John Hammond sat there for a long time fuming. No wonder this country is going to hell, he thought. Soap!
Two weeks later, at noon on a hot day in August, five Hammond Meat packing trucks on their way to deliver meat to Syracuse and Boston pulled off the road. The drivers opened the back doors of the refrigerated trucks and left.
John Hammond got the news at six o'clock that evening.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he screamed. "Didn't you put in the new soap?"
"I did," his manager said, "the same day you told me to."
"Then what the hell is it this time?"
The manager said helplessly, "I don't know. There haven't been any complaints. No one said a word to me."
"Get the goddamned union representative in here."
At seven o'clock that evening Hammond was talking to the union representative.
"Two million dollars' worth of meat was ruined this afternoon because of your men," Hammond screamed. "Have they gone crazy?"
"Do you want me to tell the president of the union you asked that, Mr. Hammond?"
"No, no," Hammond said quickly. "Look, I've never had any problem with you fellows before. If the men want more money, just come to me and we'll discuss it like reasonable people. How much are they asking for?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean?"
"It isn't the money, Mr. Hammond."
"Oh? What is it?"
"Lights."
"Lights?" Hammond thought he had misunderstood him.
"Yes. The men are complaining that the lights in the washrooms are too dim."
John Hammond sat back in his chair, suddenly quiet. "What's going on here?" he asked softly.
"I told you, the men think that..."
"Never mind that crap. What's going on?"
The union representative said, "If I knew, I would tell you."
"Is someone trying to put me out of business? Is that it?"
The union representative was silent.
"All right," John Hammond said. "Give me a name. Who can I talk to?"
"There's a lawyer who might be able to help you. The union uses him a lot. His name is Paul Martin."
"Paul...?" And John Hammond suddenly remembered. "Why, that blackmailing guinea bastard. Get out of here," he yelled. "Out!"
Hammond sat there seething. No one blackmails me. No one.
One week later six more of his refrigerated trucks were abandoned on side roads.
John Hammond arranged a luncheon with Bill Rohan. "I've been thinking about your friend Paul Martin," Hammond said. "I may have been a bit hasty in blackballing him."
"Why, it's very generous of you to say that, John."
"I'll tell you what. You propose him for membership next week and I'll give him my vote."
The following week, when Paul Martin's name came up, he was accepted unanimously by the membership committee.
John Hammond personally put in a call to Paul Martin. "Congratulations, Mr. Martin," he said. "You've just been accepted as a member of Sunnyvale. We're delighted to have you aboard."
"Thank you," Paul said. "I appreciate the call."
John Hammond's next call was to the district attorney's office. He made an appointment to meet him the following week.
On Sunday John Hammond and Bill Rohan were part of a foursome at the club.
"You haven't met Paul Martin yet, have you?" Bill Rohan asked.
John Hammond shook his head. "No. I don't think he's going to be playing a lot of golf. The grand jury is going to be keeping your friend too busy."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm going to give information about him to the district attorney that will certainly interest a grand jury."
Bill Rohan was shocked. "Do you know what you're doing?"
"You bet I do. He's a cockroach, Bill. I'm going to step on him."
The following Monday, on his way to the district attorney's office, John Hammond was killed in a hit-and-run accident. There were no witnesses. The police never found the driver.
Every Sunday after that Paul Martin took his wife and the twins to the Sunnyvale Club for lunch. The buffet there was delicious.
Paul Martin took his marriage vows seriously. For instance, he would never have dreamed of dishonoring his wife by taking her and his mistress to the same restaurant. His marriage was one part of his life; his affairs were another. All of Paul Martin's friends had mistresses. It was part of their accepted life-style. What bothered Martin was to see old men taking out young girls. It was undignified, and Paul Martin placed great value on dignity. He resolved that when he reached the age of sixty, he would stop having mistresses. And on his sixtieth birthday, two years earlier, he had stopped. His wife, Nina, was a good companion to him. That was enough. Dignity.
It was this man to whom Lara Cameron had come to ask for help. Martin had been aware of Lara Cameron by name, but he was stunned by how young and beautiful she was. She was ambitious and angrily independent, and yet she was very feminine. He found himself strongly attracted to her. No, he thought, she's a young girl. I'm an old man. Too old.
When Lara had stormed out of his office on her first visit, Paul Martin sat there for a long time, thinking about her. And then he had picked up the telephone and made a call.
Chapter Fourteen
The new building was progressing on schedule. Lara visited the site every morning and every afternoon, and there was a new respect in the attitude of the men toward her. She sensed it in the way they looked at her, talked to her, and worked for her. She knew it was because of Paul Martin, and disturbingly, she found herself thinking more and more about the ugly-attractive man with the strangely compelling voice.