Permanent Interests Read Free

rules would prohibit it. Not his job!"
    Al's earthy manner and overblown descriptions reminded Wentworth of the good ol' boys back in Spartanburg -- minus the quick Brooklyn clip and Italian cadence that underlay Al's speech.
    "Here I had this cushy union job. I was making good money, good benefits and none the worse for wear either.
    Whether I busted my ass or merely showed up to work and went into a coma, I got paid. Hey, can't beat that right?
    Got it made for life, right? So what'd I do? I quit. It was crazy! This is what communism must be like, I thought."
    Wentworth was struck by Al's passionate commitment to his principles. His delivery blocked out everything in the listener's mind but the issue at hand. The young man felt that he was witnessing the performance of a great actor, a Brando, or a DeNiro.
    "So, I decide to go into business for myself. I'll keep the unions out and make more dough doing better work faster.
    I start small: landscaping, building repairs, that sort of thing. Just me and some buddies. Mac McNamara was one of them -- Al-Mac Construction, get it? -- he's gone now but his niece works here. She's the cute dish who arranged this interview. I'll introduce you. In any case, we grew and grew and kept the troublemakers in the unions 12 JAMES
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    out. And we got contracts, including from the government."
    "But how did you actually pull it off, what with the power the big unions wield, not to mention the bigger established competitors and all the government red tape you mentioned earlier?" Wentworth wanted to know.
    Big Al's big brown eyes flitted suspiciously from wall-to-wall as he fell uncharacteristically silent. "Next chapter, Chuckie," he declared as he slapped the young man on the back and gestured toward the open door. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee and then I'll introduce you around."
    Chuckie Wentworth and his boss made the rounds.
    Gruff, broken-nosed job foremen, urbane smooth-talking accountants, simple laborers, thirtyish divorcée secretaries who cast lascivious glances at Wentworth's behind. While such people were all to be found in South Carolina as well, these were different. Tougher, blunter, shrewder, pushier.
    And he found no comparison with government people either, the latter generally ranging from sycophantically ambitious to smarmily officious.
    Al tasked Wentworth first with revamping the security guards. Too much equipment and stuff disappearing from warehouses and job sites. Next, look into procurement methods. Seems we're paying higher prices than we should be for supplies. After that, payroll. Does everybody on the books really show up for work?
    Wentworth plunged into his work. He uncovered a scam in the guard force: they were ripping off supplies and selling them. Big Al fired the guard force. Wentworth drew on his embassy experience in contracting for a new force with an aggressive, up-and-coming firm. Wentworth personally scrutinized the background of each guard.
    Contract terms called for regular training of the guards and recertification. The company was indeed overpaying for PERMANENT INTERESTS
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    everything from paper towels to axle grease. Fire the company purchaser, Al ordered, and an accountant while we're at it. Sure enough, payroll and personnel didn't jibe.
    Make it jibe by firing the goddamn goldbrickers and their foremen, commanded Big Al.
    In their place, Wentworth recruited ex-military NCOs and enlisted men. "Great job, Chuckie, here's two grand as a bonus. Spend it all on broads and a good time."
    Wentworth was pleased with his new job and the turn his life was taking. True, his greatest youthful ambition had never been to live in or around New York City. He shared the same biases many rural Americans, northerners and southerners alike, have against New Yorkers. Indeed, they were brash, pushy, shifty. But the more he got to know them, the more he felt kindred to them. Folks back home were more solicitous, mannerly. Yet they spat when telling a good