"I have to agree. There's a hell of a lot of feath-erbedding going on. If we give them something, we should get something in return. In my opinion, we can afford a strike, and they can't."
The comments from the others were similar.
Leslie said, "I have to disagree with all of you." They looked at her in surprise. "I think we should let them have what they want."
"That's crazy."
"They'll wind up owning the newspaper."
"There won't be any stopping them."
"You can't give in to them."
Leslie let them speak. When they had finished, she said, "Joe Riley is a fair man. He believes in what he's asking for."
Seated against the wall, Amy was following the discussion, astonished.
One of the women spoke up. "I'm surprised you're taking his side, Leslie."
"I'm not taking anyone's side. I just think we have to be reasonable about this. Anyway, it's not my decision. Let's take a vote." She turned to look at Amy. "This is what I want you to put in the record."
"Yes, ma'am."
Leslie turned back to the group. "All those opposed to the union demands, raise your hands." Eleven hands went into the air. "Let the record show that I voted yes and that the rest of the committee has voted not to accept the union demands."
Amy was writing in her notebook, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Leslie said, "Well, that's it then." She rose. "If there's no further business..."
The others got to their feet.
"Thank you all for coming." She watched them leave, then turned to Amy. "Would you type that up, please?"
"Right away, Mrs. Chambers."
Leslie headed for her office.
The telephone call came a short time later.
"Mr. Riley is on line one," Amy said.
Leslie picked up the telephone. "Hello."
"Joe Riley. I just wanted to thank you for what you tried to do."
Leslie said, "I don't understand..."
"The board meeting. I heard what happened."
Leslie said, "I'm surprised, Mr. Riley. That was a private meeting."
Joe Riley chuckled. "Let's just say I have friends in low places. Anyway, I thought what you tried to do was great. Too bad it didn't work."
There was a brief silence, then Leslie said slowly, "Mr. Riley...what if I could make it work?"
"What do you mean?"
"I have an idea. I'd rather not discuss it on the phone. Could we meet somewhere...discreetly?"
There was a pause. "Sure. Where did you have in mind?"
"Someplace where neither of us will be recognized."
"What about meeting at the Golden Cup?"
"Right. I'll be there in an hour."
"I'll see you."
The Golden Cup was an infamous cafe in the seedier section of Phoenix, near the railroad tracks, an area police warned tourists to stay away from. Joe Riley was seated at a corner booth when Leslie walked in. He rose as she approached him.
"Thank you for being here," Leslie said. They sat down.
"I came because you said there might be a way for me to get my contract."
"There is. I think the board is being stupid and shortsighted. I tried to talk to them, but they wouldn't listen."
He nodded, "I know. You advised them to give us the new contract."
"That's right. They don't realize how important you pressmen are to our newspaper."
He was studying her, puzzled. "But if they voted you down, how can we...?"
"The only reason they voted me down is that they're not taking your union seriously. If you want to avoid a long strike, and maybe the death of the paper, you have to show them you mean business."
"How do you mean?"
Leslie said nervously, "What I'm telling you is very confidential, but it's the only way that you're going to get what you want. The problem is simple. They think you're bluffing. They don't believe you mean business. You have to show them that you do. Your contract is up this Friday at midnight."
"Yes..."
"They'll expect you just to quietly walk out." She leaned forward. "Don't!" He was listening intently. "Show them that they can't run the Star without you. Don't just go out like lambs. Do some damage."
His eyes widened.
"I don't mean anything serious," Leslie said quickly. "Just enough to show them that you mean business. Cut a few cables, put a press or two out of commission. Let them learn that they need you to operate them. Everything can be repaired in a day or two, but meanwhile, you'll have scared them into their senses. They'll finally know what they're dealing with."
Joe Riley sat there for a long time, studying Leslie. "You're a remarkable lady."
"Not really. I thought it over, and I have a very simple choice. You can cause a little damage that can be easily corrected, and force the board to deal with you, or you can walk out quietly and resign yourself to a long strike that the paper may never recover from. All I care about is protecting the paper."
A slow smile lit Riley's face. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Mrs. Chambers."
"We're striking!"
Friday night, at one minute past midnight, under Joe Riley's direction, the pressmen attacked. They stripped parts from the machines, overturned tables full of equipment, and set two printing presses on fire. A guard who tried to stop them was badly beaten. The pressmen, who had started out merely to disable a few presses, got caught up in the fever of the excitement, and they became more and more destructive.
"Let's show the bastards that they can't shove us around!" one of the men cried.