Memories Of Another Day Part 39

Murray laughed with him. ''If it were the money you wanted, you could have taken that job with the LA. But I knew better."

Chapter 18.

The office a.s.signed to him was small, with just enough room for his desk and two chairs, one behind it and one in front. In the comer of the room was a small coatrack. The walls, painted white, were bare. But he did have one window, and if it had not been for that he might have gone completely mad in his first week.

Frustration was the game. He began telephoning all the subregional offices to align his contacts with the local organizers. They were friendly enough, but not about to relinquish any of their power or authority to anyone without specific instruction, and they had received no communication as yet from the central office as to his position. He had placed innumerable calls to McDonald in Pittsburgh, but had never reached him. Each time, he was a.s.sured by the secretary that McDonald would return his call, but at the end of the week, he accepted the fact that it was not about to happen.

The papers on Friday afternoon played up Murray's press conference in Washington. The phrase ''Unholy Alliance'' caught on. It was jingoistic journalese. The newspapers loved it. Even Gabriel Heatter used it on his national evening radio newscast. Daniel picked up the telephone and called Murray in Washington.

He felt a minor surprise when Murray came to the phone. "Congratulations," Daniel said. "The press conference went down well. The newspapers here gave it a big play."

Murray was obviously pleased. "Good. I think we're beginning to make some headway. Public opinion is beginning to move our way. How are you doing?"

"Going crazy," Daniel said shortly. "Fm not doing anything. Fm being locked out."

"I don't understand." Murray sounded genuinely puzzled. "You talk to Dave?"

"Can't get him on the phone. And the subregionals haven't been officially notified as to my position. Fm out here in left field with nothing coming my way."

"FU talk to him," Murray said.

"I don't want to make things difficult for you," Daniel said. "You have enough on your mind. Maybe it would be better if I moved on."

"No." Murray's voice was emphatic. "Stay with it. FU get it straightened out."

"You don't owe me anything," Daniel said. "Besides, I have the feeling I should be back in California with my kid. Bad enough he has no mother; he shouldn't be without a father too."

"Give me until the end of the month," Murray said. "If we can't straighten it out by then, you can go where you want."

."Fair enough," Daniel said. He put down the telephone and took the bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk. He poured himself a drink and turned to the window and stared out while sipping his drink. Rain and dusk were falling on Chicago, and as he watched the buildings disappear and the lights come on, he began to feel closed in and trapped.

He got to his feet and threw open his office door. To his surprise, the big office was empty except for one lone girl huddled over her typewriter at the far end of the room. He glanced at his watch. Five o'clock.

Times had changed. It hadn't been so long ago that union workers never went home. After hours they would sit around talking about what they were doing and what they hoped to achieve. But now it was Hke any other business. Five o'clock and everyone went home.

Holding the drink in his hand, he walked dowa the room to the girl. She looked up as she heard his footsteps. ''What are you doing?" he asked.

''Mr. Gerard wants this report on his desk when he comes in first thing Monday morning," she answered.

"Mr. Gerard?" It was a new name to him. "What department is that?"

"Legal," she said.

"What's your name?"

"Nancy."

"Nancy, do you like working for a union?"

She glanced down at her typewriter. "It's a job."

"Why the union?" he asked. "Do you feel you're making a contribution to the labor movement and the betterment of working conditions?"

"I don't know anything about that," she said. "I answered an ad in the paper, even though they were only paying fifteen dollars a week."

"Is that a fair salary for your job?"

"Most places pay about nineteen a week for the same job," she answered. "But there aren't any other jobs."

"Maybe what you need is a union," he said, grinning. He finished his drink. "Want a drink, Nancy?"

She shook her head. "No, thanks. I have to finish this."

"Okay," he said, and started back to his office.

Her voice stopped him. "Mr. Huggins." He turned to look at her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Ever since they put your name on the door and you moved in, everybody's been wondering exactly what is it you do and what department you're with.

You're kind of a mystery man around here." He laughed. ''Ever hear of the limbo department?" ''Limbo?" she was puzzled. "I don't think I have." "That's where I'm at," he said, and went back to his office and closed the door.

It was still drizzling when he left the office and walked to the parking lot for his car. He started the engine and switched on the headlights, then sat there with the motor running. The idea of going back to his empty apartment didn't attract him at all. He had read all the papers to come out that day, and the prospect of sitting alone with a bottle of whiskey, listening to the radio, wasn't his idea of spending an evening. He thought about going to the movies, but that too was empty and offered no real escape from his restlessness.

Impulsively he drove down into South Chicago, to a bar near the Republic Steel mill, which he had helped organize. The bar was crowded with men, steelworkers, who had spent the best part of their day on the rainy picket line. Against the wall, neatly stacked, were their picket signs. REPUBLIC STEEL ON STRIKE! FOR A LIVING WAGE, GO C.I.O.! Some were printed, but there were many that had been hand-lettered by the men themselves.

He pushed his way up to the bar and ordered a double whiskey. While waiting for the drink, he glanced down the bar. There were maybe two whiskey shot gla.s.ses in a field of beer gla.s.ses. The strike had already made changes in the workers' drinking habits. Steel workers drank whiskey. Beer was usually nothing but a chaser.

The bartender put the whiskey in front of him and picked up the dollar bill. He put the quarter change on the bar as Daniel raised his gla.s.s. Daniel took his drink and was about to walk back to a booth at the side of the room when a voice called from the end of the bar. ^^HeylBigDan!"

He recognized the man, a grizzled veteran of many years in the mill, one of the first to join the union. '^How're y'doin Sandy?"

Sandy picked up his beer and worked his way up the bar to him, ''Okay, Big Dan," he said. ''I didn't expect to see you down here again."

''Why not?" Daniel asked.

"We heard you went out to California."

"I did. But I've been back more than a week now."

"You haven't been down to the union office." He was referring to the subregional office.

"They've been keeping me back at headquarters in Chicago," Daniel said. "They gave me a new job."

"There's been talk about that too," Sandy said dourly.

Daniel looked at him. "I didn't know that people were so interested in me. What other talk did you hear?"

Sandy was embarra.s.sed. "Things."

"Give me another whiskey," Daniel said to the bartender. When he got the drink, he took the two gla.s.ses in his hand. "C'mon, Sandy, let's sit down."

The steelworker followed him to a booth and sat down opposite him. Daniel pushed the other gla.s.s of whiskey toward him. "Cheers." They drank. "We've been friends, Sandy," he said. "You can tell me what they've been talking about."

Sandy stared into his gla.s.s, then looked up at him. "Mind you, I didn't believe what they were saying."

Daniel was silent.

Sandy took another sip of his drink. "They said you were against the strike an' that you were very cozy with someone in the Girdler family. And because of that, they're keeping you in headquarters."

Daniel nodded toward the men at the bar. "What do they think?"

Sandy's voice was contemptuous. ''Hunkies, Swedes and n.i.g.g.e.rs. They don't know how to think. They beheve what they're told."

''And they're told that I'm not to be trusted?"

It was Sandy's turn to be silent, Daniel gestured for refills. When the drinks came, he swallowed another shot. ''How does it look from the line?" he asked. "The mill shut down?"

"Not completely. It's running at about forty percent. A lot of men were afraid to come out after Girdler said that no striker would ever be rehired." He took a sip from his gla.s.s. "How does it look from headquarters?"

"I spoke to Murray today," Daniel answered. "He feels it's beginning to swing our way. He's counting on the demonstrations across the country on Memorial Day to really bring public pressure on the steel companies to settle."

Sandy nodded. "We got a big meeting scheduled for that day. All of us out of the Republic mill will be there. We expect a turnout of maybe three hundred people over at Sam's Place."

"That's the big meeting hall we used before?"

Sandy nodded and lifted his gla.s.s. "I'd feel better if you were back here with us."

"So would I," Daniel said.

"This guy Davis they sent down to replace you. He's a bookkeeper type. College man. I don't think he ever swung a shovel in his life." Sandy finished his drink. "I know he's supposed to be good. He says all the right things. But I have the feeling that they're all things he learned in school somewhere. Do you think there's a chance they might send you back?"

Daniel got to his feet. "I don't know," he said heavily. "I really don't know what they're going to do." He held out his hand. "Good luck."

"Good luck to you too," Sandy said.

Daniel crossed the street in the rain to his car and opened the door. Three men appeared from the shad- ows of a building and came toward him. Daniel felt the hairs on the back of his neck tighten.

They stopped a few feet from him. ''Big Dan?"

''Yes," he said.

"Don't come back here," one of them said. "We don't like finks or stoolies."

"I'm still a member in good standing," Daniel said. "And my job says I can go where I want."

"We don't give a s.h.i.t," the man said. "You're a f.u.c.king spy who sold us out for a piece of Girdler p.u.s.s.y. We don't need p.r.i.c.ks like you around."

They began to move toward him. Daniel slipped his gun from the shoulder holster. "Stop right there," he said quietly. "Unless you'd like to get your b.a.l.l.s blown off."

The men froze, staring at him.

"Now go back across the street to the other side," he said. "And don't do anything you might be sorry for."

He watched the men cross the street, and as they went up onto the sidewalk, he got into the car and started the engine.

They turned as they heard the motor and ran out into the street after him as he drove off. He heard them shouting. "Fink! c.u.n.tlapper!" Then he turned the comer and he could hear no more.

The steel mill was on the road home. He drove past it slowly. The night picket line was only a few men marching forlornly in the rain. Behind the gates were the uniformed guards, smart and dry in their rainproof^ slickers. He counted at least twenty guards to the four men on the picket line. He turned at the next comer and drove back to Chicago.

He was about to insert the key in his apartment door, but it swung open even before he touched it. He pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside, his gun again in his hand.

Chris's voice came from the kitchen. "Where the, h.e.l.l have you been, Daniel? I've been trying to keep this dinner warm for you for almost three hours."

naked. "You don't have a robe, and I didn't bring one with me."

He laughed. She was right. He had never owned a bathrobe, nor a pair of pajamas. If he slept in anything, it was his B.V.D.'s. '*Take one of my shirts."

The shirt fell to her knees. ''I feel ridiculous."

"Better than catching cold." He poured another drink.''Want one?"

She shook her head and waited until he swallowed the whiskey. "What is it, Daniel? I've never seen you like this."

"It's like I suddenly became the invisible man," he said.

"Is it the new job?" she asked.

He stared at her. "You know about it?"

"Yes, of course."

"How did you find out about it?"

"The same way I found out where you were Uving. From the confidential files in my Uncle Tom's office."

"They know things like that?"

"They keep a record on everything and everybody," she said.

"He knows about us?"