Read Online The Side of the Angels by Christina Bartolomeo, Kyoko Watanabe - Free Book Online Page A

weren’t even close. Management offered no staffing relief, no patient-safety concessions. Nothing on forced overtime or floating. Needless to say, no raise. The hospital’s crying poverty, which is a load of crap.”
    â€œFinancial statements?” Ron asked, leaning forward. He loved money talk.
    â€œI’m getting a specialist to take a look. At a glance it seems like the hospital had a stellar past five years, which is probably one reason Coventry snapped it up in the first place. But there’s a few weird things going on with wholly-owned subsidiaries that I’m curious about.”
    â€œExcuse me,” I said, breaking up their little tête-à-tête. “But how come these nurses are so ready to walk out? They’re looking at a strike that could go into Christmas.”
    â€œThe hospital’s sent every signal that they’re not going to budge, and the nurses know it. They’re practically being locked out as it is.”
    â€œAny allies on the board of directors?”
    â€œOne or two. We have a source on the board who should come through for us in a day or two on that.”
    You had to hand it to Weingould, he never threw you into a situation without thoroughly prepping you. Mary Bridget might have to program reminders of his wife’s birthday into his computer for him, but he knew the details of what was happening in every single one of the forty campaigns he had going nationwide.
    â€œWhat’s our time line?” said Ron.
    â€œThe local took a strike vote that goes into effect at the will of the bargaining team, which could be soon if there continues to be no movement. The vote was at ninety-three percent. Can you have Nicky up there pronto?”
    â€œBy this weekend. Who’s the MFWIC again?” Ron asked. (MFWIC, pronounced “miffwick,” was an old campaign acronym which meant “mother-fucker-what’s-in-charge.”) “Tony something?”
    â€œTony Boltanski,” said Weingould in clipped, flat tones, as if he were some sort of FBI agent filling another agent in on Tony’s sordid past.
    â€œWhat’s his story?”
    â€œWe got him from SEIU. He ran that Connecticut election that won the whole Fairhaven system. A month into that campaign the hospital had him roughed up by some security guards. He told them he’d take it out of their sorry asses, and he stayed there, getting in their faces for two years, until they won that thing. He’s a good guy.”
    Tony Boltanski was a good guy, all right. The best. The American worker had no better friend than Tony Boltanski, veteran of the Smithson Mine strike, the Superlink Telephone lockout, and the Hedgerow Farms blueberry pickers’ famous 1989 boycott. The tougher a fight looked to be, the faster Tony was there.
    Tony Boltanski was a real pro, and the Toilers had been smart to hire him. He was also a self-centered, pugnacious, uncompromising emotional deaf-mute whom I had no wish to see again, let alone be cooped up with for the duration of what promised to be a bitter andprolonged strike that the public would regard with little initial sympathy. Nurses leaving their patients was right up there with police officers or firefighters walking off the job.
    â€œAnd Murray?” said Ron. “Anything to watch out for there?”
    â€œJust take a look at her,” Weingould said, grabbing a videocassette from a shoe box, which he then kicked under his desk. “This is from the Nurses’ March on Washington last January,” he said. “The ANA was there, SEIU, AFSCME, everyone who’s into nurses. Murray was one of the leadoff speakers. You’ll see she knows how to handle herself. Damn it, what happened to the volume? Wait.”
    He fiddled with a few push buttons, turning off the videocassette player by accident. Noisy static filled the screen.
    â€œMary Bridget!” Weingould bellowed. She was already at the door. They