She began sobbing quietly then.
Another Friday rolled around.
And another head rolled…
Friday had become a dreaded day. Six men had been dropped from the Lasting Department on the Friday before, and two from Heeling on the Friday before that, and no one could forget the initial Friday firing in the IBM Room. Griff had been aware of the firings, of course, but he had been aware of them in a curiously detached way. After the IBM Room axing, the rest did not really concern him too much. Six men from Lasting. Six nameless, faceless men. What did they have to do with Raymond Griffin? Two men from Heeling, two names dropped from the payroll, two men he probably didn’t even know. It was all very far away and alien, and, whereas the firings made him vaguely uncomfortable, he more or less discounted them in favor of some of the things that had struck closer to home — like the hosing he’d witnessed in the Cutting Room, or the inquisition of Maria Theresa Diaz in Manelli’s office.
But the firing on that Friday of March 26 struck very close to home, very close to home indeed.
When Griff had been in the Army, he had always felt guilty when a-soldier standing beside him took a bullet between the eyes. He had always felt guilty, but he had also felt relieved. Since his discharge, he had read many fictional accounts of the war, and each account never failed to relate this strangely mixed feeling of guilt and relief, guilt because a buddy had been killed, relief because you yourself were still alive. He had accepted it as a statement of fact. He had experienced it, and apparently a good many other people had experienced it, too.
He did not feel any relief at all when Danny Quinn was fired.
He met Danny down at the lunch counter, and for some strange reason the twinkle in Danny’s eye seemed to have been extinguished.
“What’s the matter?” he asked immediately.
“Nothing,” Danny said. He attempted a smile, and then he limped closer to the counter and picked up his coffee cup.
“Come on, pal,” Griff said, “don’t snow me. You been getting some static?”
“I guess,” Danny said. He seemed very troubled. There was a pained look in his eyes, as if even talking were excruciatingly unbearable.
“What is it, Danny?” Griff asked blankly.
“I’ve been canned.”
For a moment, it didn’t register. “What do you mean, canned?”
“Fired.” Danny turned his head away. “It’s nothing to get excited about, Griff. People get fired every day, especially at Julien Kahn. I’ve just been canned, that’s all. Fired, axed, let go, dismissed, discharged, disemployed, laid off, cast off, thrown aside, kicked out, oh, Christ!”
“Are you kidding me, Danny?”
“No, I’m not kidding you.”
“When’d you find out?”
“About ten minutes ago. Manelli. Griff, what am I gonna do? What the hell am I ever gonna do? How can I tell Ellen I’ve lost my job? With her the way she is now, Griff? Oh, Jesus, I feel like bawling. I wish I was a kid, Griff. I’d lay down on the floor and bawl my ass out.”
“I’m going to see Manelli,” Griff said.
“What good will that do?” Danny sighed heavily. He seemed actually on the verge of tears. It was painful to look at him. “Listen, Griff, forget it,” he said. He bit his lip. “I’ll find something else. What the hell, I’ve got to find something else.”
“I’ll see you later,” Griff said. “I’m going to talk to Manelli. That son of a bitch has gone too far this time.”
He left Danny standing disconsolately at the counter, and he took the elevator up to the ninth floor and then walked straight to Manelli’s office. Cara must have been powdering her nose, for a girl he had never seen was sitting in for her at the reception desk.
“Is Joe in?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll buzz him. Who shall I say is—”
“Never mind,” he snapped. He walked past the desk and then threw open the door to Manelli’s office. Manelli was signing something at his desk. He looked up, surprised, and started to say, “Well, Griff, to what do I owe—”
“Is it true you fired Danny Quinn?”
Manelli stared at him as if he were a maniac. “Yes. Yes, I did,” he said.
“Why?”
There was something about the way he said that single word that ruffled the comptroller feathers of J. Manelli. He put on his crown, picked up his scepter, and said, “Now, just a moment, Griff. Just a—”
“I’m asking you why you fired Danny Quinn,” Griff said coldly. “I’d like to know why. I damn well would like to know why.”
“I don’t see as it’s any of your business, Griff,” Manelli said curtly.
Griff recognized the crown and scepter, but they didn’t matter much to him now. “I’m making it my business,” he said recklessly. “Are you going to tell me why?”
“He was dead weight,” Manelli said, sighing.
“Dead weight, my foot! He does as much work as Magruder, if not more. Are you trying to tell me—”
“He does not. We’ve no need for a two-man Credit Department,” Manelli said hastily. “We’ve got less than a thousand accounts, big accounts, true, but Danny was handling only four hundred of them, and Magruder can throw those four hundred into his pile just as well. Griff, that job in Credit was manufactured for him, you know that as well as I do. It was invented, Griff, and we can’t afford paying a man for a useless—”
“Shut up!” Griff said angrily.
“What?” Manelli asked, his eyes popping wide.
“I said shut up! Where’d you get all this garbage from? You know goddam well the job wasn’t invented for Danny. He replaced Alberghetti who was shifted over to Sales. There was a legitimate opening in Credit, and Magruder filled it with Danny. Joe, I’ve been working at this factory for a goddam long time now, so don’t give me any crap about invented jobs. I know exactly which jobs were invented, and Danny’s wasn’t, and you know that as—”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking to me,” Manelli said. “I don’t like it a bit. I don’t think—”
“Do you know Danny’s wife is pregnant?”
Manelli’s words ended in a short gasp.
“Do you know how much trouble he had finding a job at all? God damn it, do you think he’s going to step into some other firm the second he walks out of here? What the hell’s wrong with you anyway, Joe? Can’t you let a week go by without throwing someone out into the gutter? What the hell—”
“Griff,” Manelli said, raising his hand. There was something of cowed surrender in the gesture, something almost pathetic. Griff stared at Manelli, his anger subsiding.
“Call his office,” he said softly. “Tell him it was a mistake, Joe. Go ahead.”
Manelli turned his head, avoiding Griff’s eyes. “I… I can’t,” he said.
“Why not? Why not, Joe?”
“I just can’t. I… I had no idea his wife… Griff, I had no idea. Griff, am I bad guy? You know I’m not a bad guy, don’t you? You’ve known me for a long time now, Griff, and have I ever hurt anyone? Would I ever hurt anyone, Griff? Griff, am I a bad guy?” He would not bring his eyes to Griff’s face.
“Joe,” Griff said, “you’re a goddam jewel if that’s the way you want it, but give Danny back his job. Call him and tell him you made a mistake.”
“No,” Manelli said weakly. He shook his head. “No. I… I can’t. Can’t.”
“Joe—”
“I can’t!” Manelli screamed. “God damn it, Griff, I can’t! Do you think I want to wind up in the street, too? Griff, he’s fired, he’s fired, leave it at that. I can’t change things, Griff. Things are the way they are, and I can’t change them, not me, not me, Griff. Griff, try to understand that. I had to… he’s fired, that’s all. Forget it. Leave me alone, just leave me alone and forget Danny Quinn.”