«Why? He’s demented.»
«He’s what?»
«He’s a screwball, a mental case—»
«Then why is he so goddamned important?»
«Because he and a criminal lawyer from Harvard, accent on criminal—who I know something about—have worked up some big fraud case against our perfect government that could cost us—especially the Pentagon—more millions than we could con from Congress in a hundred years!»
«What case?»
«I don’t have the particulars, only the essence, and let me tell you, it’s a Rocky Horror Picture Show—did you ever see that movie?»
«Sorry,» growled the journalist, his blatant hostility apparent, but apparently not to Brokey the Deuce. «Who is this general?» asked the man called Harrison, choking out the question.
«A crazy son of a bitch named Hawkins, a real troublemaker, always has been.»
«I remember that name. Didn’t he win the Congressional twice?»
«He’s also a maniac. Eighty percent of the Congressional get it after they’re dead. How come he wasn’t killed—maybe there’s a story there?»
«Auuaagh!» coughed the journalist, the fire now in his eyes. «How come Air Force Two carried these imposters to Boston?» he asked, resuming a semblance of control.
«Window dressing for the press conference. You can’t ignore that aircraft.»
«You can’t rent it from a Hertz counter, either. That plane’s an untouchable.»
«Not for some people—»
«Oh, yes, you mentioned a big shot … ‘one of the most powerful men in the country,’ I think you said.»
«Very high rank, damn near the highest. Max-classified.»
«Now that sort of confidential information would really impress my friends in Hollywood. They’d probably fly you out to the Coast for a couple of conferences—all very hush-hush, of course.»
«Conferences?»
«They look ahead, General, way down the road, they have to. A picture starts with a high concept; the development takes a couple of years. Good Lord, every major star in the industry would be at your feet—you’d have to meet ’em all for precasting purposes.»
«Meet them … all?»
«Sure, but I guess it’s out of the question since you can’t tell me—on a confidential postoccurrence basis—who the big shot is. Later, any damn fool can reveal the name, and probably will; the time to strike for you is now. After the fact you won’t be anything special… Oh, well, win some, lose some. Let’s get on with the interview, General. The cuts in defense spending directly affect the manpower situation, which has to in turn affect troop morale—»
«Wait a minute!» An apoplectic Brokey the Deuce paced back and forth, looking down at the photographs of his magnificent creation/obsession. «As you say, when the story breaks—and it has to some day—I won’t be anyone special, and any damn fool can take credit for what I’ve done. God, they will, too! They’ll make a movie and I won’t be any part of it. I’ll have to pay probably fifty dollars just to sit in a theater and watch what they’ve done to my masterpiece. Oh, Christ, it’s terrible!»
«That’s life, as Old Blue Eyes sings in that song,» said the journalist, his pen poised above his notepad. «For a fact, though, Francis Albert is looking for a good character role—he might even play you.»
«Francis Albert …?»
«I mean Frank, naturally, Sinatra, of course.»
«No!» roared the brigadier general. «I did all this and did it my way!»
«What was that?»
«All right, I’ll tell you,» said the perspiring Brokemichael. «Later on, down the road, he’ll probably thank me, maybe find me another star, and even if he doesn’t he can damn well pay fifty dollars himself and watch that movie, my movie.»
«I can’t follow you, General.»
«The Secretary of State!» whispered Brokey the Deuce. «He’s the one my Suicidal Six are on the Boston mission for. He arrived here yesterday incognito, nobody on the base knew who he was, his ID a processed fake!»
«Bingo!» shouted the Hawk, leaping up from the chair to his full height and ripping the dull red wig off his head. «Gotcha, Deucey!» he continued yelling as he tore apart his collar and tie while yanking the steel-rimmed glasses away from his face. «How are ya, old buddy, you miserable son of a bitch?»
Ethelred Brokemichael was beyond speech; in a word, he was paralyzed. A series of deep-throated grunts combined with high-pitched nasal wheezes emerged from his gaping mouth in the lower middle of his contorted face. «Ahhhh … ahhhh!»
«Is that any way to greet an old buddy, even if he is a mental case and a misfit who probably shouldn’t have been given his Congressionals?»
«Aiya … aiya!»
«Oh, I forgot, he’s also a traitor and a troublemaker, and maybe there’s a story behind those medals like directing his own fire on himself, that might do it.»
«Nyahh … nyahh!»
«You mean you don’t think that’d work, you pissant?»
«Mac, stop it!» cried Brokey the Deuce, recovering sufficiently to protest. «You don’t know what I’ve been going through … a divorce—the bitch is bleeding me dry—and fighting Washington for funds, and keeping my unit happy—Jesus, I have to arrange captive audiences for their goddamned staged readings when the recruits don’t understand a word and smoke funny cigarettes to get through the ordeals… Have mercy, Mac, I’m just trying to survive! What would you have done, tell the Secretary of State to shove it?»
«I probably would have.»
«Yeah, well, you never had to pay a dime in alimony.»
«Of course not. I taught my fillies how to take care of themselves, and by God, they did. If I’m short, any one of ’em will ante up.»
«I’ll never understand, never.»
«It’s simple. I cared for each and every one and helped them to be better than they were. You didn’t care and you didn’t help.»
«Well, damn it, Mac, that wall-eyed Pease made a hell of a case against you! And when he told me that lousy punk lawyer Devereaux was involved, I went bananas—dedicated bananas.»
«That’s kind of a shame, Deucey, because that ‘punk’ Devereaux is the reason I’m here … to help you get your ass out of the biggest sling it could land in.»
«What?»
«It’s time for you to have a little mercy, General. Sam Devereaux now knows he overstated his charges against you and wants to make up for his younger indiscretions. Do you think I’d risk coming down here and walk right into the enemy’s camp if he hadn’t insisted?»
«What the hell are you talking about?»
«You’re being set up, Brokey. Sam found out and literally ordered me to fly down and warn you.»
«What? How?»
«There’s this minor lawsuit against the government—someone’s always suing the government—but this one is a major embarrassment to Warren Pease, and he’s a very image-conscious politician. He wants it eliminated, so he enlists you and your team to do his dirty work, convincing you it’s a big national crisis, and the minute you’ve done it, he doesn’t know you! The lawsuit’s thrown out of court ’cause the plaintiffs aren’t there, somebody’s bound to protest, and the elimination trail leads right to your Suicidal Six—and you. A general officer who only barely survived serious charges in the Golden Triangle. You’re dead meat, Brokey.»