"Destroyer 007 - Union Bust.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

'Is that all, Siggy?'
'Well, uh, yeah. That's all. It's enough. Don't get me wrong. But it ain't enough to go to jail for.'
34

Jethro stuffed his hands into the pockets of his green bell-bottoms. He spun to the dead microphone and boomed to a nonexistent audience.
'Fellow drivers and delegates to the 85111 Annual Convention of the International Brotherhood of Drivers, I give you my local vice-president. He is a loyal man. He is a man who will stand with you through thick and thin, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And I will tell you why he will stand with you.'
'Aw, come off it, will you Gene?'
'I will tell you why he will stand with you. He has the best of all reasons to stand with you.'
'C'mon, Gene.'
'Because he doesn't want to be a puddle.'
Blood drained from the face of Sigmund Negronski. His lips became dry. He looked nervously around the empty auditorium.
'You really like to hurt,' said Negronski.
'I love it.'
'You never used to be like this. What happened?'
'I got a swimming pool, a Jaguar, a mistress, a manservant, and enough power to make this union jump. And some day, in the not too distant future, I'm gonna make the country jump. Jump like you jump, you dumb, pathetic, fat Polack.'
Sigmund Negronski stood in sullen silence. He had brought this kid along from driver to shop steward to business agent. And then just three months ago the kid had started to change. Nothing you would notice right away, just more relaxed, then smooth, then vicious. What bothered Negronski was that when this kid smiled, Negronski still liked him, although he knew he should hate him for the indignities he inflicted on the older man. He should flatten this arrogant kid like a tomato under a U-Haul-It. But he still liked him. And that rasped to the very marrow of his bones.
Negronski looked at the dead microphone and then at Jethro.
<• 1'-:.' 35 :: •' ,

'We just better win this thing tomorrow,' said Neg-ronski.
The sounds of striding men echoed through the convention hall-heavy men with heavy footsteps, marching almost in unison. Negronski peered out into the darkness over the rows of empty seats, into the large, dark, disinfectant-smelling auditorium.
'Jethro, you sonuvabitch, I'm here, you little twirp, and today is the day you get yours.' The voice was deep and harsh and echoed the wide Boston 'A.' It was Anthony McCulloch, president of Local 73, Boston. And it looked as if he had brought his delegates with him. Big men, burly men, they advanced like the Green Bay Packers line going out to lunch.
McCulloch himself stood six-feet-five, and Negronski knew that he weighed 320 pounds because at last year's convention they had all weighed themselves on a freight scale after a round of drinking and a round of betting. McCulloch had claimed he could guess anyone's weight within five pounds. And he had.
McCulloch, despite Ms friendliness when he drank, was a power in Eastern union politics, and a man Jethro would need if he ever hoped to get close enough to sell the presidency of the international.
'Hello, Siggy,' said McCulloch. 'Who's your faggy friend?'
'Hi, Tony,' said Nebronski.
'Well, well. Anthony McCulloch. Thank you for coming,' said Jethro.
'I didn't come here to promise you my support. I came here to tell you that a group of us here found out about that building outside the city.'
Jethro smiled. 'Ah, Anthony, Anthony,' he sighed. 'Why must you do everything I figure you will do? Why aren't you some real competition for me?'
McCulloch looked up to the speaker's platform, then back at the men following him. Negronski recognized three presidents, two joint council presidents and five
36

business agents with the rep as good muscle. They all thought this remark by Jethro was rather puzzling. If it had been a threat, they would have laughed in his face, Negronski knew. But his arrogance was only confusing. They obviously did not think of him as a threat.
'Kid,' said McCulloch. 'You may claim some kind of mental disorder before some judge, but we don't buy that plea. You stole union money, promised union money, our money, to put up some kind of a building outside this city. Without the okay of the council. Without even the written okay of the treasurer of the international, you committed us to millions. Millions, we still don't know how much. Our accountants are checking it out.'
'You spoke to the treasurer?' asked Jethro sweetly.
'Yeah. We spoke,' said McCulloch.
'And how is he?'
'He'll be walking again by maybe fall. Which is more than we can say for you. You're looking at some people you can't buy, kid. You're looking at people you can't deal for. We've had you, boy. We're gonna run your ass the hell out of the brotherhood.'
Little sounds of 'tell 'em,' 'you said it.' 'sock it to him,' could be heard from the group. The convention hall was chilly, waiting for the multitude of warming bodies, but Negronski felt perspiration form on his forehead. He wiped it off. His lips were dry again, and he did not know what to do with his hands.
'You part of this, Siggy?' asked McCulloch.
Negronski looked down at his shoes, back up to McCulloch, and then to Jethro, who lounged against the microphone like a rock singer. Negronski looked back down at his shoes.
'You part of this thing, Siggy?' McCulloch asked again.
Negronski mumbled an answer.
'I didn't hear you,' McCulloch said, 'You can still get off the hook, Siggy. We know you're okay.'
'I'm part of this thing,' said Negronski softly.
'What?'asked McCulloch. , .,
37

'I'm part of it. I'm part of it/ yelled Negronski.
'I'm sorry to hear that, Siggy,' said McCulloch. 'Sorry for you.'