Date: Fri, 2 Nov 2001 12:01:18 -0800 (PST) From: Orrin Rush Subject: The Lifeguard Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else. Copyright c 2001 by Orrin C. Rush. All rights reserved. Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. They are all products of the author's imagination. -------------------------------------------------------------- THE LIFEGUARD Chapter 46 lg-47 Someone had mentioned that there might be a hijack attempt, but shooting down a chopper was unbelievable. "Did Hal have any details?" I asked, slumping into a chair. "Just that someone found the wreckage earlier this evening." "Let's get out of here really early in the morning," I suggested. "I'll call Ron," Eric volunteered. "What time do you want to leave?" "Let's shoot for 5:00 takeoff, that'll put us in Prescott around 8:00 their time. Oh, ask Ron if there's enough runway there for this plane, would you?" While he was calling, I went to alert the boys and Jacques. "I also called Hal to tell him what time we'd be there, he's leaving tonight," Eric told me as he handed me a drink. "I hope he was able to grab one of the other planes," I muttered. "He did." Since there weren't any details, all we could do was speculate, and Eric sensibly suggested that that was futile. Everyone was up, packed, and ready to go in the morning. No traffic that early so we made good time to the airport. The boys commandeered the couch and were back to sleep before takeoff. Jacques was busy in the galley. Eric and I took forward seats to stay out of everyone's way. I wasn't ready to wake up either, so reclined my seat and dozed. I woke gradually, opening my eyes to see Eric grinning at me. "Feel better, babe?" he asked. Jacques brought me a cup of coffee, and soon served breakfast, freshly cooked. The galley must have a great ventilation system because I couldn't smell the cooking in the cabin. The boys woke up and joined us. We talked about everything but what we were soon going to be seeing. I thought about it, though. My thinking didn't go along the line of hand wringing and "oh dear me". Instead, I was thoroughly pissed. How could anybody kill a couple of innocent men for something of questionable value? If the local cops couldn't catch the assholes, I'd put Bob on it. He had more manpower, resources and expertise than a lot of big city police departments. We'd get 'em. There was a delegation waiting on the tarmac. Hal, Loren, and John, and Bob was already there too. All of them looked pretty grim. Jacques and the boys decided to stay at the airport, but Ron and Jason wanted to see what had happened. The crash site was several miles out of town and accessible only with 4-wheel drive vehicles. The area was cordoned off, and swarming with official looking people. Hal took over. There really wasn't much to see. Debris was scattered over a wide area, nothing big enough to be recognizable. Two men separated from the crowd and came over to where we were standing. Hal told them who we were, and they introduced themselves - one was an FAA investigator and the other was from the local Sheriff's office. The Sheriff told us that someone had seen a fireball and men from his office had investigated. It had taken them several hours to find the wreckage, and by that time, all the canvas bags were gone without a trace. What remained of the bodies had been removed the night before. Their investigation was underway. The FAA guy didn't have anything concrete yet, but said that their preliminary guess was that some sort of missile had been used because the chopper, if flying in it's normal pattern, would have been too high to be brought down by conventional firearms. Their investigation would take several days, or weeks, to pinpoint the cause. Both of them wanted to ask all of us questions, particularly Loren who was most familiar with the flights. Hal told them that we'd be at the Hacienda Motel in Prescott. After our briefing, we were invited to take a closer look. Only Bob and the two pilots accepted. The Hacienda was surprising, rustic but quite luxurious, and even had suites, all of which Hal had booked for us. Ron and Jason volunteered to go pick up Jacques and the boys and get our luggage, and the rest of us congregated in Hal and Bob's suite. Bob was the first to speak up. "I spent a few hours at the Sheriff's office last night," he said. "They did everything they should have, in my opinion. Put up roadblocks in all directions, but didn't see anything. "This thing had to be very carefully planned," he continued, "and my bet is that whoever it was is still in the area, waiting for the heat to die down, they they'll take their haul out piecemeal." "If it was a missile, won't that be relatively easy to trace?" Eric asked. "Hell no," Bob grumbled. "You can buy 'em on the Internet." "What can they do with the ore?" I asked the room at large. Loren answered. "To make it marketable, they'll have to refine it, and I don't think there's anyplace here in this country that'd do it. My guess is that they'll head for Mexico with it." "Is anybody watching the border?" I asked innocently. "Why bother," Bob said. "If they're smart, they'll keep it in 50 pound lots, and that's easy to stash. It'd be impossible to check every car going across the border, and the Mexicans don't pay any attention to what's coming in." "Then it doesn't look promising?" I commented. There were lots of shaking heads. "If they get away with it this time, either the same ones or others will try it again," I commented. "How can we prevent that from happening?" "We can do it," Bob assured me. "It'll take some thought and a lot of changes, but we can get it done." The Sheriff joined us. He pretty much concurred with our speculations. "They didn't just drive in, shoot the plane down, then disappear," he said. "Somebody did a lot of preliminary planning, and they had to be here to do it. Somebody had to notice something, and we're going to find that somebody. This is a small community and anything out of the ordinary gets noticed." He went on to say that it may take time, but eventually somebody would make a mistake, or had already made one, and they'd catch the culprits. Hal and Loren agreed that no more ore concentrate would be moved out until safety could be assured. Mining operations would continue, but the ore would be stockpiled, and Bob would supply additional security at the mine. There wasn't a whole lot we could do, so I suggested to Eric that we head on home. He agreed. On Thursday and Friday, we attended funerals in Phoenix. - - - - - Joel called to see if we still wanted to go to Taiwan with him and Aaron. Unfortunately, it was the same time as our get-together with all the Milton Managers, so we had to beg off. Jeff briefed us on the meeting schedule. It would be three days of golf and informal get-togethers at the Greenbriar in West Virginia. With the new managers and the four of us, there would be more than fifty, and not all were golfers. Over Eric's protests, I volunteered to forego the golf and give the non-golfers some attention. Jacques was devastated when we wouldn't let him go along. We did let up a little and agreed that he'd be our steward on the flight. I got along real well with the non-golfers. We met for a later breakfast and then sat around and shot the bull while the rest were out chasing that little white ball around. When the golfers came in, they joined us. I noticed that the first thing Eric did was come over and touch me. It was, I'm sure, an unconscious move but it seemed like he was "marking his territory", and made me feel wonderful. On the third morning, after a night of heavy drinking, only two of the guys showed up for breakfast. They were obviously hungover, but were nevertheless cheerful. By now, we were all pretty familiar with each other. We joked, teased, and were all just pals. They were sipping their coffee when one of them looked me straight in the eye and asked "Is it true that you and Eric are an 'item'?" "This answer your question?" I asked holding up my left hand and rubbing my ring. "Eric wears one just like it." "I noticed," he said. "That is so neat!" "Thank you," was all I could say. "There's been a little speculation going on," he said. "Nobody really gives a damn, we're just curious." "Well, now you know," I told him, smiling. One of the things that came out of the meetings was that many of the managers wanted to provide an opportunity for their production people to get together too. They were closer to the action, and, comparing notes would certainly be beneficial. If Metalco production people could join them, it would be even better. Another, and possibly the most important, had been learning that all the Managers hated the Union they had to deal with. It was felt that the Union was a nuisance and stifled communications between workers and management. This was definitely food for thought. - - - - - It seemed like we had barely gotten home when it was time to go to Chicago to the Lundborg family reunion. We left the day before, going first to San Francisco to pick up Ryan, Diane, the baby and the nanny, and a ton of luggage. Jacques took care of us and the baby was quiet the whole trip in spite of the fact that the grandparents wouldn't leave the poor kid alone. That night, we "broke in" another of our hotels. No oil or candles, but a whole lot of lube got used. The reunion, which started at noon, was at a park in one of the suburbs. It was a potluck-picnic sort of affair, very informal. When we arrived, there was already a good crowd. "Damn, never knew I had so many relatives," Eric kidded his mother. "All blondes, too." "I think that's a dominant gene in the family," she answered. When both limos were unloaded, Eric and I were at the tail end of the procession into the throng. Karl and Ingrid were followed by Ryan and Diane, then the Nanny, then us. Neither of us knew a soul. That didn't last long. We were passed around from group to group, meeting everyone. The women were all very good looking, and the men... well, let's just say there were more hunks than I'd ever seen at one of our pool parties! From pre-teen to adult, they were blond, square jawed beauties. They had obviously been prepared for my presence. I was introduced as Eric's "partner" and not one eyebrow was raised. I gravitated toward the older guys, and Eric and Ryan were engrossed with their cousins of all ages, mostly male. When it was time to eat, Eric pulled me aside. "Blond isn't the only gene running through this family," he giggled with an evil grin on his face. "What're you talking about?" I asked. "I'm just about dizzy from all the 'vibes' I'm getting. How about you?" "A few," I admitted. "I thought it was my imagination." "I don't think so," he winked. "Let's stay cool and see what happens. I get the impression that everybody already knows about 'us'." Shortly after we ate, the younger crowd organized a touch football game. I was most definitely a spectator. "I'm too old for that stuff," Karl said, sitting down on the grass next to me. I laughed and agreed. The kids played hard, Eric among them. Of course, I had my eyes on him most of the time. He was truly a natural athlete. Graceful, agile and fast... and so damned sexy. There was a lot more to look at too. Big, gorgeous blondes ranging from, I'd guess, 16 or so, to probably their late 20's. They all had a definite family resemblance, including Eric, with facial features that any modeling agency would drool over. Talk about "eye candy"! The boys played for more than an hour. Sweating profusely, Eric dropped on the grass beside me, with the rest of his cousins joining him. They kidded each other about their game, then wanted to know about life in California. "It's not this humid," Eric told them, "and it sure as hell never snows. Think about us when you're freezing your asses off this winter," he continued gleefully, rubbing it in. "We'll do better than that," his cousin Don piped up, "we'll come see you. Got a place where we can put our sleeping bags?" "Hell, we've got a few spare bedrooms," Eric said. "Come on out, we'd love to have you, you're all invited!" "Don't be surprised to find a bunch of us on your doorstep," Don said. "Anytime," Eric said seriously. I was pleased that Eric had extended the invitation without consulting me. He was finally considering "our" house as truly OUR house. When it was time to go, it was pretty clear that a lot of bonding between Eric and his cousins had taken place. There were a lot of hugs, several of them giving me one too, and promises to "keep in touch". Eric didn't say much on the way back to the hotel, seeming to be lost in thought, but grinning at me whenever he saw me looking at him. "Sorry to be so quiet," he said as we went into our room. "I've been thinking about what happened today, and didn't think Mom and Dad were ready to learn that Dad's whole family is queer," he giggled. "Do you really think so?" I asked. "I'm almost positive about most of the cousins," he said, "and I'm not so sure about a couple of my Uncles. I'm convinced that being 'this way' is genetic, so it makes sense." "Do you think any of them will actually come and visit us?" "I'll bet on it," he answered, chuckling. "That could be VERY interesting!" - - - - - Most everything was running smoothly, but there were two issues that I wanted to look into. The first was what was being done about the gold shipments and the second was the Union situation at Milton. Eric and I wandered over to Hal's office for an update on the gold. Hal called Bob to join us. "We've been too predictable," Hal said. "The flights have been at about the same time every day, flying the same route. Bob and I agree that that's the first thing we have to change." "We also need to know if there's anybody out there waiting for us," Bob added. "Any suggestions?" Eric asked. "We were making several trips a day from the mine to Prescott," Hal said, "bringing in supplies, parts and other things, but the last trip of the day was always the ore. All the trips were from the mine directly to Prescott and back, following the same route. "The armored car would arrive in mid afternoon, and that's also a dead give-away. It wouldn't take much observation to figure out which flight the ore would be on. That will have to be changed. The armored car will have to be brought in early in the day, every day, and not leave until late, regardless of which flight the ore is on. Some days, we won't even bring any out, other days, several loads." "What's to keep 'them' from shooting down the wrong flight?" I asked. "We're coming to that," Bob said. "We've got an idea on how to keep EVERY flight safe." "It's going to be expensive," Hal said, "but when you consider that we're bringing out four to five million dollars worth of ore every day, it's not much." "We'll need constant surveillance of the flight corridor," Bob said. "If we see any activity, we just won't fly, period." "How're you going to do that?" I asked. "That's rough terrain and anybody could hide in those rocks." "We'll need a second chopper, a small one, to patrol the corridor," Bob said. "There will be visual observation and also infrared equipment to detect heat anomalies in the rocks." "How does that work?" Eric asked. "It's the same as the police use when they're following a suspect. I'm sure you've seen it on TV. The human body gives off heat at a different temperature than the surrounding area, and the infrared scans pick up on that," Bob explained. "A little two-man chopper will do the job. A pilot and someone to run the equipment. We'll also change the route so the transport chopper will fly over terrain that isn't so rocky." "Do you think that'll work?" I asked. "Nothing's a hundred percent sure thing," Bob said. "Both Hal and I think that this would be the safest route to take. We're also working with the local sheriff, and if we do spot anyone, his men will go after them." "When will this go into effect?" I asked. "It should all be in place in a couple more weeks," Hal said, "We're getting a larger transport chopper so we can carry bigger loads, not have to make as many trips, and the smaller one is being outfitted right now." - - - - - Eric and I discussed the Milton Union situation. He'd never had any experience with unions, neither as a member or on the management side. He did have strong opinions, though. He thought they'd served their purpose, and were no longer needed. In his opinion, they were dinosaurs trying to survive in a world where they were no longer wanted or needed. In the year or so that Metalco had owned Milton, control of critical functions had been assumed by Metalco people, but Milton was still run as a separate business for one important reason - all Milton plants were unionized, Metalco was not. Over the years, some trades within Metalco had opted to be represented by Unions, but, this had never lasted very long because our workers soon learned that being represented by outsiders was superfluous and ineffective. Metalco management was responsive to problems in the workplace, and our wage scales were universally higher than those negotiated by Unions in similar industries and our benefits were much more generous. Consequently, no Metalco plant, anyplace, had experienced any serious Union organizing activity in more than 20 years. Our employees just weren't interested. Milton was a different matter. Virtually all shop-floor workers were represented by the Metal Workers Union, and had been for at least 40 years. Wage agreements with this Union would be up for re-negotiation in a few months, with preliminary talks already underway. Under the Milton brothers' management, Edward had handled all of this himself. Personally, I didn't have much use for Unions. I agreed with Eric, their time had come and gone. The exploitation of workers was a thing of the past, and the Government oversaw and audited the activities of virtually every employer. Not only that, but enlightened employers realized the value of getting and, more importantly, keeping good people. With the booming economy, it was definitely a seller's market with employers actually bidding for the services of the diminishing supply of available, qualified people. My main reason for disliking Unions was the fact that so many of them really weren't interested in the welfare of those they represented, but in the perpetuation of the institutions themselves and the high paying positions and political power they provided to their officials. Most had been proven to be utterly corrupt too, which I didn't find very appealing. Quite frankly, I hated Unions. My late father had considered "union" the dirtiest word in the English language as a result of some of the battles he'd fought with them. From past experience, I knew that the only time the National Labor Relations Board would permit a union de-certification election was the six months prior to expiration of an existing contract. I also knew that the effort couldn't be initiated by management, legally. It had to be started by the so-called "Rank and File". The "window" of opportunity was open. Eric and I agreed that we ought to try a little "Union busting" while we had the chance. I set up a meeting with Bill, Jeff and Jack to tell them what we had in mind. Bill and Jack had been through this before, and Jack knew every dirty trick in the book. My decision to move forward wasn't altogether selfish. In the short term, it would cost us more. Bringing all Milton employees up to Metalco wage levels would be more expensive than the levels we could probably negotiate with the Union. But, in the long run, in my opinion, employee satisfaction and company loyalty would offset the cost. In fact, if the Union was as crooked and corrupt as I understood it to be, for a nominal bribe, we could probably get by a LOT cheaper, like the Miltons had done. But, we don't work that way. When I broached the subject, Bill was in full agreement, and Jack relished the chance for a good fight. Jeff, however was hesitant. "Our busiest season is coming up," he said, "do we really want to make waves right now?" "Actually, that's to our advantage," Jack told him. "The Union won't expect it, and to call a strike before Christmas wouldn't make any points with the workers." "The managers made it pretty clear that they wanted to get rid of the Union," Bill observed. "If we don't move now, it'll be another three years before we can do anything." We discussed strategy. Since the movement to oust the Union had to be started by Union members, it was up to individual managers to plant the seeds among people who would cooperate. They, in turn, would start the petition process, getting their fellow workers to sign. Neither the managers nor other management people could openly support the movement, but we could help in other ways such as providing positive information to them on the advantages enjoyed by the non-union employees of Metalco, and derogutory information about the Union itself. So far, Eric and I were the only ones who knew about the surveillance that had been in place for months on Tony Rizullo and the Miltons, and we had decided to keep it to ourselves until later. Jeff was given the job of contacting all the managers and getting their cooperation. All of this was to be verbal. No E-mails, nothing in writing that could be used against us later. The Union itself was in a highly vulnerable position. They were small, independent, and not affiliated with any of the big organizations. The AFL-CIO considered them renegades and too crooked to join them, so they were on their own, and didn't have the organization to fight a major battle like we planned. But, since Milton employees represented a third of their total membership, they'd no doubt try to put up a fight. If decertification efforts got started at all of our 47 plants at the same time, the Union just wouldn't have the manpower to fight on all those fronts. That's what we'd try to do, hit them all at once. Jeff left to start making calls. Jack was grinning. "This ought to be fun," he said. "I wonder how dirty they'll get?" "We've been through this before," I chuckled. "I know, OUR one vulnerable spot is you guys," he said nodding toward Eric and me. "They will probably try to go after you personally, so be careful." The ball was rolling and there wasn't much for Eric and I to do except watch - until the petitions started circulating and the Union reacted. - - - - - It was time for the annual "Critters" party at the San Diego Zoo, a benefit for CRES (Center for the Reproduction of Endangered Species), my pet charity. Every year, I was one of the main sponsors of the event but used the name of one of our Appliance brands instead of mine. It was always a fun evening, starting with wine tasting put on by all of Southern California's wineries, then all the restaurants in town had booths where they dished out their specialties of the house. This all took place right at the Zoo. When I told Eric about it, he was eager to go. "Let's take a couple of days," he suggested. "We can take a look at the CLP property and just 'play' for a day or two." That sounded good to me. We also had a hotel or two to check out. We left on Wednesday afternoon, driving Eric's Mercedes with the top down. As usual, I had my hand on his thigh and when we passed trucks who could look down and see, we got quite a few toots of their horns and a big thumbs up. A few people driving those damned SUV's noticed us too. Some gave us the thumbs up, others glared. I blew kisses at the glarers, male or female, and that really pissed them off. We spent all day Thursday at the Zoo. It was Eric's first time there and he wanted to see everything, particularly the Giant Pandas. I'd been there many times before, but it was so much fun to be with someone who was so enthusiastic. He truly was a "Nature Boy". The zoo's botanical collection rivaled the animal exhibits, and we took time to "smell the roses". Friday, we drove up to the Wild Animal Park north of the city. This is where the breeding programs for endangered species were carried out. I'd made arrangements for us to see the "behind the scenes" activities, so we got to see a lot that isn't open to the general public. As always, it was fascinating to me, and Eric didn't miss a thing. The Benefit event itself was informal. The objective was to try to sample the food from every booth, and get thoroughly stuffed in the process. During the wine tasting, we ran into a group of zoo and CRES officials who I knew. I introduced Eric and told them that they'd better go after him during their next fund-raising drive. The food was unbelievable. I think every ethnic cuisine known to man was represented. All you got was a "taste" at each booth unless you were greedy like I was, going back for more of the unusual stuff. Before hitting the dessert section, we took a walk. Most of the walkways were dimly lighted, and some of the nocturnal animals were out doing their thing. Not many other people were wandering, so we strolled with our arms around each other. Here we were, in the middle of the city with wild animals all around us, no doubt watching. It was eerily calm, somehow emphasizing the closeness I felt to the man brushing along my side. I leaned my head onto his shoulder. "Just us and the animals," I sighed contentedly. We stopped, kissed lovingly, and continued. "I just like being with you," Eric said softly. "When we're together like this, nothing else matters." Evidently that was the case with both of us because we were halfway home when we realized that we'd forgotten to look at the waterfront property. - - - - - Petitions had been circulating on shop floors in all Milton plants for a couple of weeks. The only reaction from the Union had been an abrupt end to contract negotiations that had started earlier. The Union just canceled all further meetings. The first sign of trouble was in New Jersey, not surprisingly. The trucks that normally hauled our product to customers failed to show up. Our two plants in New Jersey required a total of sixty trucks per day, only four showed up at one plant and none at the other. This was clearly a secondary boycott, highly illegal. The trucking companies that we worked with used "Equipment shortage" as an excuse. Jack, however, was ready, and filed for an injunction immediately. It was granted, and trucks started showing up again, but in much smaller numbers than we needed. This action spread to other plants in the Northeast, including Metalco facilities. It spread like a brushfire and kept Jack and his crew busy in several states. Jeff and Mike reported that our warehouses would be bulging in less than two weeks and we'd have to curtail production. To this, Eric had a suggestion. "How about getting a bunch of those inflatable buildings? I understand you can put them up in a few days." "Good idea," Mike said. "We've used them before." "We can prioritize shipments," Jeff said. "Most of our stuff is just going to another warehouse to be held for Christmas anyway. I'm pretty sure our customers will work with us." That would defuse the current problem, and give us time to put pressure on the trucking companies through the courts. It was time to look over the surveillance reports that Bob had been collecting. Eric and I picked them up and spent the weekend going over them. There wasn't much "meat" in them until we got to the ones covering the last few weeks. There was, however, a lot of interesting background information that might come in handy if things got really nasty. Tony Rizullo's office, car and phone were all bugged, and we learned a lot about how the Union operated. The Union President was a figurehead, Tony actually ran the Union. He wasn't what you'd call an upstanding citizen, either, closely linked to the mob and involved in all sorts of criminal dealings. He was also real chummy with Edward Milton. Sunday morning, I asked Bob to come over to the house. He wasn't surprised, and had anticipated my first request. "I've already passed the word to beef up surveillance on Marzullo, and to get the reports back to me the next day if possible," he said, grinning. "He's a nasty SOB, and we need to know what he's up to." "You've read the reports yourself?" I asked. "I've scanned most of them," he answered. "I've been looking for any references to you or Milton or Metalco. Not much until the last few weeks." "We're interested in seeing transcripts of some of those recent conversations," I told him. "Maybe we'd better have full transcripts on everything from now on." He was taking notes, and made a list of the conversations that Eric and I had marked. "You'll want to keep these originals," he said. "This is all I'll need to get full details for you. Does anybody else know about these?" "Not yet," I told him. "Jack's on his way over and we intend to show them to him, but not tell him where we got them." "Jack's OK," Bob said, grinning. "He and I've worked together for a lot of years, and he doesn't mind 'bending' the rules if it's in the Company's best interest." "I'm still not going to tell him that you're involved," I said. "That's fine with me. I'll put the daily reports in your car like I did before, if that's OK." I nodded. Jack was chuckling when I finished telling him that we'd had the Miltons and Tony Rizullo under surveillance for the last several months. "Dave, nothing you do surprises me," he laughed. "What made you start doing it?" "We heard a rumor that the Miltons may try something, and then when we saw old Edward getting palsy-walsy with Rizullo, we had him covered too," I said. "I'm not going to ask how you're getting this stuff. Afterall, I'm an officer of the Court, and I couldn't possibly get involved in something like this," he said, then busted out laughing. "Every advantage helps," he winked at us. "We've already requested full transcripts of some of the recent conversations. They're marked, and if you want any others, let me know. Reports will be coming in daily, and I'll pass them on to you. They'll be complete, too, not just references, but verbatim." "I won't know what we've got until I read these," he said. "Dale's working with me on this Union thing, and with your permission, I'll ask him to read them too...at home. This stuff isn't going anywhere near the office." - - - - - Bob reported that everything was set up for daily reports. They'd be e-mailed to an untraceable address, then printed. The transcripts we'd requested would be in my car by the time we went home. In the afternoon, Jack called to request an evening meeting with us. He would be bringing Dale. I suggested that they come to our house for dinner. After they arrived, Jack and Dale scanned the reports that had come in that day. Eric had read them but I hadn't. "That Rizullo is pure slime," Dale commented. "There's enough in those reports to put him away for the rest of his natural life. The Miltons, too." "Don't get indignant," Jack chuckled. "We'll worry about them later. We need them now so we'll know what to expect." "Well, did you find anything useful?" I asked. "Since the reports we've seen aren't very current, we don't have any idea what they're planning to do next. Hopefully, with daily reports, we'll know more in the next few days. There is, however, a lot of blackmail material. That's what we wanted to talk to you guys about. "What's your point?" Eric asked. "So far, the fight's been relatively clean," Jack told us. "Just the usual crap - the truckers, and attempted intimidation of the membership. That's to be expected, and we can deal with it. "It hasn't degenerated to a personal level yet, and I hope it doesn't, and for that reason, I don't think we should start it. "They all know that you, Dave, are behind this 'Union busting' effort, or at least have given your approval. They also know that you can stop it. The last thing that I want to see happen is for either you or Eric to get hurt personally. "We already have the advantage, or soon will, by knowing their next moves. We can counter those, and, I believe, win this thing without resorting to too many dirty tricks. I suggest we keep it 'clean' as long as we can." "What could they do to us?" Eric asked. "I don't think they'd try anything physical," Dale said, "but with Tony's mob connections, that can't be ruled out either." "Bob's increasing your security, but the ones I'm most concerned about are the rest of the family - Annie and Tina, and your parents, Eric," Jack added. "Sounds like it's time for the Lake House again," Eric chuckled. "Let's not panic, for chrissakes!" I roared. "Aren't we blowing this whole thing out of proportion?" "Not according to Bob," Jack said. "He's really nervous. Get him over here and he'll tell you so himself." "I believe you," I said. "Let's keep our shirts on and see what happens." "I certainly didn't expect anything like this!" Eric said when we were alone. "They're all being overprotective," was my opinion. "But, I think you ought to talk to your Mom and Dad." "I will, but they'll laugh at me." "I'm going to talk to the girls in the morning," I told him. - - - - - Jeff gave us daily reports. At one plant in Ohio more than 50% of the workers had signed decertification petitions, enough to call for an election, and had filed with the NLRB to hold one. At other plants, workers in favor of the Union were causing disruption and threatening their fellow workers who wanted to get rid of the Union. By now, the papers had picked up on the story, and when a small bomb went off in the trash dumpster of a Metalco plant, it became a major event. Bob literally begged us to get out of town, someplace where he could give us the protection he felt we needed. His argument was that the Union stood to lose $30 million a year in dues if Milton pulled out, and that they'd do just about anything to hang onto it. Most of it was finding it's way into Tony's pocket, and if he lived up to his reputation, he'd kill for a helluva lot less. I still felt that this whole thing was ridiculous. With all the publicity, the Union, or their buddies, wouldn't dare try anything. The intelligence we were getting kept Jack one step ahead of every move the Union made, and we were winning. Nevertheless, I wanted to be prepared for any eventuality, so I formulated "Plan B" just in case. A few days later, my whole attitude changed. I was opening my mail, a large envelope to be exact. When I pulled out the contents, there was a snap like a mouse trap makes. Some sort of device was glued to a piece of cardboard, and below it was handwritten "BANG, you're dead". I called Bob immediately, and he must have sprinted to my office. "It could have been a letter bomb," he pronounced. "Will you take me seriously now?" As he was examining the thing, Eric walked in. "Looky what I got in the mail," he said, holding up a video cassette. I've never seen a human being move so fast. Bob grabbed the cassette from Eric's hand and was out the door in a flash. "What's with him?" Eric asked as Bob flew by. "He's MORE than nervous," I answered. "Here's the note that came with it," Eric said, handing me a folded sheet of paper. "Back off or this will be on the net and in every newspaper," was neatly printed on it. "Here's something I got in the mail too," I said, handing him the fake letter bomb. "That's why Bob's so nervous. Have you seen what's on that video?" I asked. "Not yet. I hope Bob doesn't destroy it." "It's only a video tape," Bob said when he came back a half hour later. "We took it apart and there's nothing in it." "This came with it," Eric said, handing Bob the letter. "Let's have a look at the tape," I said, getting up. I had a VCR and big TV in a cabinet behind my desk. I popped the cassette in and hit 'play' on the remote. The three of us were staring at the screen. As the picture came on, I recognized the sofa in the den in the New York apartment. I knew what would be next, so I hit the 'stop' button and turned to Bob. "If this is what I think it is, maybe you'd better look the other way," I told him. Eric hadn't caught on yet, but when I restarted the tape, his first comment was "Oh shit!" The tape ran about fifteen minutes. It was good quality, sharp focus --- of Eric and me trading blow jobs. There was no sound, but it was clear what was taking place. "Well?" Bob asked. "Can I turn around now?" "Yeah, I guess so," Eric said sheepishly, collapsing into a chair. "What was it?" Bob asked. "A home video," I told him, "of Eric and me. Rather explicit and damned embarassing if it got out." "I'll need details," he said, taking over. "It's a video I made at the New York apartment several months ago," Eric said. "It shows Dave and me making love." "Is it clear? I mean, is it in focus?" "Unfortunately, yes," Eric answered. "Are there others?" Eric thought a minute. "No, that's the only one in New York." "Are there others anyplace else?" "We have a few here," he answered. "Lock them up, now!" Bob advised, then gazed out the window, thinking. "I'm willing to bet that this tape was taken sometime since the Union thing started," he said. "Who's had access to the apartment since then?" Eric looked at me for confirmation. "None of us have been there since then, just the cleaning service." "We can check that out easily enough," he said. "I'll have somebody on it right away. We'll find out who took it, but that's not really going to help us. By now there's probably fifty copies floating around." "Understand one thing, Bob," Eric said, looking him straight in the eye. "I don't know how Dave feels, but I'm not the least bit ashamed of what's on that tape. I'm just sorry that I made it and didn't keep it locked up." Bob walked over and put his hand on Eric's shoulder, smiling. "I have to admit something, Eric," he said. "For a long time after you came on the scene, I didn't like you or trust you. I thought you were an opportunist, and yes, a gold digger. As you've noticed, I'm pretty protective of Dave here, and I didn't want to see him get hurt. You've proven to me that I was wrong. I've grown to like you and you've earned my respect. "We'll do the best we can to protect both of you," he continued. "Let me get my men together and we'll see what we can come up with." "I think we'd better let Jack, Jeff and Bill in on these developments," I said. "Let's all get together this afternoon." "A council of War," Bob chuckled, "I'll be here." "I feel like such a fool," Eric said. - - - - - To be continued. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I appreciate hearing your comments on the story, my writing, and anything you would like to offer - good or not so good. Send me a message at orrinrush@yahoo.com