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

several long minutes. Without opening his eyes Ober said, “Here we have a pretty problem. Fifty-five per cent of production proposes no special problems. But we can’t show a profit operating at that per cent of capacity. So we scramble for orders, and shave prices to build capacity up to the point where we get a return on the investment. The plant and at least half the equipmentis obsolete. We get a lot of nuisance orders through the shop. Small quantities. The index of your efficiency, Fitz, is the Percentage of Utilization Report. You fight with the order takers, with engineering, with purchasing, with production. And design. You’re caught in a closed circuit.”
    “I guess that’s right.”
    Ober straightened up, leaned forward and tapped Craig on the knee. “So let’s come up with the Fitz plan. A plan to get this plant—and you—out of this closed circuit problem. Bring me an idea a week from today, Craig.”
    “But—”
    Ober stood up and Craig stood up. “It’s an old gambit, Craig. I’m asking you to think yourself out of a job. Fly high. Look down on the jungle. Don’t try to cut a trail through it.”
    He eased Craig into the outer office and said, “Commerford, set Mr. Fitz up for the same time next Friday.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said in an outer-space voice.
    “And bring me the Chernek file. See you Friday, Craig.”
    As he went back to his own office he felt a sullen resentment. So Quality Metal Products was tottering along. That was obvious. But there were a hell of a lot of smart people trying to figure out an answer. Why expect one Craig Fitz to come up with a miraculous solution? You couldn’t pick and choose the kind of orders you wanted to fill. You couldn’t suddenly come up with a miracle item and make it and market it yourself.
    He was correcting and signing memos when Betty came back from lunch.
    “How did it go?” she asked quickly.
    “I don’t know how it went. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what he’s trying to do.”
    “Did he criticize?”
    “I don’t know that either.”
    “But what did he want?”
    He looked up at her impatiently. “Nothing at all. He just wants me to come up with a genius-type idea that will eliminate my job.”
    “Dear God!”
    The rest of the day was peaceful, relatively speaking. A vacation snarl caused an intricate rescheduling. An anticipated re-order didn’t come in. A breakdown turned out, for once, to be noncritical, as stand-by equipment was immediately available. Stores made an inventory error which could be corrected by an air-express shipment. John Terrill came in to grouse about the jigs and fixtures required for one of the new orders. Even though the troubles were minor, it seemed to Craig that he could very easily react to them too emotionally. He wanted to yell and wave his arms—or break into tears. It seemed like a monstrously long afternoon. He would have to come in Saturday to catch up on some paper work, and then endure the rest of the long, empty week end.
    Bill Chernek left at the same time he did and, as they walked to the lot, Bill said, “Ruthie left me. For a week. She took the kids and went up to her mother’s place at Lake Ruskin. So how about we howl a little, brother bachelor? Take off some of the Ober-bearing pressure.”
    “Not if you make puns like that.”
    “Come on, boy. I join Ruthie a week from tonight when my overdue vacation starts. You’ve looked and acted sour for weeks. You’re stale, my friend. We’ll get tight and act loose. So say yes and start to cheer up.”
    Craig cheered up immediately. “Where do we start?” He liked Bill Chernek. Bill was about four years younger than Craig. He was the purchasing agent for Quality Metals, buying all those items not centrally purchased out of New York. He was a big, cheery, blond man, rapidly taking on too much weight. He had been a college football player, a Marine, and later a salesman. He liked to explain how he’d had so many