Memories Of Another Day Part 45

She opened a large manila envelope and took out some papers, which she placed on his desk. "I told you about my father's accident. Here are all the details you asked me to get."

He picked up the papers and went through them quickly. She was thorough. Everything was in there, from the accident report to his paid-up membership card, indicating his dues were up to date. There was only one thing wrong. The local he belonged to was bankrupt. Money that was supposed to have been paid into the pension fund had disappeared along with the union's president and treasurer.

He looked up at the girl, who had been watching him intently. "There is a problem."

"They have no money," she said.

He nodded. "That's right."

"But my father said that you were the one who set up the pension plan for them and that they weren't supposed to be able to touch that money."

"That was the way it was set up," he said. "But the local itself changed it."

"How can they do that?" she asked. "If you people are responsible--"

He interrupted her. "We can only advise them. We cannot order them to do anything. We haven't the authority. We set up what we thuik is a safe, foolproof plan. If the union wants to go along with it, good. If they don't-"

''It's not fair," she said angrily. "My father said the union paid you to take care of it. You have to be responsible."

"They never paid us to administer the pension plan. We would have had they requested it, but all they wanted was our advisory services."

She looked down at the papers on the desk. "Then those things aren't even worth the paper they're printed on."

He didn't speak.

She looked up at him, tears of frustration in her eyes. "What do we do now? My father can't work, and there are two more kids at home, younger than I am. We even applied for welfare but were turned down because I'm working. But there's no way we all can live on the thirty dollars a week I make."

"What about the union? Did your father ask if they could find a watchman's job in one of the plants for him?"

"There's no one down there that can do anything," she said bitterly. "All they could tell me is that they're still trying to find out what happened after the president took off with their money."

"Let me see what I can do," he said.

She rose from her chair angrily. "You're all alike. Great when you're collecting dues, but none of you are there when it's your turn to pay."

"That's not true," he said quickly. "Most unions take their responsibilities seriously. It's unfortunate that your father belonged to one where the president was a thief."

"You're all thieves," she said. "You can't make me feel any different."

He was silent for a moment. "Getting angry won't help," he said gently. "Why don't you sit down while we try to figure something out?"

Slowly she returned to her chair, her eyes on his face. ''Do you really think you can do something?"

''I don't know," he admitted. "But we can try." He reached for the telephone. ''Let me make a few calls."

It was almost an hour later when he put down the telephone for the last time. He looked across the desk at her. "At least we have a few possibilities started. Now we'll wait and see what happens."

Her eyes met his gaze. "I apologize, Mr. Huggins. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"It's all right. I understand. You've had enough provocation." Suddenly he was tired. "If you don't hear from me by the beginning of next week, call me."

A concern suddenly came into her voice. "Are you all right, Mr. Huggins?"

"Just tired," he said wearily. "It's been a rough day."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I suppose you have lots of problems like this. I didn't mean to make it worse, but there was nowhere else for me to go."

"It's okay, Margaret," he said. He opened the bottom desk drawer. "Do you mind if I have a drink?"

She shook her head and watched as he took out the bottle and two gla.s.ses. He poured himself a shot and looked over at her. "No, thanks," she said.

He swallowed the drink, and she could see the color come back into his face. He refilled his gla.s.s. "Where do you work?"

"I'm in the typing pool at the housing agency," she said.

He took the second drink. "Good job?"

"It's okay," she said. "I'm still on temporary. But I grabbed it. It was the first thing I could get.'^ "Do you live far from work?"

"Two-hour bus ride," she said. "But it's not so bad. I get through work at four o'clock and I'm usually home in time to get dinner ready."

"What about your mother?"

"She's dead."

*'rm sorry," he said. *'Maybe Fd better let you go. Dinner will be late enough as it is."

''It's okay. I've made arrangements for a neighbor to do it."

He finished his drink and returned the bottle to his desk. He got to his feet. "My car's outside. I can drop you at the bus station."

"I can walk," she said. "The next bus doesn't leave until nine o'clock."

He looked at his watch. It was just past seven o'clock. "Would you like to have a bite of dinner with me? I'll get you to the bus in time."

She hesitated. "I've put you to too much trouble already."

"Don't be silly," he said,^ smiling. "I had nothing planned. Just an early dinner and then to bed." He reached for the telephone. His secretary answered. "Call home and tell Mamie I'm having dinner out." He saw the questioning look on her face. "Mamie's my cook."

She nodded without speaking.

"I'm not married," he said.

"I know that," she said.

"What else do you know about me?"

She was silent.

"You can tell me. I won't be angry."

She hesitated, then spoke. "My father didn't want me to see you. He said you have a lot of women."

He laughed. "What else did he say?"

"He said you would probably offer to take me to dinner,"

"He was right. That's exactly what I did. Did he say anything else?"

"He said if I went to dinner with you, I should be careful."

"Well, we haven't gone to dinner yet, so we don't know about that, do we?" He was smiling.

After a moment, she too smiled. "That's right."

"Well, you've got a chance to check that out."

She was still smiling when she met his eyes. "I'll take that chance."

*'We won't go anyplace fancy," he said. 'The restaurant across the street has good steaks."

'That sounds good to me." She got to her feet. ''Is there a ladies' room?"

"Through my secretary's office. In the hallway to the right." He watched her go through the door, then sat down and took the bottle out again. He took a quick drink. It was something about the way she walked. It was another kind of walk than the one she had used coming in. Then she had seemed like a young girl. Suddenly, she was a real woman.

''I thought they had them already."

"Only a few," the blond man answered. ''By fall, the whole schedule will be jet."

Daniel looked out the window. The car was moving rapidly toward the causeway leading to Miami Beach. There didn't seem to be much traffic. They paused for a moment at a toUbooth, then continued, beginning to pa.s.s small islands in the bay that separated the mainland from the beach. As the car approached the last few islands it began to slow down, finally turning off onto the causeway leading to one of the isl^ids.

Daniel noticed two uniformed armed guards at the foot of the ramp. They knew the car, because it went past them without slowing down. They drove past several low-built Florida homes, green rolling lawns of zoysia gra.s.s behind cropped hedges, finally turning into a private street, at the end of which was a high iron gate. The car stopped in front of the gate.

A man came out of the small gatehouse and looked at the car. A moment later, he went back into the gatehouse and the iron gate swung back. The car went through, the gate closing behind it, and around a long, rolling driveway to the house, which had been hidden from the road.

The two men got out of the car and waited for Daniel. ''Just a moment, sir," the tall man said politely. "We have to do this."

Daniel nodded silently and held out his hands while the man expertly patted him down. The tall man straightened up. "May we see your briefcase, please?"

'*It's open," Daniel said, giving it to him.

The blond man riffled through the papers quickly and checked the sides for any hidden compartments, then gave it back to Daniel. He nodded politely. "This way, please."

The house was cool and air-conditioned as Daniel followed them through the house to a room with two floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at a pool. Beyond it he could see a small pier on the bay, at which a forty-five-foot cabin cruiser was docked.

''Mr. L. will be with you in a minute," the blond man said. He gestured to a comer. ''The bar is over there. Help yourself."

"Thank you," Daniel said. The men left the room as he went to the bar. It was completely stocked with every kind of liquor one could want, pitchers of orange and tomato juice, buckets of ice, cuts of lemon peel, olives, pearl onions. Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce. Daniel was fascinated by the liquors. There were no open bottles. Every bottle was sealed and full. He took down a bottle of Old Forester, cracked the seal and poured himself a drink, adding just a touch of water from the pitcher. He sipped the drink and walked toward the window.

The view from the window was beautiful. The sky and water blending shades of blue, speedboats and sailboats lazing their way back and forth. He sipped at the drink. Good whiskey. The voice came from behind him. "Mr. Huggins."

Lansky stood there, a small man, old before his time, a Florida tan over his pallor. Daniel was shocked for a moment. They were about the same age, but Lansky seemed much older.

"Mr. Lansky." Daniel held out his hand.

Lansky's grip was light but firm. He went to the bar and poured himself a gla.s.s of orange juice. He sipped it slowly and looked at Daniel. "Florida oranges. You can't beat them. I have them squeezed fresh every hour."

Daniel nodded and followed him to a couch, then sat down opposite him. "How are you feeling, Mr. Lansky?"

"Better, but not that good." He tapped his chest "The old ticker isn't what it should be."

"You'll live to p.i.s.s on all our graves," Daniel said.

Lansky smiled wanly. *'If they don't bother me I'll be okay, but they're always pushing."

''One of the dangers of success," Daniel said.

Lansky nodded, his voice suddenly turning firm. "I heard you have big problems."

"That's right," Daniel said.

''I told you that would happen four years ago. I warned you that when the A.F.L. and C.I.O. merged, you would be out of business."

''You did."

"You should have listened to me." Lansky sounded as if he were reprimanding a recalcitrant child.

Daniel didn't answer.

"No point looking back," Lansky said. "What's the situation now?"

Quickly Daniel brought him up to date. When he had finished, Lansky nodded his head wisely. "Your idea is a good one, but Hoffa and Boyle don't really need you. Respectability don't mean a s.h.i.t to them. They're both street fighters. They're going to need some persuasion to help them make up their minds to go along with you."

"A good word from you might be all that's needed," Daniel said.

Lansky nodded. "Maybe. But you have other problems. Even if they go with you, where does the money come from? Dues alone are not enough to pay the freight."

"If they buy my plan, we'll have a good portion of their pension-fund administration and insurance."

"They won't turn it over to you completely."

"No," Daniel said. "I didn't suggest that. Only that we become coadministrators. There will be enough there for everyone to play with,"

Lansky was silent for a moment. "And where do I fit in?"

Daniel began to feel more confident. Lansky knew d.a.m.n well 1k)w he could fit in. He had insurance com- panics, banks, construction companies all under his thumb. He took his best shot. "If I have to explain that, Mr. Lansky, then I've wasted my trip down here."

Lansky was silent for a moment. *'The word is out that you're having a meeting at the White House."