Warren Murphy: Union Bust

"No," said Remo.

"You don't look like a business agent. You look like a stockbroker or something. Like a clerk or a young vice president of a fashion company. Know what I mean?"

"I think so," said Remo.

"I got a reputation and a certain prestige, and I don't want it to suffer. We're known as stand-up guys and it's good being known as that. Know what I mean?"

"No."

"Okay. Let me give you a very brief and important history of our labour union. When we drivers first organized, companies would hire gangsters to drive us out. Tough guys. Pipes, guns, everything. So the drivers knew they had to be just as tough to survive. So only tough guys got to represent them, and you, well, you don't look tough. You look just, well, average, kind of. No offense. I think you'd make a great whatever you want to be, but you don't look the part of one of my boys, and I think there are going to be a lot of people feeling you out. just stay close to Tony and Paul. They're stand-up guys and they won't let anything happen to you. Namely, they won't let you embarrass me."

"Right, Abe," said Tony and Paul in unison. "You stay close to us, kid, and you'll be all right."

"Not if he puts that filth in his stomach," said Chiun.

"Well, he won't eat. Okay, Doc?" said Bludner. 'You stay with my boys, do whatever you have to do, then get out and we'll have your name off our books real fast. Right? You know the deal, right?"

Remo nodded. He knew the deal very well. Rill whoever's death would stop the giant transportation unions from joining. That was the base plan. The extreme plan was to eliminate the presidents of the four transportation unions, because without them the superunion would take years in forming again. And, of course, leave the blame on Abe 'Crowbar' Bludner, because only if the killings were an intra-union squabble, could the union movement go on. Should they be considered a management plot, the nation would never recover.

This was the driver's convention, but on Friday the three other union presidents would be on the speaker's platform to announce their joining, according to Smith's sources. So Dr. Smith's orders were simple. If it comes to that, kill them. All four. If it comes to that, you can even be seen. After all, when they know it is one of Bludner's boys, and he proves to be an import, who would ever believe that Abe 'Crowbar' Bludner had not imported a professional killer to do the job?

"I know the deal," Remo said to Bludner.

Chiun watched a bacon strip go into Stanziani's mouth as if the man were swallowing a live snake. He watched the potatoes the same way. Then Bludner snapped his fingers.

"Now, you'll see it," said Bludner. A waiter glided to the table and leaned forward over the fresh daisies in a water-filled pitcher set on the white tablecloth.

"I wanna bowl of whipped cream," said Bludner. 'I want some fresh cherries, pitted. I want some cherry preserves. I want a bowl of crushed nuts, almonds, cashews, maybe a couple peanuts crushed real good, and I wanna bowl of hot fudge. And bring some more round cinnamon Danish."

The waiter repeated the instructions, being reminded that the nuts must be crushed fine, almost paste-like.

"You want one, Tony, and you want one, Paul, and you don't want one, Doc. How about you, Remo?"

"He doesn't want one," said Chiun. Bludner shrugged. Remo looked at the daisies. "Who are you supporting for the election?" Remo asked.

"Jethro. Gene Jethro," said Bludner dropping his fork into an unfinished beautiful, delicious, crisp mound of home-fries whose pungent odor Remo could taste and even chew.

"Think he's going to win?"

"Nah. He's a long shot, but we got a good deal and we can survive the loss. The international needs us as much as we need them. You're voting for Jethro."

"According to the bylaws," said Remo, watching a bacon crisp float in a golden yellow pool of yolk, "I am obliged to cast my vote independently, free of any reward or pressure, a free honest vote."

"You go talking like that, you're gonna get us all laughed out of the convention, Remo. Now my deal was only to get you in. Not get us ruined. Don't embarrass us with silly talk like that. That's all. Don't embarrass us. We got enough problems without us trying to pass off Bo Peep as a union official. We made a deal and that's it."

"That's it," said Stanziani and Barbetta in unison. "That's it."

"Right," said Bludner agreeing with those who agreed with him.

"You going to eat the leftover potatoes?" Remo asked Bludner.

"No. You want 'em?"

"He doesn't," said Chiun.

"Well, you guys must be excited about your new union building, it going up so quickly and all that," said Remo.

"New?" Bludner looked puzzled.

"Just outside this city. A beautiful building. I guess I should call it our building now."

"We ain't got no new building near Chicago. We got our headquarters in Washington. The capital."

"I see," said Remo. "When do I meet Jethro?"

"You'll meet him. You'd probably even like him. He's kind of, don't take offense, like you in some ways."

"Lucky guy," said Remo. He smiled at the frowns on the faces of Barbetta and Stanziani.

Bludner outlined the convention program. 'There's a reception tomorrow night after the election. Today, there's the dedication, the convocation, and the reading of last year's minutes. That don't count. You don't have to go. Tomorrow is the nominations and the voting. To that, you gotta go. You vote Jethro. You'll get a button and all that crap. Jethro."

The waiter returned with a tray, Remo first smelled the rich chocolate fudge, then the aroma of cherry preserves, tangy and pungent. The whipped cream quivered in a silver bowl, a billowing white mountain of sweetness. The nuts were a rich, oily paste. The cinnamon Danish were round and light. Remo grabbed the metal leg of the table. The leg would support him as well as the table. He squeezed.

Chiun muttered a Korean word that Remo recognized as "dog droppings."

Bludner carefully un-spun the round string of cinnamon Danish from a wheel to a long strip. Then he mixed the chocolate fudge with part of the cherry preserve and blended in the nut paste. He coated the inside of the unwound Danish with the reddish-brown sweetness and pushed the bulging pastry back close to its original form. Then he coated the top with the oozing cherry-chocolate paste. Little nut fragments made specks of small rises in the cherry chocolate. Bludner formed three pastries in this fashion and licked the spoon with which he made the paste.

Then he topped the cherry-chocolate mounds with scoops of the fluffy whipped cream, forming it into delicate, sweet mountains. On top of that, Bludner carefully placed cherries. They sank into the whipped cream mountains, tangy red balls in a rise of white.

Suddenly the table jerked. The Dawn Danishes quivered but stayed intact. Remo withdrew his hand from the table leg. In his passion he had cracked it.

"Let us go to our hotel rooms," said Chiun. "I cannot watch people degrade their stomachs in such a fashion."

"In a minute, Chiun," said Remo. If he knew it would not harm him, Remo for that Dawn Danish would have betrayed any trust in his life. The organization. The country. His mother and father if he had known them. Children if he had had them. And Chiun with a high hurrah.

"You're going to eat it now?" said Remo.

"Yeah," said Bludner. "I can make another."

"No. That's all right," said Remo. "Let me watch you."

Bludner served his men, and then with a fork cut a small triangular wedge and raised it to his mouth. A cherry peeked out of the side of the whipped cream, and appeared to fall. Remo watched the pastry, cherry-chocolate paste, whipped cream and cherries disappear into Bludner's mouth.

"Arghhh," said Remo.