Wheels

or changing gears. Well, we've learned a lot about all that since we started hard core hiring. We also learned that some people - not all, but somewho don't acquire those habits on their own, can get them if they're given help.'

'You'd better help me,' Brett said. 'I have trouble getting up.'

His companion smiled. 'If we did try to help, I'd send someone from employee relations staff to see you. If you'd dropped out, quit coming to work, he'd ask you why. There's another thing: some of these new people will miss one day, or even be an hour or two late, then simply give up. Maybe they didn't intend to miss; it just happened. But they have the notion we're so inflexible, it means automatically they've lost their jobs.'

'And they haven't?'

'Christ, not! We give a guy every possible break because we want the thing to work. Something else we do is give people who have trouble getting to work a cheap alarm clock; you'd be surprised how many have never owned one. The company let me buy a gross. In my office I've got alarm clocks the way other men have paper clips.'

Brett said, 'I'll be damned!' It seemed incongruous to think of a gargantuan auto company, with annual wage bills running into billions, worrying about a few sleepyhead employees waking up.

'The point I'm getting at,' Leonard Wingate said, 'is that if a hard core worker doesn't show up, either to finish a training course or at the plant, whoever's in charge is supposed to notify one of my special people. Then, unless it's a hopeless case, they follow through.'

'But that hasn't been happening? It's why you're frustrated?'

'That's part of it. There's a whole lot more.' The Personnel man downed the last of his Scotch. 'Those courses we have where the hard core people get oriented - they last eight weeks; there are maybe two hundred on a course.'

Brett motioned for a refill to their drinks. When the bartender had gone, he prompted, 'Okay, so a course with two hundred people.'

'Right. An instructor and a woman secretary are in charge. Between them, those two keep all course records, including attendance. They pass out paychecks, which arrive weekly in a bunch from Headquarters Accounting.

Naturally, the checks are made out on the basis of the course records.'

Wingate said bitterly, 'It's the instructor and the secretary - one particular pair. They're the ones.'

'The ones what?'

'Who've been lying, cheating, stealing from the people they're employed to help.'

'I guess I can figure some of it,' Brett said. 'But tell me, anyway.'

'Well, as the course goes along, there are dropouts - for the reasons I told you, and for others. It always happens, we expect it. As I said, if our department's told, we try to persuade some of the people to come back. But what this instructor and secretary have been doing is not reporting the dropouts, and recording them present. So that checks for the dropouts have kept coming in, and then that precious pair has kept those checks themselves.'

'But the checks are made out by name. They can't cash them.'

Wingate shook his head. 'They can and they have. What happens is eventually this pair does report that certain people have stopped coming, so the company checks stop, too. Then the instructor goes around with the checks he's saved and finds the people they're made out to. It isn't difficult; all addresses are on file. The instructor tells a cock-and-bull story about the company wanting the money back, and gets the checks endorsed. After that, he can cash them anywhere. I know it happens that way. I followed the instructor for an afternoon.'

'But how about later, when your employee relations people go visiting?

You say they hear about the dropouts eventually. Don't they find out about the checks?'

'Not necessarily. Remember, the people we're dealing with aren't communicative. They're dropouts in more ways than one, usually, and never volunteer information. It's hard enough getting answers to questions.

Besides that, I happen to think there've been some bribes passed around.

I can't prove it, but there's a certain smell.'

'The whole thing stinks.'

Brett thought: Compared with what Leonard Wingate had told him, his own irritations of today seemed minor. He asked, 'Were you the one who uncovered all this?'

'Mostly, though one of my assistants got the idea first. He was suspicious of the course attendance figures; they looked too good. So the two of us started checking, comparing the new figures with our own previous ones, then we got comparable figures from other companies. They showed what was going on, all right. After that, it was a question of watching, catching the people. Well, we did.'

'So what happens now?'

Wingate shrugged, his figure hunched over the bar counter. 'Security's taken over; it's out of my hands. This afternoon they brought the instructor and the secretary downtown - separately. I was there. The two of them broke down, admitted everything. The guy cried, if you'll believe it.'

'I believe it,' Brett said. 'I feel like crying in a different way. Will the company prosecute?'

'The guy and his girlfriend think so, but I know they won't.' The tall Negro straightened up; he was almost a head higher than Brett DeLosanto.

He said mockingly, 'Bad public relations, y'know. Wouldn't want it in the papers, with our company's name. Besides, the way my bosses see it, the main thing is to get the money back; seems there's quite a few thousand.'

'What about the other people? The ones who dropped out, who might have come back, gone on working . . .'

'Oh come, my friend, you're being ridiculously sentimental.'

Brett said sharply, 'Knock it off! I didn't steal the goddamn checks.'

'No, you didn't. Well, about those people, let me tell you. If I had a staff six times the size I have, and if we could go back through all the records and be sure which names to follow up on, and if we could locate them after all these weeks . . .'

The bartender appeared. Wingate's glass was empty, but he shook his head.

For Brett's benefit he added, 'We'll do what we can. It may not be much.'

'I'm sorry,' Brett said. 'Damn sorry.' He paused, then asked, 'You married?'

'Yes, but not working at it.'

'Listen, my girlfriend's cooking dinner at my place. Why not join us?'

Wingate demurred politely. Brett insisted.

Five minutes later they left for Country Club Manor.

***

Barbara Zaleski had a key to Brett's apartment and was there when they arrived, already busy in the kitchen. An aroma of roasting lamb was drifting out.

'Hey, scullion!' Brett called from the hallway. 'Come, meet a guest.'

'If it's another woman,' Barbara's voice sailed back, 'you can cook your own dinner. Oh, it isn't. Hi!'

She appeared with a tiny apron over the smart, knit suit she had arrived in, having come directly from the OJL agency's Detroit office. The suit, Brett thought appreciatively, did justice to Barbara's figure; he sensed Leonard Wingate observing the same thing. As usual, Barbara had dark glasses pushed up into her thick, chestnut-brown hair, which she had undoubtedly forgotten. Brett reached out, removed the glasses and kissed her lightly.

He introduced them, informing Wingate, 'This is my mistress.'

'He'd like me to be,' Barbara said, 'but I'm not. Telling people I am is his way of getting even.'

As Brett had expected, Barbara and Leonard Wingate achieved a rapport quickly. While they talked, Brett opened a bottle of Dom Perignon which the three of them shared. Occasionally Barbara excused herself to check