“And who better to tell us who wants an education than—”
“Who better indeed? Staley Zlachi.”
Ballard said almost hoarsely, “King of the Gyppos? Are you nuts? Soft in the head? If he gets his hands on that money—”
“He won’t. We pay the tuition directly to the school — he just advises.” He shrugged. “Hell, maybe I’m just getting old.”
They fell silent, still staring down at the scene below. Distance made it like a childhood dream of summer, a memory of something never known yet somehow recalled. It was, for that pure moment, a fairy tale brought to life. Dan Kearny sighed.
“Well, we’d better go pick up O’B at the motel. We still got ten Cal-Cit cars to get.”
They walked back to the pink Cadillac, paused with the doors open.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” said Ballard. “Old Zlachi’s gonna advise us on this foundation, but who’s gonna advise us on where to find those Gyppo Cadillacs?”
“Zlachi already has. He gets back this car only after we get the other Cadillacs.”
“You mean he’s selling out his own people.”
“That was the whole idea. To put him in the vise so—”
Giselle demanded, “Dan, when did you decide to—”
“Back in San Francisco, when you told me he wanted a pink Cadillac to be buried in. I figured that just had to be a scam on his own people. That’s when I knew I could make a deal with the crooked old bastard.”
Getting into the car, Giselle remembered what a nice old gentleman Staley looked while actually being slippery as a snake.
“If you sup with the devil, Dan’l, you better have a long spoon.”
“I hope Zlachi’s is long enough,” said Dan Kearny.
He started the pink Cadillac. Larry Ballard and Giselle Marc fell into each other’s arms in helpless laughter.