My Honorable Brother Read online

  Sal Tarantino wore a baggy woolen sweater over an open-necked beige shirt. He obviously hadn’t shaved for two or three days. A skin rash that worsened within the past year necessitated his washing his face six times a day. The ailment had him on the verge of growing a beard although he was never fond of the one worn by his son.

  The man sitting in the large upholstered chair to Sal’s left got up. He appeared to Sandy to be about the same age as his father. He was dressed immaculately in a gray, pin-striped suit with a white shirt that looked as if it was being worn for the very first time. His flowered silk tie, in maroon and navy blue, was the perfect accessory. Sandy was quite certain he hadn’t seen him before.

  “Vito, this is my son, Salvatore.” The elder Tarantino didn’t get up to make the introduction. “Salvy, I want you to meet Vito Recci. I would not have let him out of here before he got the chance to see you. Vito’s an old friend of mine. You would never know from looking at him that he grew up on the same block as me. We used to play ball together all the time. But Vito here got smart and took off for the West Coast after he got out of the Navy. Fell in love with Frisco when his ship got back from the Pacific, and kissed all us poor slobs in Rhode Island goodbye. Went from the smallest state to the biggest one, right Vito?”

  Sandy walked over and shook hands with his father’s friend. He could tell immediately that the lush black hair on his head was an expensive toupee.

  “I wanted Vito to stay and have dinner with us tonight. He could tell you some good stories about when we were kids. But he’s catching a flight out at three o’clock.”

  “Yes, it’s important for me to get back to San Francisco,” Vito said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, young Salvy. Never hesitate to call on me if I can be of some service. I owe your father a lot of favors.” He turned to Sal. “Thank you for all your time today. We appreciate your help. Take care of yourself, and my regards to Concetta.”

  Sandy watched as his father put down the cigarette he was smoking, got up from his chair and reached out for Vito’s hand. He could see how firmly each gripped the other. “And you send my regards,” Sal replied. Vito went over to the closet for his black woolen overcoat and left the room without saying another word.

  “What does he do?” Sandy asked.

  “Take a guess.”

  “Okay, a wild guess. He’s in San Francisco. I say he’s a member of the Raffetto family.”

  Sal Tarantino smiled. “You’re right. Another dividend from all that education I paid for. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Hold it a second,” Sandy said. “What’s the help you’re giving him?”

  “Just a favor between families,” Sal told his son. “One of their guys is AWOL. Vito is the one who convinced the Raffettos to give him a job. The kid comes from Woonsocket and went out to California with some local references. He learned a lot about the Family’s business and they’re afraid he might talk about it if he gets picked up for anything serious. It would help him cut a deal for himself. Vito asked me to just keep my eyes open and have someone fly him back to the coast if he turns up here. Nothing big.”

  Sandy had no doubt that the Raffetto family would kill the guy if they got their hands on him. But if he said anything, he knew his father would just shrug and tell him that what goes on in other families wasn’t his business.

  “He came all the way here for that?” Sandy asked.

  “Of course not, Salvy. He came here because his mother’s still here. It was a chance to do some business and visit her at the same time. How do you think she felt when she saw how good her son looks? He told me he drove up in a limo just so all the old ladies in the neighborhood would have something to talk about. And he made sure she came out to the car when he left so they could see him give her a big kiss. Now she can tell all of them what a success he is in the computer business and they have to believe her. He made her feel like ‘Queen for a Day.’ Hey, I’m going to lunch in ten minutes. What is it you want?”

  Sandy told him about the letter from Arena. “I can’t believe that guy writes the same way he talks.”

  His father thought for a minute. “I told you before, Salvy I don’t trust that bastard anymore, not at all. He’s gotten too arrogant. Talks like he knows all the answers. Tell Eddie to see where he goes on the mornings he usually does his collections. Arena isn’t stupid, so have Eddie use a different car every time. Let’s be sure Tommy’s not trying to con us out of our share, even for a week. And tell everyone they never saw him here in the building, in case they get asked.”

  “The other news, Pop, is that Spence Hardiman will be making his announcement on the fifteenth. We got a note in the mail today.”

  “That’s two weeks before the deadline I gave him.”

  “Right. Eleven days from today.”

  “Good. You should talk to your friend, Fiore. Make sure he’s ready. I’ll bet Johnny Sacco already knows. I found out Hardiman has been keeping him up to date for a while. Is that everything?”

  “That’s it.”

  “I’m out to lunch. Just be across the street. You’re in charge.” He winked at his son and went to get his coat.

  * * *

  Sandy Tarantino left the office at six o’clock. Halfway home he turned into the parking lot of a large mall and went inside. All four telephones along the wall of the entranceway were being used. He waited until he could get one of the end phones so he could turn to the side and not be heard by someone next to him when he spoke. He dialed a number and had three quarters ready in his hand when the operator told him to deposit seventy-five cents. Someone answered and said “Yeah?”

  Tarantino spoke softly. “Get hold of Joe Gaudette. Tell him I want my good friend to take the six o’clock Delta flight from Green to LaGuardia next Monday night. He should use the same name as last time. Have him go to the Ramada Inn next to the airport when he gets there and wait in the lobby. Let him know he’ll be back in Providence by eleven the same night. You got that? Okay, good.”

  20

  THE ONLY OTHER PERSON to whom Brad Hanley gave a key to Room 606 at the Biltmore Hotel, Ocean State’s regular suite, was his wife, Pat. He told her she could always use the room to freshen up if she happened to be in downtown Providence for any reason.

  Pat asked Doug Fiore to meet her there about seven o’clock on Thursday night. She told him not to eat before coming, that he’d be her guest for dinner. Pat knew that her husband wouldn’t be getting home from the plant until sometime close to midnight. That gave her all the time she needed to plead her case with Fiore.

  She filled the ice bucket from the dispenser in the hallway and had almost finished her first drink before Fiore arrived. Brad stocked several bottles of liquor along with soda and tonic water in an alcove of the living area’s large armoire, just below the television set. At Pat’s suggestion, Fiore poured a drink for himself and refilled hers. They raised their glasses and toasted their good health. Hanley sat down at one end of the tuxedo-armed sofa, moving several pillows aside to make room for herself. She expected Doug to join her there, but he chose to sit opposite her, in a large wing chair covered in an attractive lime green fabric.

  “Let me tell you a little about Brad and me,” Pat began. For the next twenty minutes, uninterrupted, she took Fiore from the morning she first met her husband in a Dayton, Ohio, factory to the Valentine’s Day party at their home a week earlier when she started to talk to Fiore about Ocean State Wire. She described the various jobs Brad held in Pittsburgh and how they anguished over the decision of whether to relocate to Rhode Island. The Platt brothers found him running a very successful company, a subsidiary of Bethlehem Steel, and offered him the chance to be president of a wire-making facility. Brad made several trips to Rhode Island before reaching his decision. He spent hours observing the operation of the plant and almost as much time being driven around Providence and a number of other towns to get a feel for the area.

  “He was sure from what he saw that he could
make Ocean State much more productive than it was,” Pat continued. “That was a real challenge to him. And he fell in love with the East Side and the ocean and being so close to everything that Brown University offered. He wanted to come here but was ready to turn it down if I didn’t think it was a good time for our three children to move. The oldest was about to start high school at that time. He also was ready to reject the offer if I couldn’t be happy this far from my family. I honestly didn’t know what to tell him. Brad finally called Irwin Platt and asked if he could bring me to Providence for a few days before he gave them an answer. That was a pretty unusual request in those days. But Mr. Platt agreed, and the rest, as they say, is history.” She smiled as she finished telling the story. Then, glancing at her watch, Pat added, “And that’s just the short version.”

  “Sounds like it has the makings of a major motion picture,” Fiore countered. He returned her smile. “Anyway, did Brad accomplish what he thought he could get done at the plant?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “For a while he was going like gangbusters. In just over a year they were setting records almost every month for the amount of wire being shipped. My husband was as happy as a pig in doodoo. He changed some of the production methods that didn’t come under the union contract, and the Platts let him purchase a few of the new machines he wanted. Brad was sitting on top of the world. Those first two to three years with the Company were some of the best years of his life. He couldn’t wait to get out of bed in the morning and go to work.”

  Fiore got up to get another drink and asked Pat if she wanted one. “I shouldn’t,” she answered. “Two is really my limit. But if you make sure I don’t do anything foolish, I’ll join you.”

  “You’re among friends,” he said, and they smiled at each other. He put more ice in both glasses and asked, “So what happened?”

  “A few things,” she answered. “First, a couple of big wire companies in Canada started marketing campaigns to go after business here in the States. Brad said they did it because things had gone sour with their own customers who cut way down on their orders. Their plants are much newer than Ocean State and can produce more on their up-to-date machinery with a lot fewer employees.

  “When they brought their prices down, they began picking up orders this plant was handling for years. Brad knew he had to get more production out of his men to stay competitive and hold on to as much business as they could. But the Union—it was the Steelworkers back then—wouldn’t let him make any changes that weren’t in line with the contract. He warned them that they were cutting their own throats, but they wouldn’t listen.” Fiore mixed the drinks and was standing behind the wing chair as Pat spoke. As soon as she stopped to take a breath, he returned her glass and sat down again.

  “They never do,” he said. “That’s why union memberships have been going straight downhill for the last twenty years.”

  “I wish they’d all just disappear forever.” Pat almost hissed as she spoke.

  “Let me hear the rest of it,” Doug said.

  Pat took a sip of her drink, and then another. “When the contract expired,” she began again, “Brad went after the language he needed to run the plant differently. The Union fought him every step of the way. By that time, the Company was losing money for over a year. Every month things kept getting worse. He knew it could be suicide for Ocean State to sign the new contract the Union wanted, so one day he called everyone into a meeting. He explained to the men how the Union was standing in their way and wouldn’t budge, and showed them how their jobs were in danger unless they could turn things around. That got to some of the older employees, the ones who had the most to lose. They went around and spoke to the others, including the second shift. I forget the procedure, but they had some sort of an election and voted to get rid of the Steelworkers Union.”

  Fiore started to find it very disconcerting to look at Pat as she sat with her legs crossed. He moved from his chair to the other end of the sofa. “That was just about the time the Tarantinos bought into the Company,” he said.

  “That’s right, and that was the worst thing that could have happened to Brad.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’d already shown the Platts what he could do. Now he felt he had to prove himself all over again to the new people. He wanted them to see a profit right away and figure they’d made a good investment. He was free to run the plant as he wanted, without any union work rules or interference. That let him get more wire produced with the same number of people as before. The problem was that customer orders kept drying up. It was the first stage of the recession but no one realized it. Brad called everyone he knew in the wire business to find out if they were all seeing the same thing. And he tried to get any leads he could for the kinds of wire Ocean State produces.” Pat reached for her glass again.

  “That should have been a signal to him to just go with the flow and not try anything drastic,” Fiore said.

  “You’re right,” she concurred, “and in hindsight Brad knows that. But he was obsessed at the time. When there was no chance to show a profit from sales, he decided to get there by doing what he could with the wages and benefits. First, he took fifty cents an hour from everyone, across the board. Then your office showed him how much money he could save by switching health plans for the employees. He did that too, moving them from Blue Cross into an HMO. They learned to live with that, I guess, until Brad made everyone start contributing part of the cost—I think it was about fifteen percent. They never had to do that before. And since he already cut their wages once, they saw that as a second cut in pay. They had no idea those things were going to happen to them when they voted out the Steelworkers.”

  “Do you know who in my office spoke to Brad about changing health plans?” he asked.

  “I’m sure it was George Ryder,” she replied.

  Fiore realized that he most likely would refer any call from Hanley on that subject over to Ryder. He now remembered Ryder showing him how much money the new health coverage would save Ocean State, and his complimenting George on their getting off on the right foot with the client. The fifteen percent contribution by the employees came later, as Pat said, most likely put into effect by Hanley without first consulting Ryder.

  “I get the picture,” Doug told her, nodding his head up and down. “That’s why they went out and brought the Machinists Union in to represent them.”

  “And forced Brad to give them back a lot of what he took away,” Pat added. She was silent for a few moments. “The Union called his bluff at the end of the negotiations. Brad said the owners cut his balls off at the last minute by ordering him to settle the contract without a strike.” Pat quickly realized she should have made the same point less crudely, and wondered if that thought caused her to blush at all.

  The words titillated Fiore. In the short time he knew her, he never expected to hear her talk like that. “It was an image problem for the new investors,” he told her. “They have good friends in most of the labor unions in Providence.” He was lying to her, creating an excuse on the spot, but he felt he had no choice. He wasn’t going to tell her that he made the decision for the good of Doug Fiore, or even for the good of the firm, that he didn’t want to chance losing a good client to a strike. “They were under a lot of pressure not to have a big fight with the Machinists at that particular time, and the Platts went along with it. But understand that it’s the Platts who call the shots, not the Tarantinos, and maybe they’re ready for a fight now if the Union’s demands are ridiculous. I don’t know. What does Brad say?”

  “I guess that’s why I wanted to see you tonight, Doug. What he says scares me. Brad’s certain there’s going to be a strike this time, and I can see how badly he wants one. He lost the respect of most of the men at the Company three years ago when he cut their wages and benefits and then caved in to their demands. That hasn’t changed at all, so he figures he has to start over again with a new workforce. He can only do it if the guys who ar
e there now go out on strike. This is the best chance he’ll ever have, he told me, because there are so many unemployed people looking for work. He believes he can find good replacements for most of the production employees in no time at all.”

  “Brad may be right,” Fiore said.

  “He seems to be sure of it. He’s going to see what the Union wants the most, what issues they’re ready to strike for. He’s prepared to say ‘No’ to all of them, no compromises. Brad wants to hold the door open for them if they decide to walk out. How shall I put it, Doug? He wants his manhood back.”

  Fiore thought it was a great opening and didn’t hesitate. “In the locker room they’d say he wants to show he’s grown a new pair of balls.” He watched Pat’s reaction. She nodded her head up and down and then surprised Doug by continuing the conversation in its off-color mode.

  “Yes, that’s it, but I’m afraid they’re getting so big they’ll drag the rest of him down. It’s hard to do much when you’re on your knees.” Pat looked at him for a few seconds, smiled coyly, and added, “At least, if you’re engaging in war, it is.”

  But not if you’re making love, Doug thought to himself. The smile was still on her lips. He was sure she was thinking the same thing. The conversation was getting him horny.

  Pat continued. “From last July to December he was staying at the plant five nights a week and going in part of Saturday. At least eighty hours a week most of the time. He’s still working late every Tuesday and Thursday and it’s almost impossible for me to keep him home for a whole weekend. He’s doing anything and everything he can to get more production for less money without violating the goddam contract. He sends personal letters to every customer that ever bought wire from the Company, trying to get orders from them. I guess I’m the only one who’s close enough to see what’s happening. Brad’s got a love affair going with Ocean State Wire and he doesn’t want to let anything come between them.”