Robert Bennett - The Company Man

He said, “These are very good.”

“Pardon?” she said.

“These are very good. These files.”

“Thank you.”

“Very thorough. They’ll make my job a lot easier.”

“I’m surprised you got them so quickly,” she said. “I sent them late last night.”

“Mm.”

“You must have gotten up early to get them.”

“I never went to bed,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, startled.

“Your coffee’s getting cold.”

“I’m sorry?”

He nodded at the other side of the cafe. “Your coffee. At that table over there.”

“Oh, yes. May I sit with you?”

“If you can find space.”

She went and got her cup and made a small clearing across from him and sat.

“How’d you get these so quick?” he asked. “I mean, I learned who we’re supposed to be interviewing just today.”

“They gave me a day’s head start,” she said.

“And you managed to pull… what was that, doctors’ records in a day?”

“Yes. They should be valuable, too.”

“Doctors’ records? In what way?”

“In many ways, if you’re, well. Creative.”

Hayes smirked. “I’ll try my best. But let’s hedge our bets. Please enlighten me.”

“Well, for example, Mr. McClintock is an alcohol addict.”

“So? Are we going to tempt him with gin?”

“Nothing so grotesque,” she said, sliding out the relevant file and flipping it open. “I have him scheduled to be redirected here as soon as he gets in to work, which I think should be about nine, if his time cards are anything to go by.”

“So he’ll be too exhausted and half-drunk to be much of a liar,” said Hayes. His smirk turned into a smile.

“That’s the idea. And for tomorrow, Mr. Vanterwerp has significant digestive problems, so-”

“So I’m going to guess that you have him penciled in right after lunch.”

“Yes.”

“That’s pretty dirty pool.”

“It’ll work.”

“I have no doubt.” He went back to the pile, shaking out one sheaf. Samantha frowned as several papers slid off the table into the opposite booth, but said nothing. Hayes read in silence. As he did she noticed he was wearing the same clothes from the last time she’d seen him. One cuff was trapped far up in his coat sleeve and his tie was barely hanging on. A serious stubble was collecting on the line of his jaw and clouds of black hovered below each red-rimmed eye.

“Who do you think is the most likely?” she asked.

“The most likely for what?” he said.

“To be working for the union. To be a saboteur.”

He smirked. “None.”

“What?”

“None of them are working for the union.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don’t, for sure. But I can say that these are foremen and overseers with rather high-paying jobs in comparison to others below them. They’ve been working for twenty years to get this sort of security. They don’t want to lose it. Their men, on the other hand, have no security at all,” said Hayes, and flipped over a page. “They work relatively unskilled labor for shit wages, wages that have been undercut twice in the past three months. So it’s their boys who are trouble, and the foremen, as men with much to lose, will probably give a few of them up. Even the alky. What’s his name again?”

“McClintock.”

“Right,” he said. “Have some more coffee.”

At seven they walked down to Southern Office with the mass of files stuffed under Hayes’s arm. The building was very utilitarian, not half as lavish as the Nail. Its cement walls were hastily painted and naked bulbs flickered in the ceiling. Workmen, not clerks, sauntered through the halls, eyeing them suspiciously. Hayes spoke to the front receptionist, a greasy little man named Neal who had half his shirt unbuttoned. Hayes passed the reins over to Samantha, who began scheduling all the interviews at an hour apiece.

“No,” said Hayes. “Three hours.”

“Three hours? You’re sure this will take three hours?” she asked.

“Yes. Three. Apiece.”

She frowned but then rescheduled them with Neal, who was none too pleased to take orders from a fancy downtown woman, but did it anyway.

Hayes made only one other request apart from the time. He asked that Neal reserve two rooms for the interviews, small ones isolated from the rest of the building, but next to one another.

“Put our interview subjects in one room, and I’ll prepare in the other,” he said.

“You need two rooms?” Neal asked flatly.

“Yes.”

“What if we don’t have two rooms?”

“Then we’ll wait. And when the Nail asks where we are and what the holdup is, you can tell them.”

“Fine, fine… What’s all this about, anyways?”

“Promotions,” said Hayes simply. “There are some spots to fill and we’re screening our prospects.”

They set up in a tiny corner of the building on the third floor, one room a small meeting room and the other practically a broom closet. Hayes dragged a chair into the closet and set the files on the floor.

“All right. I’ll stay in here and get ready,” he said.

“You want to stay here?” Samantha asked.

“Certainly. You sit in the meeting room and wait for Mr. McClintock. When he comes, tell him he’s to be interviewed by, oh”-he thought for a bit-“Mr. Staunton, and then come and tell me he’s here. Then go back in and tell him I’ll be in in a bit.”

“But why?”

“I want to make him wait.”

She went back to the meeting room and sat at the table, confused, but said nothing. At eight forty-five McClintock stumbled in, a short, squat man with a bloodred face and fat butcher’s hands. He looked extremely wary. Samantha wondered if he had ever been in the Southern Office before.

“Please take a seat,” she said, and gestured to a chair at the little table.

“Okay,” said McClintock, and sat.

“I’ll go and tell Mr. Staunton you’re here.”

“All right.”

She walked out, shut the door, then walked two feet over and opened the door of the broom closet. Hayes was seated in a chair and was leaning its back up against the wall, hands behind his head, eyes somewhat closed like he was dozing.

“He’s here,” she said softly.

“Mmm-hmm.” He did not open his eyes.

“When will you be in?”

He shrugged, then waved dismissively.

Samantha returned to the meeting room. “He’s somewhat delayed,” she told Mr. McClintock. “Please make yourself at home.”

McClintock blinked his red eyes and settled down in his chair further. His head drooped forward inch by inch and within a few minutes he was asleep. Samantha watched as his shoulders rose and fell, then sighed and checked her watch. After a half-hour she got up and walked back to the broom closet. Hayes was still in the exact same position, gently rocking back and forth on two legs of the chair.

“Well?” she said.

“Well what?” he said quietly.

“He’s asleep. If you’re trying to rattle him he certainly doesn’t know it.”

“I’m not trying to rattle him.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Please go back in and do whatever it is you were doing. Note-taking, or whatever. It’s very important.” He waved her away again.

More time passed. Samantha slumped in her chair, taking notes every five minutes, mostly out of spite. Twenty minutes later the door burst open, causing her to jump and Mr. McClintock to snort and sit up. Hayes swept in and slammed McClintock’s file down on the table before him, saying, “Sorry I’m late, this place is incredibly confusing. Now give me a minute, if you please, because I’m not entirely sure why I’m here.” He dumped himself in the chair before McClintock and put his feet up on the table with a groan. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.