The Plan

Chapter 32.

THE PRESS HAD BEEN MILLING THERE FOR HOURS, ADDING their gum wrappers and cigarette butts to a sidewalk already littered with beggars and pigeon shit. A. J.'s plan had been for Haze to go in alone and emerge from the room a few hours later, victorious.

Haze moved into the old building on East Fifty-seventh Street. The press swarmed. Sun guns went on, directional mikes were unsheathed like Wilkinson swords, questions were fired in an overlapping flow of hyperbole and skepticism.

"No comment," Haze said to the clattering motor-drive lenses. "I'm trying to find Bud Rennick."

A door opened and Bud stuck his massive head out. Camera lenses focused.

Shutters grabbed milliseconds of pictorial truth.

Bud grabbed his jacket, put it on as Tom Bartel came out of the same room and joined him in the hall.

"Anybody expecting me?" Haze asked dryly. CNN had elected to go with the story live and their "on-site" producer was pushing his cameraman forward.

"We're live," he was saying as if his fellow newsmen cared. "Outta the way."

"Come on in," Tom Bartel said, shaking Haze's hand. They moved into the room and closed the door, leaving the press in reportus interruptus.

The high-ceilinged conference room was a rectangular war zone. Paper cups, empty Winchell's boxes and crumpled yellow legal sheets littered the battlefield, dead reminders of the struggle. The room had been cleared of business agents and lawyers for Haze's visit.

"We have a deal," Bud said. "I caved on all Tom's points."

"I'm a happy -camper," Tom Bartel said, grinning.

Haze sat down at the table, opened his briefcase, and took out a deck of cards. He finally grinned. "Anybody wanna play gin rummy?"

Two hours later, they walked out into the glare of the TV cameras. Bud put up his hand for quiet over the din of shouted questions.

"Excuse me, excuse me… be quiet. We have a statement." They waited until the news crews settled down.

"We've reached an accord," Tom Bartel said. "We've signed a tentative agreement, which I'm sure we'll be able to get ratified within hours by the association."

A loud gasp went up from the pod people and the liveat-fives.

"Speaking for the Teamsters," Bud concluded, "I want to say that we're happy. I've been empowered by my board to accept this tentative agreement and I'd like to tell the brotherhood… Get back in your trucks, guys, this thing is over."

Through it all, Haze said nothing. He stood between them, looking grateful.

"Governor Richards, Governor Richards… Stan Hooks, CBS Business Report," a tall, bald reporter yelled. "What did you bring to these negotiations to produce this amazing result?"

"I didn't settle this dispute, I want to make that clear. I simply brought to the table some new cards and an open mind," he said truthfully. "This was not a dispute where labor and management couldn't come to terms. This was simply an example of ending the divisiveness and malting good things happen because good people on both sides of the issue are trying diligently to solve problems. I was glad to be part of it. I believe America can work again if we let it."

In his park-view room in the Sherry Netherland Hotel, A. J. watched the live coverage on CNN while he ate his room-service lunch. He had a smile on his face and pasta sauce in his beard.

"Un-fucking-believable." He grinned at the TV screen.