Running with the Demon by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page A

Right after the Fourth. I got it from a friend on the inside.” Howe’s temple pulsed and his lips tightened. “They want to break the union, and this is their best chance. Get the company running again without us.”
    “Been tried already.” Al Garcia sniffed.
    “So now it’s gonna get tried again. Think about it, Al. What have they got to lose?”
    “No one from the union is going back to help them do it,” Penrod Williamson declared, glowering at Howe. “That’s foolish talk.”
    “You don’t think there’s enough men out there with wives and children to feed that this ain’t become more important to them than the strike?” Howe snapped. He brushed at his close-cropped hair. “You ain’t paying attention then, Penny. The bean counters have taken over, and guys like us, we’re history! You think the national’s going to bail us out of this? Hell! Thecompany’s going to break the union and we’re sitting here letting them do it!”
    “Well, it’s not like there’s a lot else we can do, Derry,” Mel Riorden pointed out, easing his considerable weight back in his metal frame chair. “We’ve struck and picketed and that’s all the law allows us. And the national’s doing what it can. We just have to be patient. Sooner or later this thing will get settled.”
    “How’s that gonna happen, Mel?” Howe pressed, flushed with anger. “Just how the hell’s that gonna happen? You see any negotiating going on? I sure as hell don’t! Striking and picketing is fine, but it ain’t getting us anywhere. These people running the show, they ain’t from here. They don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to us. If you think they do, well you’re a damn fool!”
    “He’s got a point,” Junior Elway agreed, leaning forward over his coffee, nodding solemnly, lank blond hair falling into his face. Old Bob pursed his lips. Junior always thought Derry Howe had a point.
    “Damn right!” Howe was rolling now, his taut features shoved forward, dominating the table. “You think we’re going to win this thing by sitting around bullshitting each other? Well, we ain’t! And there ain’t no one else gonna help us either. We have to do this ourselves, and we have to do it quick. We have to make them hurt more than we’re hurting. We have to pick their pocket the way they’re picking ours!”
    “What’re you talking about?” Penny Williamson growled. He had less use for Derry Howe than any of them; he’d once had Howe booted off his shift.
    Howe glared at him. “You think about it, Mr. Penrod Williamson. You were in the Nam, too. Hurt them worse than they hurt you, that was how you survived. That’s how you get anywhere in a war.”
    “We ain’t in a war here,” Penny Williamson observed, his finger pointed at Howe. “And the Nam’s got nothing to do with this. What’re you saying, man? That we ought to go down to the mill and blow up a few of the enemy? You want to shoot someone while you’re at it?”
    Derry Howe’s fist crashed down on the table. “If that’s what it takes, hell yes!”
    There was sudden silence. A few heads turned. Howe was shaking with anger as he leaned back in his chair, refusing to look away. Al Garcia wiped at his spilled coffee with his napkin and shook his head. Mel Riorden checked his watch.
    Penny Williamson folded his arms across his broad chest, regarding Derry Howe the way he might have regarded that postal worker in his dress, fur coat, and gorilla mask. “You better watch out who you say that to.”
    “Derry’s just upset,” said a man sitting next to him. Old Bob hadn’t noticed the fellow before. He had blue eyes that were so pale they seemed washed of color. “His job’s on the line, and the company doesn’t even know he’s alive. You can understand how he feels. No need for us to be angry with each other. We’re all friends here.”
    “Yeah, Derry don’t mean nothing,” Junior Elway agreed.
    “What do you think we ought to do?” Mike Michaelson