at Ruger. “Kurt?”

“You’ve seen the monthly financial statement,” Ruger said, indicating the document on Coldwater’s desk. “We’re in pretty good shape, if a little cash poor.”

“Did you talk to Schooner?”

Ruger nodded. “He poor-mouthed me; said the stock was down, and there’s a threat of an antitrust suit from the Justice Department over the acquisition of Security Software.”

“I told him to expect that,” Coldwater said. “It’s winnable.”

“I tried to buck him up, but he’s shaky. I think maybe you should consider talking to him.”

Coldwater swiveled in his chair and gazed out at the mountains, offering Ruger and Casey his Indian profile. “Perhaps it’s time we had Schooner up here for a little retreat; get his mind concentrated.”

“Excellent idea, Jack Gene,” Ruger said. “Shall I call him?”

“I’ll call him myself,” Coldwater said. “What else do you have for me?”

“Collections are coming in well, except for Herman Muller, of course.”

“Of course. He turned down our latest offer?”

“He did.”

“How much do you think he’ll take?”

“Jack Gene, it’s my feeling about Muller that he just won’t sell. He doesn’t need the money — I mean, the man’s an elderly, childless widower who lives like a monk; the business keeps him alive, and he knows it.”

“Maybe it’s time just to remove Muller from the scene,” Coldwater said. “He’s beginning to annoy me.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ruger said. “He’s childless, but he has relatives out of state. We don’t know who would inherit, and we could just be opening a big can of worms.”

Coldwater nodded, then turned back to face his two subordinates. “Let’s hear from security. Pat?”

Casey sat up a little straighter. “All’s well, Chief.”

“That’s it? ‘All’s well’?”

“Everything is running as smoothly as we could want. There’s no threat from any quarter. It’s what we’ve planned for all these years.”

“What about the new boy? I hear he did well during the bank robbery.”

“That’s true, although Frank damn near shot him. Barron’s settled down at the hopper, working his ass off. Settled in at home, too, from all appearances.”

“Good. He could still be a cop or a fed, though.”

“Possible, of course, but, in my judgment, very unlikely.”

“I’ve always trusted your judgment, Pat,” Coldwater said. “You’re a hard man to fool; you’ve proved it over the years.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“But we’re entering a critical time.”

“I know that, Jack Gene, and that’s why I’ve been so careful with him. I’ve checked him every which way, and he adds up.”

“If the feds were putting in a new man, they’d have an airtight background for him, wouldn’t they?”

“It’s not just his background, though that certainly checks out. It’s the kind of man he is. I’ve known one hell of a lot of cops, and, believe me, he doesn’t fit the mold. I’ve nudged him a little, and—”

“Nudged him? How?”

“I let Phil Partain push him, just to see how he’d react.”

“And how did he react?”

“He didn’t take the bait, but he didn’t back down, either. I think Partain’s a little scared of him.”

“Partain’s a bully; he’s scared of anybody who stands up to him,” Coldwater said.

“That’s true,” Casey agreed, “and it would take a pretty sharp guy to figure that out right off the bat. Partain’s got a real mean streak; Barron could have walked into a buzz saw, but he didn’t. Partain was impressed; so was I, when I heard about it.”

Coldwater gazed off into the middle distance. “Doesn’t fight, but doesn’t back down; I like it. That’s how I chose you, Pat; did you know that?”

Casey blinked. “No, I didn’t.”

“The first time I laid eyes on you was some godawful bar in Saigon. There was a drunk marine raising hell, and he tried to take you on. I liked the way you handled him; you didn’t fight him, but you didn’t back down.”

“I remember that,” Casey said. “It was quite a while before we met.”

“I marked you down on the spot,” Coldwater said. “Later on, I got you transferred.” He winked at Ruger. “I picked Kurt, here, for different reasons.”

“Partain says Barron’s foreman likes him, that he’ll recommend to Muller to move him to the line, when a vacancy comes. Partain doesn’t like that, figures he’s in line first.”

“Tell you what,” Coldwater said. “Let Barron stew on the hopper for a couple of weeks more, then make a vacancy.”

“One of our people?” Casey asked.

“Certainly not,” Coldwater replied. “One of Muller’s.”

“Consider it done.”

“I know you’ll do it subtly, Pat; you usually do.”

“I will.”

“Don’t come between Barron and Muller; let them build a relationship, then we’ll see how he reacts when we bring Muller down.”

Ruger sat up straight. “We going to bring Muller down?”

“Somehow. I don’t see any other way, do you?”

Ruger shook his head. “No, but it’s going to be tricky; we certainly can’t let it get around that we had anything to do with it. He’s awfully popular, and there are still questions around town about the grandson.”

“I’m aware of the affection in which most of the town holds Muller. I’m not about to do anything precipitous.”

“You never do, Chief,” Ruger said. “I’ll look forward to seeing how you handle it.”

“I’ll handle it simply,” Coldwater said. “Simple is always best.”

“I’ll get Barron promoted,” Casey said.

“Good,” Coldwater replied. “And when Phil Partain finds out about it, don’t get in his way. I want to know what will happen when the two butt heads.”

“Partain will kill him, if he gets the chance.”

Coldwater shrugged. “If Phil Partain can kill him, then Barron’s not for us, is he?”

Jesse had been at St. Clair Wood Products for nearly a month when Harley Waters approached him just as the workday began. Another man was with him.

“Hey, Jesse, Herman wants to see you in the office. This guy’s going to spell you.”

“Okay, Harley,” Jesse replied. He dusted off the shavings that clung to his clothes and walked upstairs to Herman Muller’s office. The secretary showed him in.

Muller stood up and shook his hand. “Morning, Jesse.”

“Morning, Mr. Muller.”

“My folks all call me Herman,” Muller said. “Have a seat.”

Jesse took a chair, wondering what was going on.

Muller leaned back in his chair. “Jesse, I’m real proud of the way you’ve worked on the hopper; so is Harley. I’m promoting you.”

“Well, thanks, Mr... ah, Herman.”

“No thanks due; you’ve earned it. I’m putting you further up the production line, on the pressing equipment. The pay’s nine dollars an hour, and when you’ve learned the equipment, I’ll raise it to ten. I don’t think it’ll take you long to get the hang of it, but remember, that machinery has to be run right, and right every time. The quality of every sheet of chipboard that comes out of this plant depends on this job being done right. You understand me?”