The Jig of the Union Loller

by Michael Burnham

  “Thanks for a great day,” Claude said as he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked with Warren to the trunk to get his catch. “I had a good time. We’ll have to do it again sometime in the spring. Be sure to thank Ken for me the next time you see him.”

  “I will,” Warren said. “See you Monday.”

  “See you Monday.”

  Chapter 24

  Monday, Claude stopped at the line shed before heading to the stores department. As he came out the door to cross the parking lot, he saw Warren waving him to hurry up.

  I wonder what that’s about, Claude thought as he meandered over the asphalt.

  When Claude neared, Warren came up and took Claude’s arm.

  “Hey Bugsy, I need you,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “Not so loud,” Warren said. “I got the call.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I got the call, man. Feeney called me at six this morning.”

  “What for?”

  “It’s my turn for a random,” Warren said.

  “And?”

  “And I don’t think I can pass. I need you.”

  Warren opened his jacket and lifted a small beaker from the inside pocket until Claude could see it.

  “What do you mean you can’t pass?” Claude said. “What are you, an idiot?”

  “No time for that. I need your help.”

  Rhode Island Electric had a random drug-testing procedure for employees who operated any kind of dangerous equipment. Compared to other departments, the dangers in stores paled, but the crane was tricky, and the forklifts, in theory, could do some damage, so at negotiations management insisted the stores department be included in the tests. Every employee eligible for testing would be tested at least once every two years, but not more than once every six months unless he or she tested positive. The penalty for a failed drug test was an automatic positive discipline warning.

  Warren ushered Claude into the men’s room and handed him the beaker.

  “No way,” Claude said. “Are you trying to get us both fired?”

  “Nobody’s going to get fired. I’ve done this twice before, and it’s kosher. They don’t do DNA tests on it. As long as it’s male piss, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Who did it for you before?”

  “Artie from substation the first time,” Warren said as he pushed Claude into a stall. “Elton last time.”

  “Elton?” Claude said. “That cocksucker?”

  “He owed me a favor. Hurry up. I’m supposed to be in the nurse’s office now.”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly prepared for this, so you’ll just have to wait.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just relax, and everything will flow smoothly,” Warren said. “Just relax, and everything will flow.”

  Another thirty seconds passed, but then Warren heard fluid hit the plastic beaker, and a few seconds later heard it plunge into the toilet.

  “Damn, I got some on the side,” Claude said.

  “Hurry up,” Warren said.

  “Just a minute. Let me wipe up and zip up, and you’ll be all set.”

  Claude flushed the toilet and opened the stall door. He reached out to hand the warm beaker to Warren, but before the transfer was complete, the men’s room door opened and in walked Elton. The three men froze. Elton turned around and left.

  “Aw shit,” Claude said. “Why him?”

  “Don’t worry,” Warren said. “He can’t report you because he did it once himself. Thanks a lot. I’ve got to go.”

  Claude kept as busy as possible the rest of the morning and avoided Elton. In the afternoon, he didn’t speak to Elton, though that wasn’t unusual, but just before quitting time the two men wound up loading the same truck and made eye contact three times. Claude felt relieved. Eye contact was about the extent of their relationship anyway. In addition, Claude took comfort in his belief that Elton was a company ass-kisser. He’d do anything to avoid a black mark on his record.

  Chapter 25

  With his 25th wedding anniversary approaching, Scotty Williams decided to pad his regular paycheck with five or six overtime hours so he could buy a nice gift. While most of the stores guys worked their paycheck-padding overtime at the end of the normal workday, Scotty preferred to do his early in the morning, since in the morning it was less likely there’d be any work to do. Even better, Scotty knew none of his UUW brothers were going to climb out of bed early to gripe about anything union-related. They could just as easily gripe at 7 o’clock with a full night’s rest.

  Thursday morning, Scotty parked in the front lot and fumbled for his department keys as he balanced a giant cup of steaming coffee on a cardboard drive-thru tray. He found the keys, but when he rounded the corner found the steel grate door already open. He walked through the entrance, and saw Schulke sitting in a chair he’d pulled from the office.

  “Morning, Scott,” Schulke said.

  “Morning, boss. What brings you here so early?”

  “Actually, I’ve been here since 3:30 this morning. We had a little incident, and we need to call everyone together first thing to talk about it. Can you come to the cafeteria with me and help grab some chairs?”

  “What happened?”

  “Well it’s probably best to wait until everyone’s together. Mr. Clarke thinks it best.

  Geez Louise, thought Scotty, Clarke and Schulke having a 3 a.m. discussion? Had to be bad.

  They walked to the cafeteria, and Schulke unlocked the door.

  “We have four chairs in the office,” Scotty said, “and nine people in the department. Can the two of us handle five chairs?”
“We’ll have to make two or three trips,” Schulke said. “The guys from the garage are joining us.”

  Scotty dropped the two chairs he’d picked up. “Tom, what the hell happened?”

  “Let’s wait until the meeting.”

  “No,” Scotty said. “Let’s not wait. I’m the shop steward. If this involves the union in any way, I should be notified.”

  Scotty put his hands in his back pockets and looked at the floor.

  “Come on, Tom,” he said. “Don’t make me look bad in front of the guys from the garage. If something big happened in my own department, I should know.”

  “All right,” Schulke said. “Let’s get these chairs over to stores. You come to the office just before the meeting, and I’ll give you the whole scoop.”

  They hauled the chairs and arranged them in rows. As people trickled in to work, Scotty told them about the meeting, as Schulke asked, but tried to remain off by himself as much as possible. He didn’t join the others in speculation, though he ran through the possibilities in his own mind.

  At 7:10, once the members of the two departments were seated, Scotty went to the office and Schulke closed the door. Out on the floor, Frank Dombrowski felt the mood was right for a little magic, so he selected a chair, sat back, folded his arms, and looked serious. Two days earlier, stores unloaded crates and crates of tires, so Frank knew the garage was doing routine truck maintenance. He also knew the tires were ordered from a company Rhode Island Electric had never used before.

  “Anyone know what this is about?” Quinn, one of the garage guys, said.

  “I do,” Frank said. “But I can’t say anything.”

  “Aw come on,” Quinn said. “You have to tell us. Come on.”

  Frank unfolded his arms and leaned forward. He put an index finger six inches in front of his mouth.

  “Ok,” he said. “But you didn’t hear nothing from me.”

  Everyone leaned in.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” Frank said, “so I went down to the kitchen to get me a bowl of cereal. While I’m eating, I turn on my police scanner—I figure what the heck, right? Well, I come in in the middle, see, so the cops are already heated up. First thing I hear is some guy screaming that those screwups at the electric company don’t know their asses from their elbows. ‘How can anyone be so stupid?’”

  �
�What happened?” Quinn said.

  “He’s yelling ‘Truck crash on Elmwood. Truck crash on Blackstone. Truck crashes at Broad, Friendship, and Grehoski.’ Then another cop comes on the scanner. Says, ‘Hey Sarge, I think we figured out what’s going on here.’ The Sarge says go ahead.”

  Claude and Darezzo glanced at each other and shook their heads.

  “‘Well, Sarge,’ the guy says, ‘it looks like somebody in the Rhode Island Electric garage tried to save a few bucks by ordering cheap tires. Trouble is, they got sucked in by that company exposed on the news a while back, the one with tires that look like real rubber, and feel like real rubber, but only cost a tenth of what real rubber costs and explode after just a few miles on the road.’”

  The guys from the garage froze.

  “Can’t be,” Quinn said.

  “Is,” Frank said. “Two dead, six on the critical list.”

  “But those tires were fine! There’s no way...oh god...there’s no way...oh god...oh god...”

  Claude and Darezzo and the others from stores exploded in laughter. Frank leaned back and folded his arms with a satisfied grin. Once they realized they’d been had, the members of the garage joined the laughter.

  Schulke and Scotty emerged from the office amid the whoops and howls and shouts.

  “What’s going on here?” Schulke said.

  The men faced front and the giggles slowed to a halt. Scotty took the lone empty chair from the middle of the back row and dragged it off to one side, where nobody could see him but the boss.

  “I don’t know what all this is about,” Schulke said, “but what I have to tell you is no laughing matter.”

  He paused, and cleared his throat.

  “Last night, we learned who’s been stealing wire from the company. Before all kinds of rumors get started, Mr. Clarke felt it best to call you together and give you the facts as we know them. At 2 o’clock this morning, Warren Taylor drove into the back lot, used his key to open the gate, and hitched a trailer loaded with copper wire to the back of his car. The security camera did not catch him, and we suspect he climbed the stairs to the roof yesterday and pushed the camera out of position. He would’ve gotten away scot-free—again—except that when he was leaving the scene, he passed a policeman who noticed Warren’s registration had expired. The officer put on his lights, but instead of pulling over, Warren took off, and the officer chased him through the city. At one point, it appeared Warren had eluded the officer by pulling into a parking lot under some trees and hiding. Fortunately, a backup officer responding to reports of the chase saw him drive into the lot and turn off his lights.”

  Schulke paused again, and the seated men exchanged glances. Claude sat up straight.

  “The backup officer left his vehicle and approached Warren from the rear. When he ordered Warren to get out of the car, Warren turned the key and hit the gas. Unfortunately, the officer had hold of the door handle and was dragged approximately 200 feet before he was able to let go, and was struck on the head by the trailer as Warren drove away. The officer remains in the hospital in serious condition, though our last report indicates he will, ultimately, be all right.

  “Warren was stopped a few blocks later, and apprehended by officers with drawn guns. In Warren’s car, the police found a small amount of cocaine and an unloaded pistol. The sergeant Mr. Clarke spoke with believes Warren was selling the wire for money to buy drugs. Apparently, he was evicted from his apartment months ago for not paying his rent, and was living in a dilapidated trailer with no running water.”

  “What’s he looking at?” Darezzo said.

  “Two years minimum for assaulting the officer,” Schulke said. “Bail was set at $30,000, but it might as well be $30 million, because Warren doesn’t have a dime. It looks like he’ll be in jail at least another two months.”

  “What about the theft?” John Carrollton said. “Will that add more time if he gets convicted?”

  “We haven’t decided yet if we’re going to press grand larceny charges or not,” Schulke said. “Mr. Clarke’s meeting with legal today to review our options, and after that he’ll speak to the union about terminating Warren’s employment. The police have turned over his keys and kept the wire for evidence. We promised to cooperate with the investigation in any way we can. In fact, Warren just took a company drug test Monday, and when the results come back we’ll give them to the police so they can show the court he had cocaine in his system as recently as this week.”

  “They won’t find no cocaine,” Elton MacGibbon said in a loud, commanding voice. All heads turned to the end of the second row, where Elton sat with his arms folded.

  “Excuse me?” Schulke said.

  “I said they won’t find no cocaine. The pee he turned in Monday wasn’t his own. He got it from someone else in the men’s room before the test.”

  Claude’s pulse doubled.

  “Who?” Schulke said.

  “I’m not saying. But I am going to tell you this: I’m ashamed to say I helped Warren pass a drug test once my own self.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Darezzo said.

  Again Elton’s voice boomed. “I’m talking about doing something very wrong, something I’ve regretted since the minute it happened. Something I deserve to be punished for. Something no one should ever get away with.”

  With the last phrase, Elton’s stiff back loosened. His hands dropped to his lap, and his head bowed. Though his eyes pointed at the floor in front of Schulke, it didn’t appear he was looking at anything. When he spoke again, his words were barely audible.

  “You know, as the boss was telling what happened with Warren, I couldn’t help but think maybe I could have helped him get his life together, you know, a year ago, when I knew he had a problem. I didn’t, and believe me, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. In a way, I feel a little responsible for that officer lying in the hospital today. I knew Warren had a problem. I just never thought it could come to anything like this.”

  “Why did you do it?” Schulke said. “You could have said no.”

  “He kind of cornered me,” Elton said. “He didn’t give me time to think, and my first reaction was that I should help a union brother. Looking back, I see I was a fool. I was wrong, and I deserve to be punished.”

  “How do you know Warren cheated this time, too?”

  “I walked into the bathroom as the guy was handing a cup of pee to Warren. I turned around and walked right out of there, before anyone could say a word to me. Before anyone could involve me again.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I’m not telling.”

  “Now listen,” Schulke said in a firm voice, “we’ve promised to cooperate with the police investigation. If you know who did it, tell me.”

  “I won’t,” Elton said. “But if you’ve got the pee, you don’t need me to tell you, do you?”

  Claude’s lungs kicked into high gear to accommodate his pulsating heart. He fought to keep his breathing pattern from notice, but it only contributed to his shortness of oxygen. His mind raced and his eyes darted. He tried to convince himself it was Gino who stole the wire, and he had nothing to do with it. If he believed Gino did it, then the way he was acting was natural, because he had no hand at all in anything Gino had done.

  The rest of the men murmured among themselves.

  “Well, if any of you helped Warren cheat,” the boss said, “you’re in big trouble. We’ll know in a few days. Otherwise, that’s all I have to report. If the union agrees to his termination, we’ll be posting Warren’s job, and once the bidding is complete we’ll have someone new to fill the bottom spot on the roster. In the unlikely event Warren is released from jail any time soon, he’s not allowed near the property, so if you see him in the vicinity you are to report it to me immediately. Understood?”

  The men nodded.

  “Okay,” Schulke said. “Meeting adjourned.”

  Later in the morning, Schulke sought Claude in the stacks.

  “Ex
cuse me, Claude,” Schulke said. “Can I have a second?”

  Claude fought a reaction of any type. But as he checked a recoil, he noticed the lack of bark in Schulke’s voice. He saw Schulke’s shirt untucked on one side. He watched Schulke’s shoulders slump.

  “Yes?” Claude said.

  “I know you and Warren were friends,” Schulke said. “I was just wondering if you saw any of this coming.”

  “I didn’t, no.”

  “Warren and I had our battles, but even so, I must say I feel for him. He’s in quite a pickle. I wish he’d gotten professional help.”

  “Me too,” Claude said.

  Schulke started to smile, but his mouth stopped after the first muscle moved. “No idea who helped him cheat on his drug test this week?”

  “No.”

  “Just wondering. I’m running through the candidates in my head, and nothing’s jumping out at me. Well, if you hear anything, let me know.”

  He and left. When Claude was sure Schulke was no longer in the vicinity, he exhaled, and clenched his bangs in his fists. He wanted to scream. Since the meeting, he’d brainstormed dozens of lies to cover himself, but rejected them all. None were plausible.

  He wanted to work hard, and not do anything to attract anyone’s attention, but realized if he did much above the minimum it might be seen as a departure from the norm and attract attention. Acting natural became an undertaking, and the effort he put into it threatened to expose him.

  He fantasized about a gunman wandering in to shoot Schulke. He’d take a bullet for the boss now. They couldn’t give him a decision-making leave after a heroic act like that.

  #

  At 11:30, the department broke for lunch, and Scotty talked Claude into joining him at a nearby fast-food joint. The opportunity to be removed from the department eye appealed to Claude.

  Once in the car, however, Scotty turned serious.

  “What are you going to do, man?” he asked Claude.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. What the fuck are you going to do?”

  “About fucking what?” Claude said.

  “What are you going to do when Schulke finds out you gave the piss to Warren.”

  “I didn’t give the piss to Warren.”

  “That’s not what Elton says.”