Roadwork by Stephen King, Richard Bachman Page B

buy runs out on Tuesday. You know that.”
    “Yes, I do. Steve, let me make three or four points, okay?”
    “Be my guest.”
    “First, Waterford is going to put us three miles away from our industrial contracts—that’s an average. That’s going to send our operating overhead way up. All the motels are out by the Interstate. Worse than that, our service is going to be slower. Holiday Inn and Hojo are on our backs now when we’re fifteen minutes late with the towels. What’s it going to be like when the trucks have to fight their way through three miles of crosstown traffic?”
    Ordner was shaking his head. “Bart, they’re extending the Interstate. That’s why we’re moving, remember? Our boys say there will be no time lost in deliveries. It may even go quicker, using the extension. And they also say the motel corporations have already bought up good land in Waterford and Russell, near what will be the new interchange. We’re going to improve our position by going into Waterford, not worsen it.”
    I stubbed my toe, Freddy. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost all my marbles. Right, George. Kee-rect.
    He smiled. “Okay. Point taken. But those other motels won’t be up for a year, maybe two. And if this energy business is as bad as it looks—”
    Ordner said flatly: “That’s a policy decision, Bart. We’re just a couple of foot soldiers. We carry out the orders.” It seemed to him that there was a dart of reproach there.
    “Okay. But I wanted my own view on record.”
    “Good. It is. But you don’t make policy, Bart. I want that perfectly clear. If the gasoline supplies dry up and all the motels fall flat, we’ll take it on the ear, along with everyone else. In the meantime, we’d better let the boys upstairs worry about that and do our jobs.”
    I’ve been rebuked, Fred. That you have, George.
    “All right. Here’s the rest. I estimate it will take two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for renovations before the Waterford plant ever turns out a clean sheet.”
    “What?” Ordner set his drink down hard.
    Aha, Freddy. Hit a bare nerve there.
    “The walls are full of dry rot. The masonry on the east and north sides has mostly crumbled away to powder. And the floors are so bad that the first heavy-duty washer we put in there is going to end up in the basement.”
    “That’s firm? That two-fifty figure?”
    “Firm. We’re going to need a new outside stack. New flooring, downstairs and up. And it’s going to take five electricians two weeks to take care of that end. The place is only wired for two-forty-volt circuits and we have to have five-fifty loads. And since we’re going to be at the far end of all the city utility conduits, I can promise you our power and water bills are going to go up twenty percent. The power increases we can. live with, but I don’t have to tell you what a twenty percent water-cost increase means to a laundry.”
    Ordner was looking at him now, shocked.
    “Never mind what I said about the utility increase. That comes under operating overhead, not renovations. So where was I? The place has to be rewired for five-fifty. We’re going to need a good burglar alarm and closed circuit TV. New insulation. New roofing. Oh yeah, and a drainage system. Over on Fir Street we’re up on high ground, but Douglas Street sits at the bottom of a natural basin. The drainage system alone will cost anywhere from forty to seventy thousand dollars to put in.”
    “Christ, how come Tom Granger hasn’t told me any of this?”
    “He didn’t go with me to inspect the place.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I told him to stay at the plant.”
    “You did what?”
    “That was the day the furnace went out,” he said patiently. “We had orders piling up and no hot water. Tom had to stay. He’s the only one in the place that can talk to that furnace.”
    “Well Christ, Bart, couldn’t you have taken him down another day?”
    He knocked back the rest of his drink. “I didn’t see the