Griff said nothing. He nodded noncommittally.
“And don’t think Titanic isn’t taking the worker into consideration. The workers are the strength of any company, Griff. Without the workers, Management can whistle a pretty tune and it’ll get them nowhere. Workers are power. Power. It’s a question of channeling that power so that it will do the most good for… for the company. Titanic started with a well-organized company putting out a damned cheap line of playshoes. They retailed for a dollar and a quarter, so you can imagine what they cost us. But the company was well organized and well handled. It made money, and it began expanding. A few small companies at first, a few companies that put out shoes going for five dollars, let’s say, or six dollars. And then a few men’s-shoe companies, and then a few more, growing all the time, getting stronger and stronger, so that people who used to laugh at the name ‘Titanic’ when it applied to a cracker-box flea-bitten little outfit don’t laugh any more. They don’t laugh because they know we’re strong, and they know we’re getting stronger all the time. Well, see for yourself. We’ve got a toehold in the fashion shoe industry now, and that’s just the beginning. But what I was starting to say is that we don’t believe in making our workers unhappy. You’ll begin to see some radical changes around here in a very short while, and all before we’ve really started to realize any profit from the merger.”
“What kind of changes?” Griff asked curiously.
“Changes in the factory, and also in the ninth-floor offices. The toilets in the factory are like pigsties, you know that, don’t you? And the lockers are relics of the Civil War. We’ll be getting cleaner, better facilities. And we’ll be putting in better windows, and better lighting, fluorescent lighting, and we’ll be putting in new safety factors and sanitation measures. You won’t recognize this place in six months, I can guarantee you that. And look at your own office! For God’s sake, is that an office for a talented Cost executive? The hell you say! You’ll be getting a good desk, and new filing cabinets, and rugs on the floor. What the hell, Griff, this is where you live, isn’t it? Look at all the time you spend here. If you’re going to be happy, you’ve got to have happy surroundings.”
“I suppose so,” Griff said, toying with the idea of a new desk and rugs on the floor.
“But that’s why we can’t allow anything like theft to go on under our noses. We lost twelve dollars on that pair of shoes, we also lose twelve dollars that could have gone toward a new lighting fixture. I think that’s a reasonable enough attitude, don’t you?”
“If you want to hire policemen,” Griff said. “Stealing, Mac, is something that goes on no matter what you—”
“No, that’s not true. Stealing does not have to be. And it won’t be. Stealing is only profitable when it goes ignored. We’re damn well not going to ignore it, and people who are suddenly without jobs are going to realize it’s not worth the risk. You can’t spread butter on a pair of shoes, Griff, even if you got them for nothing. I’m sure Titanic doesn’t want to see any Miscellaneous Loss charges on its budget. Hell, I’m just a nobody who’s trying to get acquainted with a new phase of our operation, but I’m sure I can safely speak for Titanic on that one score. Theft is definitely out as far as the Titanic big shots are concerned.”
He heard Manelli replace the phone in its cradle, and he turned instantly.
“There are thirteen people in Packing,” Manelli said. “Eight of them are women.”
“Yes?”
“In Shipping, we’ve got ten people. Only two women there.”
“That narrows it down to ten possible suspects, doesn’t it?” McQuade said.
“You mean—” Manelli started. He stopped short and rephrased his question. “Are you going to try to find out who stole those shoes, Mac?”
“Well, of course!” McQuade said. “How the hell else are we going to put a stop to it?”
“Well…” Manelli said uncertainly, glancing at Griff.
“You don’t condone stealing, do you, Joe?”
“No, no, certainly not,” Manelli said, righteously indignant. “But isn’t production a little more important at the moment? We’re trying to work out a scheme whereby we’ll increase our production by perhaps a thousand pairs a month. When you stack that up against the loss of a twelve-dollar shoe, well, Mac, if you’ll pardon my saying so, I think we’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“You’re pardoned, Joe, but we’re not making a mountain out of a molehill. We’ve simply found a molehill, and now we’re trying to dig out the mole. Clear?”
“I see,” Manelli said.
“What other information have you got on the stolen shoes?” McQuade asked.
“If they were stolen,” Griff said.
“Oh, what else?” McQuade said happily. “What have you got, Joe?”
“Size, style number, case—”
“Size?” McQuade almost shouted. “Size! Well, for Christ’s sake, Joe, that narrows it down to almost nothing! We’ve got our crook where the hair is short!”
“It’s a 7A,” Manelli said unhappily. “That’s a belly size. We’ll probably find a lot of those.”
“In ten women? So even if five of them wear a 7A, which is highly unlikely, we’ve still got five to work with, rather than ten. Joe, this is going to be duck soup. Now here’s what I’d like you to do, if you will. Phone the supervisors in both Packing and Shipping. Tell them, oh… tell them Titanic is thinking of giving bonuses… yes, bonuses in the form of shoes to the women in those departments which show the most increase in production during the next month. Ask the supervisors to pass this on to the women in their departments and then to get the shoe size of each woman. This way, you see, the crook will have no reason for lying. Follow?”
“Yes,” Manelli said tiredly.
“Have the supervisors send up a list of the women’s names together with their shoe sizes. We want those immediately, Joe, and please don’t sound anxious on the phone, whatever you do. We don’t want the thief hiding that shoe size for fear of exposure. We want her to think she’s going to get another pair of shoes on the house. And is she going to be mistaken!”
There were three women with a shoe size of 7A in Packing and Shipping. McQuade phoned down for a pair of the Flare pattern, and then he asked the supervisors to send the women up to Manelli’s office. He asked Griff and Manelli to please stay, an invitation Griff received with some discomfort. He had watched McQuade’s preparations with baleful eye, a little leery of what was coming. He knew that the shoe size of every woman in the factory was listed on her permanent employment record — a system which facilitated the acquisition of a model whenever one was needed — but he had not volunteered the information to McQuade, unwilling to become any sort of an accomplice. McQuade seemed very happy now, as if he were ready to embark on the West Junctionville Chowder and Marching Society Picnic. McQuade was the man in charge of pickles, relishes, mustards, and catsups. He was happy as hell, and his happiness bred a contagion which gave the lie to the solemnity of the occasion.