"What do you mean?" Berkowitz replied.
"We're doing an open bid process for the renovations," I replied. "Open to all contractors, both Union and non-Union. The only rules we're using to judge is quality of work, cost, and of course, we will be giving a certain edge to contractors who have their shops in the communities we are building the centers. What better way to show the disadvantaged people of those neighborhoods that we are willing to give them an opportunity than from the very beginning?"
"I see," Berkowitz replied. "I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job, Miss Williams, but in the city there has been a tradition of letting the Union get first and last attempts on any bid process."
Hmm, I was no longer Tabby, but Miss Williams. Duly noted. "I know, Ms. Berkowitz. However, in planning our outreach program, we are looking for more than just experience. We want to evaluate raw talent, and that means that sometimes we're going to have to look for contractors and workers who may not have the same level of.... sophistication when it comes to understanding how bids are done for large projects around the city. So instead, each bid will come in sealed, and I will make the decision based off of what I feel is best for the project."
It was the closest I'd come to flat out calling the Union bidding process corrupt. Not that anyone didn't know the Union bids were total lies anyway. Any cost accounting of a Union bid, especially one that was tied to a charity or to a public works project, automatically was inflated by at least thirty percent if not more. It got so bad at one point that the Federal government had to step in when a Union contracted project for modernizing the city's sewer system was ten years and about two hundred million dollars over budget, and that was in nineteen eighties dollars.
Berkowitz's face went from closed to wintry, and she finished her coffee quickly. "Best of luck in your project then. I will forward on your information to our Union members, of course."
Her threat was subtle, but there. It wouldn't just be the construction members who would get the word, but also the police, fire, and other city workers. Basically, I needed to make sure I was driving under the speed limit, and hope no fires broke out at Mount Zion. Not that I ever wanted them, considering the highly illegal arsenal we kept in the bell tower.
"I expect nothing less, Francine," I said, shifting to using her first name. Instead of the condescending familiarity she'd used on me however, I was using it as simply a way to put her down. It said I'm not playing your games or kissing your ass. In fact, I think I'm better than you. And in a lot of ways, I did.
We continued our little chat for a few more minutes, but it was mostly banalities. When she realized that her jibes and threats weren't going to rattle me, she made her exit, closing my door behind her. Vanessa was there a minute later to gather up the coffee cups. Noting my cup, she gave me a look. "I thought you hated cream and sugar?"
"I do, but Berkowitz took hers black," I replied. "Just one of those things, you know."
"I understand," Vanessa replied. "I saw her face when she left. She's not happy."
"Considering she tried the same threats on Patrick McCaffery just a few days ago, I can understand. I've already talked with Gene over at the Spartans, and they're tired of her crap too. They actually are expressly anti-Union, which surprises me. I figured they'd play it neutral in order to keep the fans happy."
"The fans are happy when the team wins games," Vanessa replied. "And the Spartans already have enough union issues to deal with when it comes to the Player's Association."
"Good point."
* * *
When Patrick picked me up for our date that Sunday, I was at first surprised when he drove up in a car that looked eerily similar to Sophie's old beater Civic she'd had me sell for her when she was on the run with Mark. "Hi," he said, getting out. He was wearing jeans and a Spartans long sleeve t-shirt, his black hair pulled back and his green eyes shining in anticipation. "I know it's not exactly what you're used to. Sorry about that."
"No, it's okay," I said, running my hands over the roof. "It's just that I had a friend in college that had a car that looked very similar, except the color."
"Really? Yeah, I picked this up from a used car lot when I had to get a real car about six months ago," Patrick replied. "I had a friend paint it for me to cover the worst of the rust spots, it used to be a faded out blue."
"With a rust spot on the right front fender?" I asked, my eyes widening, "Kind of looked like a fish?"
Patrick gaped at me for a moment before nodded, then both of us laughing. "Wow, who'd have thought it? The fates are kind to me it seems."
"Fate? Perhaps," I replied, "but no offense, I've ridden in this beast before. Unless your friend also did a full mechanical workup on it, how about you drive my car tonight?"