Labor disputes!
“…Boots?” said Bad Jack.
He might have said something more, like Why would Yapper order boots?, except Morty didn’t give him the chance. “Yes, Director, boots. The reinforced boots Mr. Joeson negotiated for the floor shifts. I’ve found a form agreeing to the request, and I’ve found a form authorizing the release of funds to fill the boot contract. What I haven’t found are the order forms for the boots, or the receipt showing payment for the order.”
Morty stepped just a little bit closer to Yapper, who was looking more and more worried by the second. “Most importantly, I haven’t found any boots.” The Ombudsman still wasn’t looming, but he didn’t have to; the floor workers around him were all really big guys, and they had Morty covered when it came to hulking over people. “Where are the boots, Mr. Joeson? Where is the money for the boots?”
Yapper wasn’t real bright, because he tried to appeal to Bad Jack. “Boss…”
“Excuse me.” Morty didn’t shout that, and he didn’t have to. “He’s not your boss, shop steward. They’re your bosses.” He waved his hand at the floor crew. “You answer to them.”