Facing the Music Read online

  Published in Australia by Sid Harta Publishers Pty Ltd,

  ABN: 46 119 415 842

  23 Stirling Crescent, Glen Waverley, Victoria 3150 Australia

  Telephone: +61 3 9560 9920, Facsimile: +61 3 9545 1742

  E-mail: [email protected]

  First published in Australia October 2013

  This edition published 2013

  Copyright © Brian Smith 2013

  Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design

  The right of Brian Smith to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Smith, Brian

  Facing the Music

  ISBN: 9781742983769 (ePub, Mobi)

  Digital edition distributed by

  Port Campbell Press

  www.portcampbellpress.com.au

  Conversion by Winking Billy

  For Bish

  ‘All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion.’

  Tolstoy

  Anna Karenina

  1

  Mike Georgiou believed he could tell the state of a building site by listening to its sound. Not a single sound, but a collective voice that might include the pulsating growl of a concrete pump, the strident tone of a compressor, the staccato hammering of the carpenters, the slow and muffled thump of a sledgehammer, the whine from a chorus of hand tools, the sharp scream of a concrete saw or the rattle of roofing sheets. By listening he could tell what was being done and how well. On a good day the energy and cohesion in the sound approached a form of music. He found it hard to explain and didn’t risk trying with any of the crew on site. And when he had mentioned it to Lissa the other day, she laughed at him.

  ‘Ever since they gave you the CityView project, you’ve become obsessed by it,’ she said. ‘Now it’s playing music to you. Who do you think you are – a band leader?’

  She had never shared his love of music. It hadn’t mattered in the past. But perhaps she was right, he thought as he stood up from his desk. This was by far the most important project he had been assigned to manage – important for the company and important for him. The building was more complex and the work force larger than he had led before. He could not be as hands-on as he had been on previous jobs and needed to work through others, be more desk-bound and take a more strategic view of the project. It was challenging, it was absorbing and up until a few weeks ago he was confident he would make a success of it. Now he was not so sure.

  He put on his hard hat and stepped outside the prefab that served as his site office. He was pleased to hear a strong rhythm in the sound of construction. Too often in recent weeks he had been confronted by the listless tempo of the site working at a sluggish rate or, far worse, the silence that shrouded a complete shutdown. The troubles had started when the concrete supplier claimed the order had been cancelled and failed to deliver. Until then the project had been progressing well and Mike had begun to think of completing the job ahead of schedule. Soon after there was the unexplained failure of the gearbox on one of the tower cranes and vandalism on some of the completed floors. Adding to his problems, the union delegate, Ted Horton, had found a new militancy and begun calling out the men whenever he saw the slightest reason. It seldom took long to deal with the issues he raised, but the damage to the schedule was difficult to repair.

  Mike screwed up his eyes against the glare reflected from the structure rising from the dusty ground in front of him. The next concrete truck had arrived and stood waiting its turn. Several of the men, returning from a break, entered the Alimak elevator before it rattled up the side of the building. The all-encompassing mesh on the lower levels prevented him from seeing any of the work going on in there but higher up, beside the central lift core that bore the banner FINDLAY CONSTRUCTION – CITYVIEW, he could see the hard hats of the crew spreading the concrete pour that formed the next floor plate. Highest of all, the northern tower crane made stately progress, raising one of the complex prefabricated inserts into place. These were one of Jeff Richards’ innovations. Mike hadn’t worked with this architect before and had been dubious about the way he wanted to change some of their construction methods, but Mike’s boss, Ben Findlay, had insisted.

  ‘I’ve known Jeff for years – we were at Grammar together,’ he said. ‘He’s a top guy, always looking for new approaches and not stuck in his ways like some around here.’

  The computer images suggested the finished building would look great, but it was soon apparent Jeff knew very little and cared even less about construction. To keep the project on schedule, Mike was forced to find ways to work with and around the architect. It didn’t help that Ben Findlay was short of direct experience on construction sites as well.

  Looking to the west, Mike could not see what the other crane was doing. A threatening build up of storm clouds across the horizon was the only notable sight in that direction. He hoped the front would hold off until the end of work for the day.

  A pallet of iron pipes, due to be used to extend the safety fencing on the upper levels, rose above the intervening line of containers on its way to the loading platform jutting from the building high above. Immediately he could see a problem: the pallet was slipping from its canvas sling and was tilting to one end, putting all the weight on to one arm. Suddenly aware of the problem, the crane operator halted the lift so hastily that the lopsided load spun in a circle. It struck the side of the building and the arm bearing most of the load parted. The pipes spilled from their cradle and tumbled down in a widening metallic shower that quickly disappeared from Mike’s view.

  He sprinted across the site and rounded the end container. The air was clogged with dust. The falling pipes had each caused its own eruption that now mingled in the light breeze and rose slowly to form a single choking cloud. One pipe had bounced off the bonnet of the truck that had brought it and pierced the windscreen where it poked from the shattered glass. The driver, still clambering from the cabin, shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Look what you’ve done to me fuckin’ truck,’ he ranted, shock numbing his awareness of how narrowly he had avoided being impaled by the pipe.

  Others were not so lucky. One of the men, Joe Frederico, who would have attached the sling to the batch of pipes, lay on the tray of the truck beside other pallets, not yet uploaded on to the building. The right leg of his denim work pants was torn and his foot lay at a strange angle.

  ‘Me leg,’ he moaned. ‘It’s me leg.’

  He tried to reach down to it but gave a yelp of pain and fell back.

  ‘Just take it easy, Joe,’ Mike said.

  Not much chance of that. A trickle of saliva ran from Joe’s open mouth and dust coated his face. Mike turned to the driver. ‘Can you get him a drink? I’ll check the others.’

  Across from the truck several other men knelt beside a figure that lay without moving. His hard hat had disappeared and blood from a gash on his shoulder was darkening his fluorescent vest. Mike began to take out his mobile but stopped when he saw Bob Kennedy, the site supervisor, already holding a phone to his ear. By the time Mike reached him he had finished.

  ‘I called for two ambulances,’ he said.

  Mike nodded and gestured towards the figure on the ground. ‘How is he?�
��

  ‘I thought he was dead when I first got to him, but Paddy’s a tough bugger. He’s opened his eyes now. Concussion I’d say, and I don’t like the look of his shoulder.’

  Bob glanced around as if rechecking there were no other casualties. ‘It could’ve been worse. When I first saw them fall I reckoned we likely had a fatal.’

  ‘You were quick to get here.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Bob pushed his hat back, scratched his forehead and turned to scan the site again. ‘Where’s Ted?’

  ‘Ted Horton?’

  ‘Yeah. I was comin’ off the second level when I saw him watchin’ them attach the sling to the pallet. I thought he must be puttin’ on another of his stunts, findin’ some reason for callin’ the guys out. He should be here but he’s nicked off somewhere.’

  Mike could hear the distant sound of an ambulance siren and hoped it was coming to them. Getting through the city would be difficult and the mid-afternoon traffic would be choking the tangled knot of roads that linked the Charles Grimes Bridge with the freeway and the bayside suburbs. He spent the period waiting for the ambulances pacing anxiously between his two injured workers. When the ambulances did arrive, the paramedics appeared unhurried but took little time to check the men, provide preliminary treatment and load them on board. As Mike watched them depart a tall, lean man in his early thirties came towards him. He had the face and bearing of someone more used to an office than a building site but wore the union T-shirt with the initials BCU prominent on his left breast.

  ‘Spot of bother here?’ he said.

  ‘And you are?’ Mike replied.

  ‘Don’t you know Alan Reardon, the new assistant secretary?’

  The introduction came from the missing Ted Horton, who had materialised behind Mike.

  ‘Mike Georgiou. I’m the project manager.’

  He didn’t offer his hand.

  ‘I know,’ Reardon said quietly. ‘I was over the road at the Riverside site when I saw the ambulances stop here. Many hurt?’

  ‘One has a broken leg, the other concussion and a damaged shoulder as well as abrasions.’

  ‘Someone coulda been killed,’ Ted Horton said in a voice very different from the one Mike had become used to hearing him use: instead of a whining complaint, it was a sober assessment. Perhaps being a witness to the accident had put him in shock or perhaps he was deferring to the assistant secretary.

  ‘What happened?’ Reardon asked.

  ‘Yes, what did happen?’ Mike repeated. ‘Tell us, Ted. I hear you had a good view of it.’

  Horton seemed surprised by the question and hesitated before turning to Reardon. ‘I told ya, ya should be over here rather than spendin’ your time at the fuckin’ Riverside site.’ His voice rose to a higher pitch. ‘They’ve got so bloody sloppy here. I told ’em they hadn’t left enough clearance under the crane and now, when they didn’t load the sling properly we’ve got blokes hurt.’

  ‘You’ve contacted WorkSafe?’ Reardon asked Mike.

  ‘More urgent things,’ Mike said and realised he hadn’t called Ben to let him know what had happened, either. ‘I’ll take care of that now.’

  He turned and walked back to his office.

  After a delay, Ben Findlay answered his mobile. ‘Yes, Mike,’ he said sharply.

  ‘Ben, we’ve had an accident down here. Two men taken to hospital with serious but not life-threatening injuries.’ Mike drew breath to give more detail but was cut off by Ben.

  ‘Not another problem down there! I’m about to go into a crucial meeting with our bankers. Email me all the details so I can get across them as soon as I’m clear, and be bloody careful how you go with WorkSafe. I’ll be down later. Wait for me.’

  The phone went dead.

  Mike frowned before checking the number for WorkSafe and was about to place the call when Bob Kennedy came through the door, carrying a bundle which Mike recognised as the sling that had failed.

  ‘What’s it look like?’

  Bob dumped the sling on the desk. ‘You have a look.’

  He rummaged in the bundle until he found the two ends of the torn arm. Strands of canvas had been drawn from both sides, confirming that it had torn right across its width. When Mike made no comment, Bob said, ‘Look here, at the edge.’

  He ran his finger along the side of the canvas. ‘See how smooth it is. I reckon the canvas was cut at the edge and the cut widened when the load came on.’

  ‘Cut? Why didn’t they see it when they attached the sling?’

  Bob gave one of his ironic grins. ‘Funny you should ask. I had a chat to Joe before the ambulance arrived. He said this was the first time they’d used this sling and they did their usual check, but he also told me Ted Horton was givin’ them a hard time over the width of the clearance area below the crane. They’re sick of the way he keeps interferin’ for no good reason. Maybe Joe told me that as an excuse for some slack checkin’.’ The grin left his face. ‘Or maybe that bloody pest was involved somehow.’

  ‘You’re not saying he cut the sling?’

  ‘No, I don’t think he’d be up for that, the little runt, but I reckon someone did. And I reckon Ted knew about it.’

  ‘Just because he was being a nuisance again?’

  ‘Admit it, Mike. We’ve had more than bad luck lately. Someone cancelled our concrete order. Maybe the graffiti was kids, but how did they get in? The crane drive had been regularly serviced before the gear train failed. And Ted, the delegate who swans around the site doing bugger all, has become the union rep from hell.’ Bob squared his shoulders. ‘I reckon we oughta get him in and put the heat on him.’

  Mike again ran his fingers over the rough edge of the sling.

  ‘It could have been faulty when it arrived on site. You wouldn’t be able to see the fault unless you opened it up and looked carefully on the underside. The guys from WorkSafe are sure to give it a thorough going-over. No point in getting Ted in yet.’

  Bob scowled. ‘You’re the boss.’

  ‘And don’t you say anything to Ted.’

  The scowl became a sneer. ‘Don’t want to upset the union, do we?’

  Mike lifted his head and looked squarely into Bob’s eyes. ‘You’re right. I am the boss. What’s more, if Ted is involved somehow, I’m not going to warn him we might be on to him. Watch him carefully, but don’t give him any clue you’re keeping tabs on him. When we go for him, we need facts not suspicions. Now I must ring WorkSafe.’

  After Mike had confirmed that WorkSafe would send an inspector immediately, he sat reflecting again on his need to pull Bob into line. The great advantage of having started with the company as an apprentice carpenter and risen to his present position was that he had a thorough knowledge of how the various levels thought and worked. The disadvantage was that a few of the long-experienced and older hands like Bob still thought of him as a kid. There wasn’t a lot he could do about that except prove his competence over and over. The current problems weren’t helping there. Still, he shouldn’t sit there feeling sorry for himself. Best to get out on the site, talk to people and be ready for the WorkSafe inspector when he showed up.

  Late in the afternoon, after the men had left, Mike was reviewing the latest version of the schedule when the door to his office was thrown open and a man in multicoloured Lycra entered. Behind him Mike could see the sky had darkened and a gusty wind was throwing dust and debris in the air.

  ‘Hello, Ben. A training ride on your way home?’

  A disdainful smile creased the handsome face of the rider. ‘Serious training for me is first thing in the morning, when you’re still in bed.’

  He pushed back a lock of blonde hair and the smile disappeared. ‘Now I’ve turned forty I’ve got my sights set on some trophies. There’s an event in a few weeks’ time.’ The managing director of Findlay Construction dropped on to the chair across from Mike and his chin lifted.

  ‘So Mike, what the hell’s going on? Every day brings a new problem down here,
but this takes the cake.’

  ‘I’ve checked with the hospital and both of them are doing OK. We’ll know more in a few days.’

  Ben nodded. ‘We need to get them back to work as soon as we can. What did WorkSafe have to say?’

  ‘Not much. I took the inspector through what happened; he looked round the site and has taken the sling away.’

  ‘I don’t have to tell you the consequences if we’re found in any way culpable in this.’ Ben leant forward. ‘We both know this job was a big step up for you, but Vern insisted you were ready for it and I accepted his recommendation – another piece of poor advice from him. You started OK, but the further the project goes the worse you get. Problems are breaking out all over the site, you’re dropping behind schedule and now you’ve landed us in trouble with WorkSafe.’

  Mike also leant forward so their heads were close.

  ‘Bob Kennedy and I were talking earlier. Our problems might not be bad management or bad luck – we think someone might be getting at us.’

  ‘And who the hell might that be?’

  ‘We don’t know, but we aim to find out. Why would anyone want this project to fail?’

  Ben surprised Mike by giving a short laugh. ‘The only person I know who might be happy if this project fell over would be Vern McKenzie. He still thinks we should be building a factory and warehouse complex on this site like he originally wanted, despite the area being stuffed with underused stock and can’t see how this project will lift us out of the ruck of small firms into the big league of developers.’ Ben paused before adding, ‘But I can’t see Vern stooping that low. You’ll have to invent a better story to explain your poor performance.’

  Mike understood why Ben never acknowledged that Jim Findlay, the founder of Findlay Construction, was his father, but it still jarred with him when Ben called him ‘Jim’. If Mike were to do the same with his father it would seem like a form of sacrilege not to use the familiar ‘dad’, and he was sure Demetri Georgiou would be even more appalled. ‘How is your father?’