"Christ, what don't those people manufacture?" he mumbled.
"Stand right here," Senator Ralston was saying happily. He was thinking about how this photo would look framed on his office wall. For in Washington, power was in whom you knew. Connections. Now, an actor like Bartholomew Bronzini might not have much clout among his fellow power brokers, but impressing them was two-thirds of the game.
Bronzini posed for so many shots he began to feel like a Playgirl centerfold. The senator put his arm around him. They shook hands in three different poses. And when it was over, Senator Ralston personally saw the famous actor to the door.
"A pleasure doing business with you," he said broadly. "You'll have that waiver by close of business tomorrow."
"Thank you, sir," said Bartholomew Bronzini in his sincere but flat voice.
"Sir," Senator Ralston said to himself as he watched the actor depart, ponytail switching. "Bartholomew Bronzini called me sir."
He never dreamed that for a handful of snapshots he had just struck a deal to arm an occupying army. Bartholomew Bronzini entered his suite at the Lafayette Hotel. Jiro Isuzu was waiting for him. Jiro bounced from his chair with the expectant look of a faithful dog presenting himself to his master.
"Yes?" he asked. It sounded like a cat's hiss. Bronzini nodded.
"Yes. He promised us the waiver by tomorrow."
"This is most excerrent, Bronzini san."
"He didn't even ask me about the production."
"I tord you my presence was unnecessary. Your name arone open many door."
"Yeah, I noticed," Bronzini said dryly. "So we have the waiver. Can you get the guns to Yuma in time for the first day's shooting?"
Jiro Isuzu smiled tightly. "Yes, guns are in Mexican depot. Arrive from Hong Kong today. Easy to get across border now that waiver is certainty. Unrike tanks."
"Tanks?"
"Yes, we require many, many Chinese tanks."
"I didn't ask him about any tanks."
"Senator not one to ask, Bronzini san. Customs. We go there now. Prease to forrow."
Bronzini arrested the wiry Japanese by grabbing a handful of his coat collar.
"Hold on Jiro," he said. "We got a waiver on the machine guns only because I promised to export them when filming's over. Tanks are another matter altogether. I don't know if this is possible."
"You have used tanks in your firms before?" Isuzu said, prying Bronzini's fingers from his person.
"Sure, but I filmed Grundy III in Israel. The Israelis let me use all the tanks I wanted, but they're in a perpetual state of war over there. They're used to tanks in the streets. If you want to shoot tank scenes, I suggest we move filming to Israel."
"These tanks farse."
"Farce? Did we take a sudden turn into comedy?"
"Not farce, farse. Not real. Props. Customs men, once they see this, will happiry agree to their import."
"Oh, false! You really gotta work on your L's Jiro. It's gonna hold you back later on in life."
"Japanese take pride in not pronouncing retter L." He pronounced it "eru."
"We all have our crosses to bear. So where do we go from here-or do you want me to talk to the President while I'm in town? Maybe ask him to repeal daylightsaving time for the duration of production."
"You know American President?" Isuzu asked.
"Never met the guy. It was a little joke."
"Not see humor in terring rie," Isuzu said stiffly.
"Why should you be any different?" Bronzini muttered to himself. "So what's next?"
"We meet with customs man. Then we return to Arizona, where we wirr personarry oversee the movement of these prop tanks."
"Okay, you read, I forrow," Bronzini said, gesturing broadly to the door.
As they stepped out into the plush hotel hallway, Jiro Isuzu turned to Bartholomew Bronzini.
"You have become very cooperative since we arrive in Washington, D. C. Why change of attitude?"
"It's like this, Jiro," Bronzini said, stabbing the elevator's down button. "I don't like the way I was conned into this. No shit, okay? I do not like it. But that's my name on that contract. I'm a man of my word. If this is the movie you want, this is the movie you get."
"Honor is a very admirable trait. We Japanese understand honor, and varue it highry."
"Good. Do you understand elevators? I'm getting old waiting for this one. What's the Japanese name for elevator anyway?"
"Erevator. "
"No shit. Sounds like the American word, give or take a consonant."
"It is. Japanese take many things from American curture. Reject only what is bad."
"Which brings me to the other reason. Everywhere I turn, I see the name Nishitsu. You guys may be the wave of the future, and if you're going to be doing movies, I'm your boy."
"Yes," Jiro Isuzu said as they stepped into the elevator. "You are our boy indeed, Bronzini san."
The director of U. S. Customs was an easy man to deal with. He settled for an autograph.
"But you realize that these tanks will have to be exported when you're finished." He laughed self-consciously. "Not that we think you're trying to put one over on us-after all, what would a movie company want with actual combat vehicles? And everyone knows that the Japanese are among the most peace-loving peoples on the face of the earth. Especially after we dropped the Big One on them, eh, Mr. Isuzu?"
When Isuzu did not join in the customs director's nervous laughter, the latter recovered and went on. "But you do understand that we do have regulations that must be adhered to. I can only expedite the process. The inspection procedure must be observed. It's for everyone's benefit."
"I understand perfectly, sir," Bartholomew Bronzini assured him. He shook the man's hand.
"Nice meeting you too, Mr. Isuzu. Sorry about my little joke there."
"Don't mind Jiro," Bronzini quipped. "His funny bone was surgically removed at birth."
"Oh," the director of customs said sincerely. "Sorry to hear that."
The T-62 tanks and armored personnel carriers were stored at a Nishitsu warehouse in San Luis, Mexico. They had been dismantled and shipped to Mexico as farm equipment and assembled there by Nishitsu employees. The Mexican authorities had been paid off in Nishitsu merchandise. VCR's were the most popular. Hardly anyone took any of the Nishitsu Ninja jeeps because even the Mexicans had heard about their tendency to tip over on sharp turns. The Mexican road system was almost all sharp turns.
Customs Inspector Jack Curry's knees shook as he went through the rows of tanks in the Nishitsu warehouse with no less than Bartholomew Bronzini. They did not shake from the fearsomeness of these war machines. Although they looked pretty awesome with their long smoothbore cannon and Chinese Red Army star on the turrets. They were painted in chocolate-and-vanilla desert camouflage striations.
"This is really something," he said.
"I can hardly believe it myself," Bronzini said. "Look at these monsters."
"I didn't mean the tanks, Mr. Bronzini. I'm just so surprised that you'd actually be here in person." Bronzini recognized a cue when he heard one. "This is important to me, Mr. Curry. I just want everything to go smoothly."
"I can understand that. It's obvious that these tanks must have cost thousands of dollars apiece, even if they are props." Curry experimentally rapped the fender of one of them. It rang with a solid metallic sound.
"Our finest machinists assembre these," Jiro Isuzu put in proudly.
"Yes, well, if it wasn't for the fact that this is a movie, I'd almost think they were real."
"These Japanese copies of Chinese battre tank," Isuzu supplied. "Tanks are supposed to look ... What is word?"
"Realistic," Bronzini supplied.
"Yes, rearistic. Thank you. You inspect now?"
"Yes, of course. Let's get to work."
At a signal from Isuzu, Nishitsu mechanics fell on the tank like white ants. They popped the hatches and one of them slid into the driver's compartment. He started the engine. The tank growled and began spewing diesel exhaust in the cramped confines of the warehouse.