Winter of the World

‘That’s true. I forgot. But I wanted the publicity for Passion.’

They were approached by a tall man whose striped suit was loud even by current fashions. He touched the brim of his fedora and said: ‘Morning, boss.’

Lev said to Greg: ‘Joe Brekhunov is in charge of security here. Joe, this is my son Greg.’

‘Pleased to meet ya,’ said Brekhunov.

Greg shook his hand. Like most factories, the foundry had its own police force. But Brekhunov looked more like a hoodlum than a cop.

‘All quiet?’ Lev asked.

‘A little incident in the night,’ Brekhunov said. ‘Two machinists tried to heist a length of fifteen-inch steel bar, aircraft quality. We caught them trying to manhandle it over the fence.’

Greg said: ‘Did you call the police?’

‘It wasn’t necessary.’ Brekhunov grinned. ‘We gave them a little talk about the concept of private property, and sent them to the hospital to think about it.’

Greg was not surprised to learn that his father’s security men beat thieves so badly that they had to go to hospital. Although Lev had never struck him or his mother, Greg felt that violence was never far below his father’s charming surface. It was because of Lev’s youth in the slums of Leningrad, he guessed.

A portly man wearing a blue suit with a workingman’s cap appeared from behind a furnace. ‘This is the union leader, Brian Hall,’ said Lev. ‘Morning, Hall.’

‘Morning, Peshkov.’

Greg raised his eyebrows. People usually called his father Mr Peshkov.

Lev stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips. ‘Well, have you got an answer for me?’

Hall’s face took on a stubborn expression. ‘The men won’t come back to work with a pay cut, if that’s what you mean.’

‘But I’ve improved my offer!’

‘It’s still a pay cut.’

Greg began to feel nervous. His father did not like opposition, and he might explode.

‘The manager tells me we aren’t getting any orders, because he can’t tender a competitive price at these wage levels.’

‘That’s because you’ve got outdated machinery, Peshkov. Some of these lathes were here before the war! You need to re-equip.’

‘In the middle of a depression? Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to throw away more money.’

‘That’s how your men feel,’ said Hall, with the air of one who plays a trump card. ‘They’re not going to give money to you when they haven’t got enough for themselves.’

Greg thought workers were stupid to strike during a depression, and he was angered by Hall’s nerve. The man spoke as if he were Lev’s equal, not an employee.

Lev said: ‘Well, as things are, we’re all losing money. Where’s the sense in that?’

‘It’s out of my hands now,’ said Hall. Greg thought he sounded smug. ‘The union is sending a team from headquarters to take over.’ He pulled a large steel watch out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘Their train should be here in an hour.’

Lev’s face darkened. ‘We don’t need outsiders stirring up trouble.’

‘If you don’t want trouble, you shouldn’t provoke it.’

Lev clenched a fist, but Hall walked away.

Lev turned to Brekhunov. ‘Did you know about these men from headquarters?’ he said angrily.

Brekhunov looked nervous. ‘I’ll get on it right away, boss.’

‘Find out who they are and where they’re staying.’

‘Won’t be difficult.’

‘Then send them back to New York in a fucking ambulance.’

‘Leave it to me, boss.’

Lev turned away, and Greg followed him. Now that was power, Greg thought with a touch of awe. His father gave the word, and union officials would be beaten up.

They walked outside and got into Lev’s car, a Cadillac five-passenger sedan in the new streamlined style. Its long curving fenders made Greg think of a girl’s hips.

Lev drove along Porter Avenue to the waterfront and parked at the Buffalo Yacht Club. Sunlight played prettily on the boats in the marina. Greg was pretty sure that his father did not belong to this elite club. Gus Dewar must be a member.

They walked on to the pier. The clubhouse was built on pilings over the water. Lev and Greg went inside and checked their hats. Greg immediately felt uneasy, knowing he was a guest in a club that would not have him as a member. The people here probably thought he must feel privileged to be allowed in. He put his hands in his pockets and slouched, so they would know he was not impressed.

‘I used to belong to this club,’ Lev said. ‘But in 1921 the chairman told me I had to resign because I was a bootlegger. Then he asked me to sell him a case of Scotch.’

‘Why does Senator Dewar want to have lunch with you?’ Greg asked.

‘We’re about to find out.’

‘Would you mind if I asked him a favour?’

Lev frowned. ‘I guess not. What are you after?’

But, before Greg could answer, Lev greeted a man of about sixty. ‘This is Dave Rouzrokh,’ he said to Greg. ‘He’s my main rival.’

‘You flatter me,’ the man said.