«You, Sly; then you, Marlon,» ordered The Duke.
«Got it.»
«Got it.»
«Now, here’s the kicker,» continued the Hawk quickly. «At first, you answer the clowns’ questions in your normal, regular voices, then when I nod at each of you, you switch to the impersonations of the people—the actors—you imitated for me and Colonel Cyrus.»
«We’ve got lots of others,» said Dustin.
«Those will do,» replied Hawkins. «They were damned convincing.»
«What’s the point?» asked the skeptical Marlon.
«I’d think you’d see that right off. We prove that you’re real talented professionals, that you’ve done what you’ve done because you are actors.»
«That can’t hurt us, pilgrims,» said The Duke, reverting to his histrionic persona. «What the hell, not too many other honchos in the business ever listened to us.»
«Confidence, men. You’ve got it all!» The telephone rang again. «Chow down, gentlemen,» MacKenzie went on, reaching for the phone as the Suicidal Six rushed to the room-service tables. «Yes, who’s this?»
«The twelfth son of the sheik of Tizi Ouzou by his twenty-second wife,» said the soft voice over the line. «Thirty thousand camels may be yours if our talk bears fruit, otherwise a hundred thousand Western dogs may die if the fruits are barren.»
«Ream it! Come back in six hours or go bury your balls in the desert sand!»
Seven hours later, the good ship, Hawk’s Assault, had made its initial foray into the turbulent waters of the motion picture industry. In its treacherous wake and struggling to keep from drowning were a former British Grenadier named Ogilvie, who blustered about thankless wog colonials; one Emmanuel Greenberg, whose copious weeping touched all but one MacKenzie Hawkins; a certain exhausted head of Holly Rock’s development named Scrimshaw, who finally said he’d temporarily settle for a bed he didn’t have to pay for; a shrieking «Cruiser» Motoboto, who made it abundantly clear that prison camps in «Horrywood» were not entirely out of the question; and lastly, a snarling Sheik Mustacha Hafaiyabeaka, in flowing robes, who made constant and odious comparisons between camel droppings and the American dollar. Nevertheless, to a man and his corporate entity, each profoundly hoped to be chosen as the producing force behind the most spectacular motion picture to be made in modern times, and each, stunned speechless by the six extraordinary actor-commandos, agreed without reservation that they would portray themselves in the film of their exploits. Only Greenberg offered the suggestion: «Maybe a little skin, fellas? Y’know, a few girlies so there shouldn’t be any questions, y’know?» The Suicidal Six agreed enthusiastically, especially Marlon, Sly, and Dustin. «Thirty-six-carat gelt!» whispered Manny, even more enthusiastically.
Business cards were proffered, but Hawkins was clear: no decision would be made until early the following week. When the last of the supplicants left, namely the growling twelfth son of the sheik of Tizi Ouzou by his twenty-second wife, MacKenzie turned to his elite Delta Force by way of the theater and rendered his judgment. «You were great, every one of you. They were hypnotized, blown out of their foxholes—you did it!»
«Outside of putting on a pretty good show,» said the erudite Telly, «I’m not exactly sure what we did.»
«Did you just lose your flak jacket, son?» broke in the startled Hawkins. «Didn’t you hear what they said? To a sweaty palm, they want this project so bad they drooled!»
«Well,» observed Dustin, «I heard a lot of noise, a lot of shouting and pleading, especially Mr. Greenberg’s crying—he was especially effective, very much like a Greek chorus—but I’m not sure what it all meant.»
«We didn’t see anyone pulling out a contract,» said Marlon.
«We don’t want any contracts. Not yet.»
«When’s ‘yet,’ General?» asked Sir Larry. «You see, we’ve been through all this before. There’s always a great deal of talk but very few pieces of paper. Paper is a commitment, sir, the rest is just… well, talk.»
«If I remember correctly, gentlemen, negotiations are left to the negotiators. We’re the creative side; we do and they haggle.»
«Who negotiates for us, if anybody really wants us… pilgrim?»
«Good point, Duke. Maybe I’d better make a phone call.»
«I’ll pay for it,» said Sly.
Instead, the Waldorf-Astoria’s telephone rang. The Hawk crossed to the desk. «Yes, who the hell is this?»
«Sweetie, I couldn’t wait any longer! How’s everything going?»
«Oh, hi, Ginny, everything went fine, but as the boys explained to me, we may have a problem.»
«Manny?… You didn’t kill him, did you, Mac?»
«Hell, no. As a fact, the boys were kinda taken by him.»
«The crying bit, huh?»
«You got it.»
«He’s very good at that, the bastard… Then what’s the problem?»
«Well, as the men say, it’s real splendid that these vultures liked us, or pretended to like us, but how do we get anything on paper—»
«It’s all arranged, Mac. The William Morris Agency is handling everything—right up at the top. Robbins and Martin themselves.»
«Robbins and Martin? Sounds like a classy men’s shop.»
«Class they are, and we should all have their brains, sweetie. Not only brains, they speak English you can understand, not Hollywood crapola. That’s why they confuse everybody and take home the bread. They’ll go to work when I tell them.»
«Make it early next week, okay, Ginny?»
«Sure. Where can I reach you, and who exactly besides Manny showed up?»
«Here, I’ve got their cards.» The Hawk picked up the business cards on the desk and read each off to his former wife.
«Wasn’t there a nut studio in Georgia or Florida? Of course, no legitimate company in the South will deal with them, but they’ve got several cathedrals full of money and can push up the bids.»
«I have an idea they may run into a bit of trouble tonight in Washington.»
«What?»
«Let it pass, Ginny.»
«I know that tone; it’s passed. Now how about you? Where will you be?»
«Call a Johnny Calfnose at the Wopotami reservation outside of Omaha, he’ll know where to find me. Here’s his private number.» Hawkins gave it to her. «Got it?»
«Sure, but what’s a Calfnose, and what the hell is a Wopotami?»
«He’s a disenfranchised member of that downtrodden people.»
«Your windmills, Mac?»
«We do what we can, little lady.»
«Who to this time, sweetie?»
«Bad protectors of the republic with very bad attitudes.»
«Oh, the D.C. pricky-shits?»
«And their forebears, Ginny, going back over a hundred years.»
«How delicious!… But how did you ever get Sam involved?»
«He’s a very principled man—far more mature than he was and with seven children—but he knows right from wrong.»
«That’s what I mean! How did you get him back? That beautiful boy thinks you’re Ali Baba’s forty thieves all walking around on one pair of legs.»
«Well, as I say, he’s changed, mellowed over the years. Probably goes with his haggard looks and the arthritis that kinda makes him stoop… I guess nine kids would do that to anybody.»
«Nine? I thought you said seven?»
«I get mixed up, but then so does he. I’ll say this, though, he’s become a far more tolerant man.»