Ed Jazik said, "You hear that? My time. His time, his plant, his profit. You think he gives a shit about the rank and file?"
Mitchell said, "Rank and file? What're you doing, reading it out of the union book? Rank and file. These guys work for me, I know them. I can't get along without them, all right? And they can't get along without me bringing in the business. So why don't you get out of here and let us get some work done."
"He's saying he don't give you any time to listen to your rights or think for yourself," Jazik said. "It's his plant. His. He owns it. You don't want to play his way, he's going to take his fucking baseball and bat and go home."
"You see that much," Mitchell said. "I own it. Good. Then you see I have the right to ask you to leave." That was better. A little calmer.
"We got a few minutes," Jazik said. "Let's talk. You listen for a change, I'll tell you how I see conditions here." He raised up enough to turn his chair sideways to the table and sat down again, crossing his legs.
Mitchell was aware of the men watching him. The boss standing there. On the spot. The union guy trying to push him around a little and get him mad. He had to ignore what the guy said and handle it smoothly-handle it somehow-but, above all, not argue with the guy in front of his employees.
Tell him you don't have time to talk. No, that wasn't handling it.
The guy was waiting, posing, sitting low in the folding chair, legs crossed and an elbow on the table. Sure of himself. Or with nothing to lose. No, Mitchell decided, he was confident. He liked people watching him.
Mitchell said, "What did I say to you the last time you were here and you wanted to talk?"
Jazik shrugged. "Some bullshit. I don't remember."
Mitchell kept his eyes on him. "I said, you want to talk, let's wait till contract time. That's what it's for and we can talk all you want. You said maybe some people don't want to wait. Well, I talked to a few people." As he spoke, Mitchell's gaze began to move over the solemn faces of the men standing around the table, stopped briefly on John Koliba, and moved back again. "I asked them, how's everything going? No complaints. I said to them well, anytime you got a problem come in and tell me about it. We'll work it out." He stared at Jazik again. "That's how we do it here, which I tried to explain to you."
Jazik listened to every word without moving. He shook his head then, slowly. "That's not what you said."
"No?" Mitchell seemed surprised. "What'd I say?"
"You refused to talk to me, first."
"Until contract time. That's right."
"Then you said, we get in an argument, you threatened me, you said, we get in an argument you're liable to try and knock me on my ass."
Mitchell shook his head. "No, I said if we got in an argument I was liable to forget who you are and I would knock you on your ass. There's a difference."
Looking at Jazik he knew he was not going to stop now to be polite or waste any more time on him, dumb hotshot son of a bitch sitting there in his raincoat with the collar up and the blank cool look on his face-seeing the guy and, for some reason, seeing the one named Leo sitting in the chair in the nude-model office, a brief glimpse of him in his mind that was there and gone.
Mitchell said, "Now I'm going to tell you again. Walk out of here right now, or I'll knock you on your ass and throw you out. Either way."
Jazik, staring at Mitchell, took his time getting up. He was bigger than Mitchell, a little taller and heavier through the shoulders.
He said, "They heard you threaten me."
"You heard it," Mitchell said. "That's the main thing."
"I could take you to court, you know that? Threatening bodily abuse and harm."
"Hey," Mitchell said, "let's knock off all the bullshit. Are you going to leave or not?"
"What I want to see," Jazik said, "is you try and throw me out."
Mitchell hit him on the word "out," his mouth still slightly open. He hit him with a hard right hand. As Jazik came up off the table, Mitchell hit him with another right, not as solid as the first one. Jazik took it and came at him again. Mitchell feinted with the right this time, threw a left as hard as he had ever thrown one, and saw the men near Jazik jumping out of the way as Jazik hit the cafeteria table and carried it back with him five or six feet before the table turned over and he went down with it to sit on the floor.
Mitchell waited, to see if Jazik was going to get up or if anyone had anything to say. The first- and second-shift men there looked at Jazik and then at him, but nobody said a word.
"Somebody show him out," Mitchell said finally. He turned and walked away. They watched him head back through the plant toward his office.
Janet was straightening his desk. She looked up, surprised, as he came in. "I thought you'd left."
"Get me-what's his name?" Mitchell said. "The guy that's president of one-ninety-nine."
"Isn't it Donnelly?"
"Yeah, Charlie Donnelly. Get him for me, will you?"
Janet dialed the number, asked for Mr. Donnelly, said who was calling and handed the phone to Mitchell. He didn't sit down. He stood by his desk waiting, watching Janet go out of the office and close the door.
"Charlie? Harry Mitchell over at Ranco… Fine…Yeah, I know, in about a week, ten days. I'm looking forward to seeing you, Charlie, and I mean you, because I'll tell you right now I'm not going to negotiate with that stiff you assigned to us-Jazik. The son of a bitch walks in my plant-a sign says authorized personnel only-he walks in starts talking to my employees. A week ago he grabs me in the hall, threatens me with a slowdown… I didn't think you did… Right, so why should I have to take that kind of shit? Charlie, the guy's living back in the thirties. Where'd you get him anyway?" Mitchell paused for about a minute, listening. He said then, "If you got a maverick, you teach him. I'm not going to break the son of a bitch in for you, I'll break his goddamn neck first. I'm too old for that kind of bullshit. I've been there, Charlie, so have you. We don't need it. We can sit down and talk, right? Twelve years neither of us has ever raised our voice. You give me the contract, we change a few lines and sign it. What'd you send me this clown for? We could do it over a diet lunch." He waited again, listening, beginning to calm down. "Yes, that's fine. Listen, I'm sorry if I blew up. I got a few things on my mind, I don't need any-" He paused again, patient, letting the union president explain again how they liked the guy's enthusiasm, but he was new and maybe they'd have to sit on him for a while or send him to charm school. Everything was going to be all right. Mitchell would never see the guy again, or at least not for a year or so, if the guy learned anything and was still around. That was good enough. They took another minute getting to good-bye, see you soon, and Mitchell hung up the phone.
Going through the outer office he said to Janet, "I'll try it again. See if I can get out of this place."
13
Peggy was the only one in the lobby when Mitchell walked in. She had her coat on, ready to leave.
"You quitting already? It's only five-thirty."
"I've taken my clothes off eleven times," the girl said, "and put them back on again. That's enough for one day."
"Where is everybody?"
"You mean Doreen?"
"Well, now that you mention it."
"I don't know. I haven't seen her."
"How about the other girls?"
"Sickies. Leo lets you call in sick once a month."
"Is he here?"
"In back." She moved past him to the door. "If you see him, tell him I left."
"Yeah, maybe I'll stick my head in, say hello."
She took a moment to look at him again as she opened the door. "You don't have anything better to do?"
"Tell you the truth," Mitchell said, "not that I can think of." He felt dumb standing there waiting for her to leave.