Clemmie by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

But you couldn’t forget the eyes. They were large, brown, moist eyes, harmless as a puppy’s. He had the absent-minded manner of a visiting professor. He seemed to know the personal history of every executive at Quality.
    As the weeks went by they learned he was unmarried,that he was living in one of the newest apartment buildings in Stoddard, that he drove a rented car. He kept casual working hours and took frequent trips. One by one he entertained the executives and their wives at his apartment. When Craig and Maura had been invited, it had been a disarming evening. Ober left no opening for shop talk. He was amusing in his own quiet way. The excellent dinner was served by a Negro named Howard.
    On the way home, Maura had said, “I hope we passed inspection.”
    “Why do you say it that way?”
    “He’s a very intense man, darling. Intense and watchful and guarded. And cold as a snake. There is a word for him.”
    “Dedicated?”
    “No. That seems to imply moral values. Committed is a better word. He is one-hundred per cent committed to his function, and it leaves no room for anything else. No room for softness or friendship or love. He would be frightfully impatient with anyone who isn’t also committed.”
    Craig knew that Ober made him uneasy. He had been too long in his present job. Though it was not his fault, the job was a dead end job. There seemed to be no place to go. He knew he did the demanding work well, but the record would show that he was static. There was really no reason to be uneasy.
    He went over the new materials list in Bill Chernek’s office, and they changed the scheduling on two orders to give a less dangerous safety margin.
    Craig sighed and stood up, glancing at his watch, and said, “I’m off to see the wizard.”
    Bill grinned. “Take away the hair, mustache, pipe and glasses, and what have you got?”
    “You haven’t got Shirley Temple.”
    “Stop dating yourself, Fitz.”
    “Okay. You haven’t got Julie Harris.”
    Bill crossed his fingers and said, “Don’t lead with the right.”
    Ober’s private office adjoined the main conference room. It was the first time Craig had been in the office since Haley had retired. He had half expected to see itunchanged, but the redecoration was extensive. It was no longer an office. It seemed like a small private lounge, with leather chairs, draperies, decorator colors, a large photomural of the industrial complex on the east side of the river, showing Quality Metals and the neighboring plants. Miss Commerford showed him in and closed the door behind him without a sound.
    Ober was alone, sitting on a couch, studying papers fastened to a clip-board. Craig felt relieved that Rowdy wasn’t present. Ober put the board aside, stood up and shook hands, and had Craig sit near him on a chair turned toward the couch.
    “Maura and the kids enjoying England?”
    “Very much, from her letters.”
    “Good, good.” Ober packed his pipe carefully. “I’ve been thinking about you, Craig. About your work. Your record is good.”
    “Thanks.”
    Ober got the pipe lighted. “What you are doing seems to be essential. But I can’t imagine you being satisfied with the work.”
    Craig said warily, “Why not?”
    Ober shrugged. “It’s pretty mechanical. It has no scope. Got any idea how we could eliminate your job?”
    “There’s several ways, all of them impossible.”
    “What are they?”
    “Put nothing through the plant but large runs of standardized orders. Eliminate design changes. That’s one way. Or tear this down and build a new plant, modern and flexible. That will have to happen some day, when this old crock finally won’t give any return on the investment. We’re operating on the basis of patch and pray.”
    Ober nodded mildly. “You’re called an assistant plant manager. You’re a glorified production chaser, Craig.”
    “Call it co-ordinator. It sounds better.”
    Ober slouched and closed his eyes. Craig sat uncomfortably for