conversation.”
“But it was enough to give you a sudden case of morality, is that it?” He managed to make the word sound quite dirty.
Lee’s insides quivered. She pressed a thigh against the edge of her desk to steady the nerves that wanted to fly in six directions. “It’s dishonest!”
Thorpe shifted till his shoulder leaned toward her like a baseball pitcher studying signals from a catcher. He jabbed the cigar butt before her nose. “It’s profit. And don’t you forget it!”
“Profit earned at the expense of the taxpayer . . . and the environment, I might add!”
“Well, bye-dee-ho!” F.A. ran his eyes around the walls of her office as if searching for something. “Too bad we ain’t got a stake around here so you can tie yourself to it and strike a match,” he sneered.
Lee was already jerking her desk drawers open, setting her briefcase on the chair, snapping it open, separating personal items from company items.
“I refuse to be a party to your . . . your flawed materials or your scheme to qualify as a minority contractor. Why, I wouldn’t be an officer of this company if Geronimo himself were president!” She piled up address book, legal pads, and portfolios in the center of her desk, each sharp slap like an exclamation point in the room.
“Geronimo wouldn’t have the smarts it takes to run a business like this and turn a profit during a year as tough as this’s been! In one phone call I clear a smooth ten thousand. Now what the hell kind of fool would turn down money like that?”
Lee stopped packing, rested her knuckles on the desktop, and skewered him with a feral glare. “And nobody’s the wiser when five years from now the pipe breaks and untreated sewage infiltrates somebody’s water supply, or . . . or runs into the Missouri River or—”
“A regular Albert Schweitzer, ain’t you? Well, supposing I was to cut you in on a share of my take on this little deal, and you make me a minority contractor after all. Would a few thousand ease your conscience any?”
His cocky, self-assured belief that anybody could be bought off only sickened Lee all the more. She was suddenly very, very sure she was doing what should have been done months ago. Suddenly her anger disappeared and a renewed sense of well-being swept over her. Her lips relaxed; her voice quieted.
“Suppose it would. And what would be the next unethical thing you’d ask me to do? And the next? And how long would it be before you asked me to make the transition from unethical to illegal? You know, F.A., it isn’t just the money—it’s something much deeper than that. It’s something born in an Indian that can’t be programmed out. Call it elemental respect for the earth . . . or whatever you like. It’s part of the reason I do what I do. I can’t stop development or urban sprawl. But I can do my part to see that it doesn’t completely annihilate the environment. I agree with you, Geronimo probably wouldn’t be a rich man if he ran this company or one like it, but he’d probably rather drink clean water than deposit ten thousand dollars in the bank.” Lee scanned her cleared desktop, then chuckled and smiled at F.A. “Come to think of it, Indians never were famous for saving for a rainy day, were they?”
Lee’s belongings were piled on the desk and the chair. She snapped the briefcase shut, picked up an armful of notebooks and folders, and turned toward the door.
“But what about that bid for this afternoon?” Thorpe squawked.
“Finish it yourself.”
“Girlie, you walk out of here, you give up unemployment checks, cause I ain’t claimin’ I laid you off. And don’t look for no recommendations from—”
The outside door cut off his spate. As if his recommendation was worth anything at all around this town, Lee thought, as she headed toward the parking lot.
Her red Ford Pinto was parked right beside Thorpe’s long, sleek Diamond Jubilee Mark V. The navy blue sedan was covered with a fine layer
“But it was enough to give you a sudden case of morality, is that it?” He managed to make the word sound quite dirty.
Lee’s insides quivered. She pressed a thigh against the edge of her desk to steady the nerves that wanted to fly in six directions. “It’s dishonest!”
Thorpe shifted till his shoulder leaned toward her like a baseball pitcher studying signals from a catcher. He jabbed the cigar butt before her nose. “It’s profit. And don’t you forget it!”
“Profit earned at the expense of the taxpayer . . . and the environment, I might add!”
“Well, bye-dee-ho!” F.A. ran his eyes around the walls of her office as if searching for something. “Too bad we ain’t got a stake around here so you can tie yourself to it and strike a match,” he sneered.
Lee was already jerking her desk drawers open, setting her briefcase on the chair, snapping it open, separating personal items from company items.
“I refuse to be a party to your . . . your flawed materials or your scheme to qualify as a minority contractor. Why, I wouldn’t be an officer of this company if Geronimo himself were president!” She piled up address book, legal pads, and portfolios in the center of her desk, each sharp slap like an exclamation point in the room.
“Geronimo wouldn’t have the smarts it takes to run a business like this and turn a profit during a year as tough as this’s been! In one phone call I clear a smooth ten thousand. Now what the hell kind of fool would turn down money like that?”
Lee stopped packing, rested her knuckles on the desktop, and skewered him with a feral glare. “And nobody’s the wiser when five years from now the pipe breaks and untreated sewage infiltrates somebody’s water supply, or . . . or runs into the Missouri River or—”
“A regular Albert Schweitzer, ain’t you? Well, supposing I was to cut you in on a share of my take on this little deal, and you make me a minority contractor after all. Would a few thousand ease your conscience any?”
His cocky, self-assured belief that anybody could be bought off only sickened Lee all the more. She was suddenly very, very sure she was doing what should have been done months ago. Suddenly her anger disappeared and a renewed sense of well-being swept over her. Her lips relaxed; her voice quieted.
“Suppose it would. And what would be the next unethical thing you’d ask me to do? And the next? And how long would it be before you asked me to make the transition from unethical to illegal? You know, F.A., it isn’t just the money—it’s something much deeper than that. It’s something born in an Indian that can’t be programmed out. Call it elemental respect for the earth . . . or whatever you like. It’s part of the reason I do what I do. I can’t stop development or urban sprawl. But I can do my part to see that it doesn’t completely annihilate the environment. I agree with you, Geronimo probably wouldn’t be a rich man if he ran this company or one like it, but he’d probably rather drink clean water than deposit ten thousand dollars in the bank.” Lee scanned her cleared desktop, then chuckled and smiled at F.A. “Come to think of it, Indians never were famous for saving for a rainy day, were they?”
Lee’s belongings were piled on the desk and the chair. She snapped the briefcase shut, picked up an armful of notebooks and folders, and turned toward the door.
“But what about that bid for this afternoon?” Thorpe squawked.
“Finish it yourself.”
“Girlie, you walk out of here, you give up unemployment checks, cause I ain’t claimin’ I laid you off. And don’t look for no recommendations from—”
The outside door cut off his spate. As if his recommendation was worth anything at all around this town, Lee thought, as she headed toward the parking lot.
Her red Ford Pinto was parked right beside Thorpe’s long, sleek Diamond Jubilee Mark V. The navy blue sedan was covered with a fine layer
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