The Company Man

by Robert Jackson Bennett

  He walked to Evans’s office and opened the door and entered. The ancient secretary looked up and peered at him and said, “You.”

  “Yes,” said Hayes as he walked over to her.

  “You’re early. For once.”

  “Well, yes. Broken clock, twice a day and all.”

  “Hm,” she said, rechecking the book. “Well. Go sit down. Along the wall. As usual.”

  “As usual,” Hayes echoed, and took a seat. After a while he leaned back. His eyelids became leaden and his head grew warm and stuffy. He shut his eyes and sleep took him, warm and comforting. Old dreams swam up in his mind: dark stone passageways and doors and ceilings made of bars, and a haggard voice in the darkness begging for a cigarette or a drink of water, whichever one they might have, just please, give it to me, please…

  He awoke to the sound of someone coughing politely. He opened his eyes and returned to the waiting room, yet he saw that now there was a girl sitting in one of the chairs along the wall with him, young but not too young, thin and tall with brown-red hair. She was dressed severely, almost in a nun’s habit, and she was watching him curiously.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Was I snoring?”

  “Muttering, actually,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, again. Doubt if many people sleep in waiting rooms.”

  “Not many, I should think,” she said. She frowned at him. “Are you all right? You look very off-color. And you were sweating in your sleep.”

  “Really?” Hayes said. He examined his hands.

  “Also, you have something on your knee.”

  Hayes pulled the leg of his trousers up and saw a chalky white residue on one of the knees. He guessed it was probably pigeon shit, no doubt collected when he had knelt in the middle of the street to retch up. He frowned and licked a finger and began to rub it off.

  “Here,” said the girl, taking a handkerchief from her purse. “Use this.”

  “That’s really not necessary, thanks.”

  “No, take it. They gave me far too many when I first signed on.”

  Hayes took the cloth and saw the company insignia in the corner, an imperial M. “Very nice,” he said. “I didn’t get any handkerchiefs when I joined on.”

  “Oh,” she said. She thought and then reached for her purse. “Would you like some, then? As I said, I have enough.”

  “No,” said Hayes. “I think I’m fine with just one.” He tried to gouge out what was left of the pigeon shit. Then he shook out the handkerchief and folded it and stuffed it into his front breast pocket. “Thank you,” he said again.

  “No, it’s nothing,” she said. Then she smiled politely and turned away. Hayes noticed she had an English accent, not unlike his, and what little of her skin he could see was burned smoothly brown. A sculpted drape of brown-red ringlets flowed down from the brim of her hat and across her brow before marshalling itself into a stern bun in the back. She held herself alertly, head fixed in the direction of Evans’s door and the secretary beyond as though she was waiting for the next command, matronly and militant all at once. The pose was painfully overeager on a girl as young as she was.

  “Did you just get in this week?” Hayes asked.

  She turned to him, surprised. “Well, yes, actually. How did you know?”

  “Just a hunch. That and Jim in there often interviews brand-new assistants for Security positions.” He began rolling a cigarette. “Would that be right?”

  She crossed her legs and respectfully looked away. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’m at liberty to discuss that.”

  Hayes smirked. “I see. Well, you’ve got our stock response down. You’ll be a natural at conversation, won’t you?”

  “Perhaps. That would bring this one to a rather abrupt end, wouldn’t it?”

  Hayes’s smirk grew to a grin. “You know, you sound like me,” he said, undeterred. “Like another wayward child of Her Majesty’s kingdom. Where are you from?”

  She looked at him, sizing him up and considering all the little wrinkles and stains that decorated his shirt. She eventually sighed a little and said, “Devonshire. Originally. But all over, really.”

  “Where would all over be, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Cairo, to be specific.”

  “Really? I’ve been there once or twice, believe it or not.”

  “Oh, really?” she asked, half-interested. “When?”

  “Long ago. Long, long ago, when you were a mere babe, I’m sure. What’s the change like, coming from there to here? I can’t imagine the shock.”

  “It’s quite something,” she said glibly.

  “Quite something? Ah, there it is,” he said, smiling wider. “There’s that magnificent English talent for understatement. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” He began to laugh, but the first few chuckles were cut short as something caught in his lungs. He snapped forward, hacking and choking and trying to ride out the deep, rattling coughs that started in the roots of his lungs and then ran up through the whole of his body. For a moment he thought he might vomit again, but then to his surprise the young girl stood up, sat down beside him, and then grabbed the back of his collar and pulled him upright. Before he could slide out of his chair she steadied the small of his back with her other hand, holding him still until air finally found its way into his chest again. He turned to look at her, wheezing.

  “Air wants to go up and out,” she said. “That is, if you don’t want to choke yourself. You’re a smoker, aren’t you? I’d know that cough anywhere.”

  He nodded but could not speak, as he was still short of breath. She let go of him, then stood and smoothed down her skirt. “Well, it’s a dirty habit. I know no one else thinks so, but it is.” She gave him an appraising look. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

  “I take damn fine care of myself,” he said. He readjusted his collar.

  “Maybe so,” she said. “But the bags under your eyes and the tremor in your hands say otherwise.”

  “What are you, a doctor?”

  “Oh, no,” she said, retaking her seat. “Just an assistant. But remember, sir, for the future: up, and out.”

  They both looked up as the doors opened and Evans came out of his office. He wandered over to the secretary to share a quiet word. As he turned he spotted Hayes and stopped where he was. Then he forced a smile onto his face and said, “Cyril. My boy, good to see you. So good to see you. Why don’t you go in and have a seat? I’ll be in shortly.”

  “Fine,” said Hayes, and got up. As he left he glanced over his shoulder at the young girl. She was watching him, half-bemused, half-pitying. Then Evans closed the door behind him and he was alone.

  Evans’s office was far too large for one man. He often joked he had purchased his desk just to fill up space. Indeed, the desk was by far the largest object in the room, a massive medieval thing with all sorts of stern engravings crawling along its corners. A bookcase faced it on either end, both pitifully small, with four small paintings desperately trying to fill the rest of the wall space of the office. A tiny potted plant drooped in the corner, perhaps sent there as punishment. Through the windows at the far end one could see the rooftops of Evesden fall away like ugly dominoes.

  Hayes sat down in one of the chairs before Evans’s desk. The room was silent except for the click of the clock on the wall. The quiet seemed to stretch on forever.

  He rolled and lit another cigarette to pass the time. The match trembled in his hands, its flame dancing around the end of the cigarette. He took a frantic drag and shook the match out and tried to calm his fingers. They would not obey, so he stuffed his hands under his legs and waited for the warmth to soak into them.

  Hayes knew Garvey and that awful girl out front had been only partially right: the opium and exhaustion were definitely contributors to his shakes, but they weren’t the main cause. No, the strange quakes in his hands had started the moment he’d read the telegram early that morning and realized Evans might be ca
lling him in to fire him for good.

  He drooped in his chair as he thought about it, chest still crackling with breath. He had never exactly loved his job, but he had little else. He could not imagine what he would do, what could be done, if he had no work to fill his days.

  The doors snapped open. Evans walked in, turned and carefully shut them, and then walked to his desk, never glancing at Hayes as he went. He was a plump little man, only slightly taller than Hayes, with wire-framed glasses and a graying mustache and a glaringly bald head. People often thought of him as an elderly uncle, forever confused by how this strange new world worked. Hayes was more fond of him than he’d ever admit, but he knew this wasn’t far off the mark. Evans had never really been cut out for this kind of work. He detested any hint of conflict, and often relegated any unpleasant duties to his small army of secretaries, whom he looked upon as his daughters regardless of their age. He was usually content to wander the upper floors, distributing duties with a vague, satisfied smile on his face before returning to the shelter of his enormous desk and evading meetings.

  “You’re early,” said Evans as he sat.

  Hayes nodded.

  “That’s unusual,” said Evans.

  “Well. Had to get up early.”

  “Oh? Why was that, I wonder?”

  “There was a body, actually,” said Hayes. “One of Garvey’s.”

  “Why did he need you for that?” Evans asked.

  “He thought it was one of ours.”

  “And was it?”

  Hayes shrugged.

  “Hm,” said Evans, then cocked his head and thought.

  “I’ve dried out,” Hayes said eagerly. “Haven’t had a drop. Not in a month or two.”

  Evans raised his eyebrows. “A month? Really?”

  “Thereabout, yeah.”

  Evans studied Hayes’s face and clothes and watched him rock back and forth in his chair like a toy. “You don’t look well, though,” he said, concerned.

  “I keep hearing that. It’s just the cold and the damp. It’s murdering me.”

  “You aren’t sick from… from not drinking?”

  “That couldn’t last. Not for a month. See?”

  Evans sighed. “I suppose. I have been worried about you, Cyril. I admit it was a pretty curt way to end the affair.”

  “Curt?” said Hayes. He laughed harshly. “I remember the telegram very clearly. ‘Abandon, stop. Return to your place of residence, stop. Await further orders, stop. Do not attempt contact, stop.’ Wasn’t quite poetry.”

  “No,” Evans said. “But you had made a mess of it. A very big mess indeed.”

  Hayes lowered his head a little. “I… I know.”

  “Do you? The man’s suing us, you know. For his injuries.”

  “Even though they were… self-inflicted?”

  “Yes. Since now he knows how desperately we’d like to keep his dirty little trading a secret. That was the problem, you know. How public it was. We told you to look into him quietly.”

  “Yes.”

  “Very quietly,” he said sternly. “You’re supposed to be a scalpel, not a shotgun.”

  “But we never know what they’ll do,” Hayes said. “When you lay out all their wrongs in front of them, you never know which way they’ll jump. I certainly didn’t think he’d… that he’d jump out a fucking window.”

  “But we have you exactly because you’re supposed to know things like that,” said Evans, showing a rare flash of anger. “And we stressed beforehand, very clearly, use your kid gloves. This one is a public man, we said. He’s got family. He’s connected. Make sure this is all discreet. But you weren’t. You, drunk as a lord, grilled him like he was a war criminal. And he fell to pieces. And now you’ve cost us money and reputation. That was only the most recent in a string of sloppy jobs. So you understand that we’d be perfectly justified in dropping you. Correct?”

  Hayes screwed up his mouth and kept his eyes fixed on the carpet at his feet. Then he nodded.

  “Good,” said Evans. “But you’re not fired. I want you to know that.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No. You’re not. Not yet, at least. We’re keeping you, Hayes. We need you. Now, especially. We called you in to let you know there’s a way back. Back into the fold.” Evans pulled his coat off the back of his chair and settled it about his shoulders. He might have been the one person who detested the cold climate even more than Hayes. Then he pulled out a small pipe and suckled at it thoughtfully before saying, “Today, with Garvey. What did you talk about?”

  “The murder he caught, mostly.”

  “Besides that.”

  “Well, the unions, of course. The Department’s been told to prioritize. He said he heard it was Brightly who gave the order. Any truth to that?”

  Evans smiled wryly. “I’m sure you know I can’t say.”

  “Can’t saying is often a yes.”

  “Forget that. What did he have to say about the unions? Besides prioritizing?”

  “Well. He mentioned a few cases. Three of them.”

  “What sort of cases?” Evans asked quickly.

  “Murder cases. Would that be it?”

  “Yes. Yes, it’s about those. What did he say about them?”

  “They were murders, like I said. Union murders. Two lefties and a buster. One at the docks. Another at the vagrants’ cemetery. He was junking them. Didn’t want them. They’d make the Department look bad, I’m sure.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because there was no filing them. Solving them, I mean,” he added, seeing Evans’s confusion. “He was tossing them out.”

  Evans let out a breath. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes, good.”

  “And why’s that?”

  Evans shifted awkwardly in his chair. “It would be best if the police left that particular matter alone.”

  “Why? What’s going on with them? Why don’t you care?”

  “Oh, quite the opposite. We care. We care a great deal. You see, Cyril, we’re all very worried about this… this union business.”

  “Oh, are you,” said Hayes dryly.

  “Yes. You may have heard that it’s going to be violent. Well, that’s wrong. It already is. We just wanted to be well informed. About the violence, at least.”

  Hayes suddenly looked at Evans, studying his face. The old man took off his glasses and looked away, disturbed by the scrutiny. Then Hayes’s eyes lit up as if he’d been teasing at some hanging thread in his mind until the knot finally unraveled. “Which one was ours?” asked Hayes softly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Which one? Which of the union men was ours? The one at the docks or the one at Potter’s Field?”

  Evans shuddered and kept his eyes averted from Hayes. He sucked on his lip for a moment and said, “The docks.”

  “Right,” said Hayes, voice still soft. “Right.”

  “Lord, I hate it when you do that.”

  “This is pretty cloak-and-dagger stuff, Jim. Running turncoats? How bad is the union situation getting?”

  “Very bad. At first it was just a rumor. Something minor we needed to weed out. Now it’s become… Well. It’s become something akin to war. One of our most important and productive factories is just south of here. It manufactures some of the most delicate parts necessary for creating the frame for the engines of our airships. Recently there was an altercation.”

  “An altercation?”

  “Yes. Specifically, someone tried to blow up one section of the manufacturing lines.”

  Hayes whistled lowly.

  “Yes,” said Evans. “Without that particular segment of manufacturing the entire factory would have been crippled. Do you know how much revenue that factory outputs a day?”

  “I don’t know. Some absurd number.”

  “Three million dollars.”

  “All right.”

  “It didn’t work, naturally. If it had, well, word would have gotten
out. No, the saboteurs mishandled the dynamite and it wound up going off in one of the entryways. We think he tripped and fell and blew himself up, honestly.”

  Hayes grinned. “How come this wasn’t in the papers?”

  “Because we didn’t want it to be,” said Evans simply.

  “So that’s when you decided to send some feelers into the union men.”

  “Brightly did, yes. And it didn’t work well at all. I don’t know how they found our man out but, well. You get the idea.”

  “And now you want me to work the unions for you.”

  “Yes. Yes. They’ve wormed their way in, God knows how deep. I need you, Cyril,” he said. “Brightly needs you. We need your magic.”

  Hayes looked at him darkly. “It’s not magic.”

  “It is to me,” said Evans. “This is your way back, Cyril. All sins forgiven, after this. Everything forgotten. Are you willing?”

  “You know I am, Jim.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Hayes nodded, eyes half-shut.

  “Good.” Evans shuffled the papers around on his desk more. They never seemed to go anywhere specific. “We do think the heart of the movement is here. Here, in the city, probably to the south, where most of our local plants are. Do you know how many major facilities there are in this region?”

  “Eleven, if memory serves,” said Hayes.

  “Yes, that’s right. More than any other city or state or even country in the world, and we do our most delicate work here. So this is where we need to be protected. But again, this is all relatively new to us. You can spearhead this for us, Cyril. Find something to work with and we’ll put everything we’ve got behind you. And that’s a lot. We’re invested in you now.”

  “I feel tremendously valuable, yes,” said Hayes. He stood and examined the bookcases. “All right. I’ll run the usual rounds throughout this week. See what I can dig up, see where we want me to head. Probably can find some bar or name or something. Poor, hungry boys banding together, it sounds like gangs or clans or such. They probably have a name they like to trumpet. It shouldn’t be hard.”

  “Right, but, Cyril… we’re keeping you closer than that,” said Evans slowly.