Читать книгу Stony Mesa Sagas - Chip Ward - Страница 11

Chapter 4

Orin Bender was the CEO of Superior Pipes Corporation, a multibillion dollar enterprise that laid gas, water, and oil pipelines throughout the American West. Superior was often the low bidder because Orin had many well-placed cronies who let him know what other companies bid before Superior issued their bids. This was not legal, of course, but it was lucrative. So lucrative that Orin spent much of his day on the phone managing the placement of pipes, the deployment of personnel, and the exchange of favors across his sordid empire.

Orin was talking on his cell phone to a foreman on a new project near the Sea Ledges. Although Bender was not in charge of the strip-mining operation, he did have a contract to lay pipe. The place was remote and would require a lot of pipe. Gif Hanford, the foreman, was upset and Orin accepted his interpretation of the Sea Ledges situation which was, according to Gif, dire.

“Okay, Gif, I got it. I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go. I’m in a meeting of all my regional managers and sales reps here at the Regency Suites and I’m about to get called to the podium. Just sit tight now. If I need to talk to you about this again, I’ll call you. Got it?”

“Mr. Bender, they’re ready for you.”

Orin Bender straightened his silk tie, pulled on the sleeves of his suit to straighten the wrinkles, and ran his left hand lightly over his silver mane to smooth any wayward strands of hair before walking up to the front of the stage. His managers applauded wildly, each one checking out the others to be sure he would not be outdone or stop clapping a moment too soon. Orin smiled briefly and nodded to acknowledge their adulation. As he scanned the audience in the Regency ballroom he remembered that he had meant to hire more women and people of color. This bunch was very white and male. His clients were also white and male. They wouldn’t buy pipe from a woman unless she had some sexual favor to trade and he didn’t want that kind of woman in the company. He thought of Superior as a decidedly Christian outfit. And black people? Well, they just made his clients uncomfortable.

The applause faded all at once when his employees, like a swarm of starlings, picked up some subtle cue from one another and quit. He began: “They are as fundamental as fire. Forget the plough, ships, the internal combustion engine, electricity, refrigeration, trains, planes, and automobiles. All the hallmarks of civilization cannot compare.”

A suspenseful pause. “Pipes! That’s what I’m talking about. We take them for granted but you couldn’t live the way you do without them. You’d have no water in your home. Without pipes you’d be living in your own shit—pardon me.” Nervous laughter. “Do you think we are healthy today because of modern medicine? Well, what would your health be without pipes to bring you potable water and carry away your waste? The wires for all those appliances you have that make life convenient and entertaining run through pipes. The fuel that runs your car runs through pipes. The heat that makes your office and home warm—pipes!

“So next time some granola-crunching, self-righteous know-it-all tells you you’re in the wrong business, that you’re just salesmen and managers, you tell them that you’re what keeps civilization civilized. Tell them you make and lay the keystone in the architecture of our modern world. Our economy without pipes would be like a human body with no arteries or veins. Dead! So, say I’m proud because my business is pipes!”

The audience went wild. The old man was an inspiration, all right. No wonder he’d built Superior Pipes into such a successful enterprise, they told one another. He acknowledged their hysterical applause with a brief salute and then turned and left the room. Smiling and nodding, he made his way through a gaggle of wannabe winners vying for his attention, spinning in his wake and babbling to themselves. He had no time for them. He experienced an annoying moment of guilt. He’d read in an airline magazine about CEOs who make themselves available to their employees. He shrugged off the feeling of guilt quickly. Winning, he told himself, is not about playing Mr. Nice.

Orin Bender left the Regency and climbed into the back seat of his company SUV, a silver monster big enough to house a small bar, a laptop station, and a flat screen television. He reached into his valise for a cell phone he only used on special projects. He speed-dialed a number and shut the divider between him and his driver so he could speak in privacy.

“Nole, is that you? Orin here. I have an assignment for you.”