Till the Butchers Cut Him Down by Marcia Muller Read Free Book Online Page B

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     firm stabilized, he’s itching to get on to the visionary stage. Once the vision begins to become reality, he’s already thinking
     about where he wants to go next, sifting through the offers that’ve come in.”
    “So he doesn’t see things through?”
    “Sometimes. Keystone Steel, company we turned some seven, eight years ago, is a perfect example. Big mill in southwestern
     Pennsylvania on the fringe of Appalachia. The last one operating in that area, and about to go bust. T.J. had it stabilized,
     but then he got a vision and jumped ahead too fast. Saved the company, but at an awful human cost. And then there’s the problem
     of his temper; he’s just too volatile for his own good. He’ll get in a big fight with the board, make it impossible for them
     to go on working with him.”
    “How often does that happen?”
    “Once or twice a turnaround. He manages to smooth it over but again, at a terrific cost.”
    “All right,” I said, “let’s get back to the way he treats his people. Lucrative or not, why do such talented individuals as
     the two of you come each time he calls?”
    Lattimer said, “As I told you, it’s the chance of a lifetime to see someone like T.J. do his stuff.”
    Zola nodded. “When he’s good, he’s very, very good. That’s really something to be a part of. And when he’s bad … well, it’s
     still damned interesting.”
    I’d asked the question to see if either would betray hidden resentment or animosity, but both responses seemed genuine. After
     a moment I said, “I’m wondering how T.J. got to be so good at this line of work. You don’t just decide to become a turnaround
     man and hang out your shingle. What is there in his background that qualifies him?”
    Zola looked perplexed. “An M.B.A. from Harvard doesn’t qualify him?”
    “He attended
Harvard
?”
    “Both as an undergrad and as a graduate student.”
    But how had his cross-country ramblings permitted time for that? “When?”
    Zola chuckled. “I’m surprised an old friend like you didn’t know. Or maybe I’m not. Man’s got a mania for privacy, that’s
     for sure. Anyway, it’s a fascinating story. T.J. was one of those child prodigies you hear about: reading at an adult level
     when most kids are learning their ABC’s; fiddling with advanced calculus when the others are still having trouble with their
     multiplication tables. By twelve he’d finished high school and was taking college courses. Started Harvard at fourteen and
     earned his degree in two years. A year after that he had his M.B.A.”
    “And then?”
    Zola shrugged. “Time off to grow up, I guess. All I know is that he did his first turnaround about fourteen years ago—something
     to do with agriculture north of here. Then he contacted me about helping turn Avery Equipment in L.A., and we’ve been kicking
     corporate butt ever since. It never occurred to me to question him about the time between Harvard and then; I didn’t need
     to check on his background because I’d seen him in action.”
    I was fairly sure Suits wouldn’t want his associates to know he’d acted as an itinerant peddler of mostly illegal commodities
     during those years, so I didn’t respond to the question implied in Zola’s tone. In truth, I was having difficulty digesting
     this latest piece of information about the life and times of Suitcase Gordon. Finally I forced my attention back to the business
     at hand and said, “Now I’d like to talk about the reason T.J. wants to hire me. Mr. Zola, earlier you mentioned the ‘alleged
     assassin.’ Is that your phrasing or T.J.’s?”
    “Mine. I believe he used the term ‘hit man.’”
    “Ms. Lattimer, has he also commented on the situation to you?”
    She nodded. “Same terminology.”
    “Does either of you have an opinion about what’s going on?”
    They exchanged glances. “Well,” Lattimer said, “
something’s
wrong.”
    “She knows that, Carole. What she’s asking is if the hit man