Robert Bennett - The Company Man

“Yes,” said Evans. “Without that particular segment of manufacturing the entire factory would have been crippled. Do you know how much revenue that factory outputs a day?”

“I don’t know. Some absurd number.”

“Three million dollars.”

“All right.”

“It didn’t work, naturally. If it had, well, word would have gotten out. No, the saboteurs mishandled the dynamite and it wound up going off in one of the entryways. We think he tripped and fell and blew himself up, honestly.”

Hayes grinned. “How come this wasn’t in the papers?”

“Because we didn’t want it to be,” said Evans simply.

“So that’s when you decided to send some feelers into the union men.”

“Brightly did, yes. And it didn’t work well at all. I don’t know how they found our man out but, well. You get the idea.”

“And now you want me to work the unions for you.”

“Yes. Yes. They’ve wormed their way in, God knows how deep. I need you, Cyril,” he said. “Brightly needs you. We need your magic.”

Hayes looked at him darkly. “It’s not magic.”

“It is to me,” said Evans. “This is your way back, Cyril. All sins forgiven, after this. Everything forgotten. Are you willing?”

“You know I am, Jim.”

“You’re sure?”

Hayes nodded, eyes half-shut.

“Good.” Evans shuffled the papers around on his desk more. They never seemed to go anywhere specific. “We do think the heart of the movement is here. Here, in the city, probably to the south, where most of our local plants are. Do you know how many major facilities there are in this region?”

“Eleven, if memory serves,” said Hayes.

“Yes, that’s right. More than any other city or state or even country in the world, and we do our most delicate work here. So this is where we need to be protected. But again, this is all relatively new to us. You can spearhead this for us, Cyril. Find something to work with and we’ll put everything we’ve got behind you. And that’s a lot. We’re invested in you now.”

“I feel tremendously valuable, yes,” said Hayes. He stood and examined the bookcases. “All right. I’ll run the usual rounds throughout this week. See what I can dig up, see where we want me to head. Probably can find some bar or name or something. Poor, hungry boys banding together, it sounds like gangs or clans or such. They probably have a name they like to trumpet. It shouldn’t be hard.”

“Right, but, Cyril… we’re keeping you closer than that,” said Evans slowly.

Hayes turned around. “Closer?”

“Yes.”

“What’s closer? How close?”

“In-house,” said Evans. “You’re being restricted to interviews in-house.”

Hayes’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Yes.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. Interviews of lower-level men in the company.”

“Lower-level?” said Hayes, outraged.

“Yes. Foremen, managers, team leads. Working-class leaders. Suspicious subjects. We have a list of names here, scheduled interviews, and you’re going to interview them.”

Hayes came back over and sat. “That’s not… That won’t…”

“Listen, Cyril, you’re lucky they kept you on. They just want to start you out small and controlled. Build you up.”

“Build me up.”

“Yes. And we’ll need to keep you stabilized, too.”

“What’s stabilized? What does that mean?”

Evans nervously scratched the back of his neck. “It means supervision.”

Hayes’s face went dead. All the thought in his wide blue eyes faded until they could have been painted on.

“Nothing in the way of an obstruction,” said Evans hastily. “No interference. Merely someone to take note of your duties, schedule meetings and appointments, and report to me.”

“A secretary,” said Hayes.

“An assistant. An organizer.”

“A spy. You’re spying on the spy, is that it?”

“My God, Cyril, don’t be dramatic.”

“This is going to hamstring me. It’s going to fucking hamstring me until I can barely move. You know that.”

Evans sat forward. His voice dropped until it was dangerously soft. “I know this makes you mad,” he said. “I know it does. You’ve been out on your own for so long, running your game. You did good for a while. But you’ve forgotten that there’s a company behind you. That there’s money riding on everything you do. You’ve forgotten that. But we haven’t. So we need to watch you, and remind you when it’s needed. You can see why giving you an assistant is both reasonable and necessary.”

“I don’t need one,” Hayes said fiercely. “This meeting, almost being tossed out… That’s enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be a good boy. All right?”

“No. No, Cyril, it’s not enough. We want someone on the ground with you. Matching you step by step. You’ve always been difficult to handle. We’re just trying to curb you a bit.”

“Curb me. Like a naughty dog.”

“Cyril, you need this,” Evans said. “You need someone to keep an eye on you.”

“I have Garvey.”

“You and Garvey are addicts. Dependents. Every month you run yourselves ragged over something, egging each other along.”

Hayes pulled at his hair, bunching up the blond-white fronds and then teasing them out again. “What if I don’t want to come back?” he asked quietly.

“What?” said Evans.

“What if I don’t want to come back? What if I say no thanks, Jim, I prefer it the old way or no way at all? What about that?”

“Well. Then you don’t come back. Then we go our separate ways. And that’s the end of it. But there’s no choice in this. You either take her or you’re out.”

Hayes’s brow crinkled. “Her?”

“Yes, her,” said Evans. “I think you’ll quite like her. She’s top-rate, a former army nurse. And she’s well traveled, like you. Spent a lot of time looking after wounded British soldiers in Egypt before we scooped her up and brought her into the company.”

Hayes kept frowning for a moment longer. Then epiphany flooded his face and he put his chin in one hand. “Really,” he sighed.

“Yes, really.”

“Was she last working in Cairo?” he asked, defeated.

Evans blinked. “Yes. She was. That was fast of you.”

“That wasn’t exactly intuition.” He shook his head. “Well. Go on. Bring her in.”

“Why?”

“Why not? We might as well get it over with.”

Evans frowned, then stood and walked to the door. He opened it and stuck his head out and murmured something and then opened it fully. When the girl walked in Hayes was twisted around awkwardly in his chair, watching her through the fingers of one hand, his expression resigned and half-amused. She looked at him cautiously, as if she had just stumbled across a wounded dog and was not sure if it would bite.

“Cyril, this is Miss Samantha Fairbanks,” said Evans. “Miss Fairbanks, this is Mr. Hayes.”

She looked him up and down again. “Mr. Hayes?”

“Yes,” said Evans. He put his hands behind his back and bounced forward on the balls of his feet like he had just presented a marvelous surprise.

Hayes shut his eyes and stuck one hand out in the air. The girl looked at it for a moment before stepping forward and shaking it.

“Well. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Hayes,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “Would you like your handkerchief back now?”

“No. Feel free to keep it for as long as you’d like. As I told you, they gave me more than enough.”

“Handkerchief?” said Evans. “You’ve met?”

“In the waiting room,” said Hayes. He opened his eyes and peered at her. “So. You’re going to assist me. With all my inquiries and interviews and daily rounds. Is that it?”