Under the Cypress Moon (30 page)

"I hope you're not talkin' about stock options, Mark."

"Oh, hell no!  This company is one hundred percent privately owned, and it's gonna stay that way forever.  No stock options, not for anyone.  But our employees are gonna find out that we care a lot more about them than they ever thought under my dad's leadership.  We take care of them, and they'll take care of us.  Now, let's go down and see what these damned big city boys have to say about all this.  I'm sure they've found somethin' bad by now, somethin' to throw in our faces.  Any word on OSHA yet?"

"No, Mark, no word, not since late yesterday.  They're supposed to send somebody down soon.  You get a ten thousand dollar fine just for not shutting one machine off properly.  Imagine what they're gonna fine us for a furnace explosion that killed a man and nearly killed another.  Like I said, it could be millions altogether.  Just be prepared for that.  I just hope it doesn't eat up the money that's left before we can even fix the damages.  The last I checked, with all bank accounts together, including payroll, the plant has about twenty-eight million.  I don't know where your dad stashed the rest of it, but there should be a lot more than that.  I pray you find out where he put the rest if this thing comes to the worst."

As Mark and Don proceeded down the metal stairway toward the production floor, Mark began to feel very dizzied, nearly falling and stumbling downward.  He managed, after his legs gave way, to catch his hand on the railing and pull himself back up to his feet.

"You ok there, Mark," Don concernedly asked, grabbing Mark's other arm to steady him.

"Yeah.  The doctor warned me I'd get dizzy from time to time, but I'm alright.  I might have to find things to hold me up, but other than that, it isn't that bad."

"You maybe wanna go on home and let me handle all this, Mark?"

"No, Don.  We should both be here til this blows over.  I'm here as long as I'm needed."

"Alright then.  Well, if you can make it, let's get down there and see if can't shoo away those vultures."

"That's an insult to vultures everywhere, Man," Mark joked as he slowly pulled his way down, both hands guiding carefully down the length of the rail.

Don laughed so hard at this remark that had he been directly facing Mark, his large stomach might have propelled Mark headfirst over the railing and onto the floor very far below.

When the two men reached the floor, they were quickly approached by one of the inspectors.  Producing a large clipboard, nearly shoving it into Don's face, the man bellowed, in a very squawky, birdlike voice, "This is just what we've discovered so far.  Twenty-two violations, one million four hundred fifty-five thousand dollars in total.  We're sure to find more, and that's not to mention what OSHA might find when they come.  If you want to reopen this contaminated cesspool you call a manufacturing facility, I suggest you start looking for a bank to back you.  You're gonna be lucky if you have any money when we get done with you."  The little man, squawky and annoying as he was, seemed quite pleased with himself and with his presentation.

"Rat bastard," Don said as the man stepped away.  "I'd love to shove these fines right down his damn throat!"

"He really is like a vulture, isn't he," Mark remarked, not a bit of laughter or joking in his voice.  "Did you hear him?"  In his best squawky, birdlike interpretive voice, Mark mimicked, 'twenty-two violations, one million four hundred fifty-five thousand dollars." 

"At least we have it.  Hopefully, they don't find much more.  Hell, it's not even ten o'clock, and they've found that much!  This could eat us up, you know, if they do find more.  We better get lookin' at the books again."  Don's shaky voice displayed every bit of fear that was hiding in his large, seemingly obtrusive person. 

Before either man could move, though moving would have taken a lot out of Mark, as he was now completely steadying  himself by holding onto Don's shoulder, the same nerdy-looking, squawking man returned.  "Here are three more, Gentlemen, another one hundred eight-five thousand dollars in fines.  For starters, you'll have to change out every single one of your furnaces for more modern, safer, energy-efficient ones.  You should have complied with this a long time ago.  How you've gotten around it is beyond me.  You could have avoided much of this trouble had you done so sooner.  You'll also have to put in a better CATOX system to filter out your
polluted air.  On both of those things, you'll have one month to get it going.  We'll be back in that one month to make sure it's being done.  The guys are getting toward the end of their inspection, and I imagine that there will be a few more infractions, but you're already looking at nearly two million dollars in fines.  You have one month to pay those.  Looks like you gentlemen are going to have a very interesting time between then and now."  As the man walked away, Mark squeezed Don's shoulders, seeing the fury in Don's eyes as they turned toward a large pipe that leaned against the stairway.

"Not worth it, Don.  Let it go.  You can't fix anything by bashin' him over the head.  I can't run this place with you in prison."

Sighing so heavily that Mark thought he might have a fit of some sort or worse, a seizure, Don did all that he could to calm himself.  He wanted nothing more than to level the little man to the floor and watch him struggle for life but reminded himself time and again of the consequences, both earthly and eternal.  "Thank you, Mark.  I might've done somethin' really bad there if you weren't with me.  Thank you.  You're my saving grace today."

"You just remember Betty Jo and the kids.  They don't need you behind bars.  The kids need their father, and I'm sure Betty can't just go about her life without a husband.  You got people that need you and depend on you."

"I know.  I know.  And I'd have to answer for it not only in this life but in the next.  I can't do that."  As Don said a silent prayer, asking God for forgiveness for his horrible thoughts of violence, Mark saw it and knew.  Mark said enough silent prayers of his own to be able to tell when someone else was doing the same.

"Mark," Don asked when his prayer was over.

"Yeah, Don?"

"These no good, lousy, somethin' or others are gonna be here for a little while longer.  They can't fine us for goin' up to the office and havin' a beer, can they?  Let's do it.  I could use it.  I'm sure you could, too.  Let's just drink til we forget their stupid faces!"

"Sounds good to me.  Let 'em come find us when they get done.  After you."

"NO," Don demanded.  "You go first.  If you're dizzy, and you start to topple down the stairs, I'm gonna be behind you.  You go, and then I go."

Mark and Don did exactly as planned, concealing themselves in the office far above the production floor, popping the tops off of a beer apiece, Mark lighting a cigarette and kicking up his feet from behind his desk.

"You got one of those for me, Boss," Don posited, his face still having not recovered from its sallow expression of earlier.

"I thought you quit six months ago."

"I did, but to hell with it.  Betty'll kill me, but let her.  I need one.  So, you got one for me?"

"Help yourself.  They're on the desk there."

"You know, mmmm," Don said as he took a deep puff, "you know... it's stupid jackass idiots like the ones downstairs that keep companies from being able to make real money and keep America goin' anymore.  They can't create jobs cuz government know-nothings are always leveling fines here and fines there.  You can't turn a profit because you're always kowtowing to everybody else.  I think they oughta leave it all well enough alone and let us fix our own problems.  What good does it do to fine us two million dollars?  Where does the money go?  It goes right into the politicians' pockets. 
It should be right here, with us, earnin' us some interest or put into the expansion you were talkin' about.  We could create another hundred or two hundred jobs in no time, easy!  That's hundreds of more families havin' food on their tables thanks to us.  Now, we'll be lucky if we can keep afloat, unless we find some genie lamp."

With a deep puff of his own cigarette and a big swig of his beer, Mark tried to reassure Don that all would be well. 
"We'll be alright, Don.  It'll work itself out.  I know it will.  Look at me.  Do you see me shakin'?  My dad is dyin'?  I got a cyst on my brain plus some head injuries, and one or both of those is makin' me dizzy and sick and givin' me headaches.  I'm facin' millions in fines.  I got two families that I've ruined, well, that my dad ruined, with his stubbornness.  I got a girlfriend demanding all of my time that I've wanted for years, and I'm damned afraid I'll screw it all up with her, but you know what... I'm kickin' back.  I'm havin' a beer and a smoke at ten a.m.  To hell with this.  We'll pay the fines.  We'll move on.  We'll fix.  We'll expand.  We'll hire.  We'll do whatever we have to.  We'll make it work, one way or another.  We beg.  We borrow.  We scrounge, whatever, everything short of stealing."

"You're right.  Screw it.  When those eggheads down there get done, I might just go home and spend the day with my wife and say forget this."

"Well, we gotta at least get some calls made and see if we can get somebody scheduled to come in and do some work.  I still haven't figured what to do about the general cleanup.  I'm thinkin' of callin' everybody back to work temporarily just to clean and offerin' 'em all OT pay for it."

"Hey, whatever, your call, Mark.  As long as we get everything taken care of.  I guess a little OT won't hurt us too much.  If you want, I'll make some calls to all of the employees.  What do you wanna do?  Do you wanna make it mandatory or volunteer?  Some of the guys might not take too kindly to bein' called in right after what just happened and with the accidents and all.  I think makin' it a volunteer thing would go a long way with 'em."  Don seemed quite adamant about the idea.

"Yeah, I agree.  Volunteer shifts, maybe just one eight hour shift a day where they can show up on whatever days they want to.  If they wanna work one day on it and no more or wanna work every single day, up to them."

"Good idea.  I'll put the word out, right after I finish this beer."

"Hell, I'm gettin' my second one and my second smoke, too.  But you go right ahead.  Do what you gotta do, and lunch is on me today, wherever you wanna go."  As Mark popped the top on his beer and shoved another cigarette into his mouth, he kicked his feet back up onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, dangling his beer close to the floor and soon after, pulling it back to his mouth for a large guzzle.  "Damn, this is good beer, Don.  Where'd you get this stuff anyway?"

"It's my cousin's private brew.  He's been playin' around with it all for a couple of years now.  He's finally got the formula down pretty good.  I thought you might like it.  It took me only a couple of 'em to get totally hooked."

"I'll tell ya what, Don," Mark said, reclining so far in his chair that he came close to falling backward, "I'll call T.L. and ask him to spread the word.  I'll tell him to call Timmons, Deek, St. George, Paulson, Nickels, and T-Bone Jenkins.  You call all the supervisors.  If T.L. and all those other guys hear the word, it'll spread like wildfire.  We could potentially have eighty or ninety percent of our workforce here tomorrow.  Let's tell 'em all they can show up whatever days they want, whatever hours, weekdays only for now.  If they wanna come in and work two hours at a time in the afternoon, so be it.  Anything helps, and doin' this will make 'em all have a little faith in us, hopefully."

T.L. was overjoyed at the news, happy not only that he would be working but at the prospects of choosing his own hours and earning extraordinary pay for it.  Word was spread by many, and before an hour had passed, more than half of the entire workforce had been notified by one person or by multiple people. 

Most were as joyed over the matter as T.L. was.  Some expressed their deep disgust and talked about possibly quitting their jobs.  News of this got back to Mark before noon, but despite his initial worry, he reminded himself that it was to be expected and that damage control must be done, at all costs.  More than a few of the employees, however, stated firmly that they would be at the plant first thing the next morning.  Mark and Don felt assured that they would have a substantial crew immediately. 

After a lengthy lunch paid for by Mark at a nearby diner, Don went back to the plant to make phone calls once more, this time, to set up meetings with construction crews for estimates on fixing the damages, as well as to call and set up meetings with a company specializing in industrial furnaces and
with CATOX to have them custom engineer, build, and install a new industrial oxidizer system.   Mark, on the other hand, grew tired of Don's constant requests that he go home, rest, and spend time with Shylah.  Mark finally but somewhat reluctantly agreed to this and headed for home, luckily, remembering that he had promised Shylah a present of some sort.  When he mentioned it, he had no idea what it might be but wanted to appease Shylah. 

Mark came home to find Shylah asleep on the couch and Thomas screaming loudly.  Mark knew that it would likely not be a good day at all.  He tried desperately to shrug it all off, let it all go, and just remind himself that it was what it was and must be dealt with accordingly but that there was no need to get truly upset.  Mark quickly laid the flowers that he bought Shylah on the kitchen counter and trudged down the hall to see what his father wanted.

"What's the matter, Dad?  I'm here."

"Where the hell is that damn girl," Thomas screamed.