«Apparently, neither did they pursue with any degree of intense curiosity how he intended to make them extraordinarily wealthy. Instead, they joyfully took the million and spent it—rather injudiciously, I gather… And forgive me, Miss Redwing, but I believe your brother was very much aware of the general’s intentions. In fact, he was very much an accessory—»
«He thought it was all a big joke!» cried Redwing, lurching forward. «A harmless joke that gave the tribe a lot of money, an influx of tourists, and a great deal of fun!»
«The Supreme Court is fun …?»
«He didn’t think it would get to first base,» said Jennifer defensively. «Besides, he had no idea about the million dollars or the deal Hawkins cut with the Council. He was appalled!»
«Lack of communication between friendly parties is not grounds for fraud or conspiracy, except perhaps between the parties themselves, which would then put them on an adversarial basis.»
«You’re saying the Council deliberately withheld information from my brother.»
«I’m afraid I am. As he did from them to a large extent.»
«And if we, our group, suddenly insert ourselves—»
«Which you have no legal right to do,» interrupted Aaron gently.
«… and tell the whole story,» continued Redwing, her eyes growing wide in astonishment, «it will be interpreted as a self-serving action on our part to move into the money, stealing it from them if there ever is any!… My God, it’s all been turned around! It’s crazy!»
«Yes, my dear, crazy—like a hawk. The general would have made a superb corporate attorney.»
Suddenly, from the open balcony of the Alpine lobby’s second floor, a figure emerged from a door and walked to the railing. It was Eleanor Devereaux, her hair groomed and her posture regal, very much the grand dame. «I just had a horrible dream,» she announced, in full control of her voice and words. «I dreamt that mad General Custer and all those savage Indians at the battle of Little Big Horn joined together and attacked a packed convention of the American Bar Association. The lawyers were all scalped.»
The tall, stooped, elderly gentleman in the long brown gabardine topcoat and black beret might have come from any of the various campuses in the Boston area, a professor, stern-faced yet somewhat bewildered by the opulence of the Four Seasons Hotel lobby. He kept squinting behind his large tortoiseshell glasses, eventually gravitating to the bank of elevators after a brief, aimless stroll around the premises.
Of course, there was nothing aimless about the Hawk’s surveillance, and everything about his appearance was contrived. Previous reconnoitering had established every shadowed corner and each less obvious seating place, and he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the buckskinned giant who had severely disabled one Caesar Boccegallupo of Brooklyn, New York, five hours ago. An experienced soldier did not walk into enemy territory without checking the terrain. There were no surprises, so the general walked into an elevator and pressed the number of Little Joseph’s floor.
«Room soivice,» said Hawkins, knocking at the door.
«I got already!» cried the voice inside. «… Oh, the apple and pears soaked in booze and set on fire? I thought they was comin’ later!» The door opened and a stunned Joey the Shroud could only exclaim, «You! What the hell are you doin’ here?»
«All conferences between commanders are prefaced by preliminary meetings between their subordinates so the agendas are clear,» replied the Hawk, brushing Joey aside as he walked into the room. «Since I consider my current adjutants unequal to the task—purely for linguistic reasons—I’m taking their place.»
«Fazool, you’re the ass end of the trolley car!» cried the Shroud, slamming the door shut. «I got enough on my mind, you I don’t need.»
«But you need your apples and pears flambé?»
«Yeah, very tasty, a nice combination of burnt fruits, and the aroma is extremely full-bodied, like an old factory experience.»
«What?»
«It smells good. I read that on a menu in Vegas. Hoo-hay, my momma would shoot out of her grave if she thought I torched a pear, and my poppa would chase me right into Bed Sty! But what did they know, may they rest in eternal peace.» Joey blessed himself, then looked at the general and spoke harshly. «Now, the fancy-shmancy talk aside, what are you doin’ here?»
«I just explained. Before I formally confer with your superior officer, I’d like the landscape a great deal clearer. My rank requires it and I demand it.»
«You can require and demand all you like, General Fazool, but the big man ain’t no fuckin’ soldier boy. I mean, he’s up there with the archangels of the government, y’know what I mean?»
«I’ve met a few in my day, Joseph, and for that very reason I want a G-Two, One Thousand One, or there’ll be no conference.»
«What’s that, a license plate?»
«It’s a full rundown of whom I’m temporarily scheduled to confer with.»
«Hoo-hay, on the grave of my Aunt Angelina, it’s for your own good!»
«I’ll be the judge of that.»
«I can’t tell you nothin’ without permission, you gotta understand that.»
«Suppose I pluck your fingernails out, one by one, Little Joseph?»
«Hey, come on, Fazool, we been through this. Underneath your bullshit you may be a tough gibrone, but you ain’t no screeching Nazi… Here, here are my hands. You want I should call room service for a pair of pliers?»
«Stop it, Joseph… This minor perspicacity on your part must never leave this room!»
«If what you mean is that you don’t want no pliers, forget it. I tole that to a dozen capitanos in Mussolini’s army—that fat lasagna!»
The telephone rang. «That has to be your connection, Joseph. Sometimes the truth is the best avenue. Tell your superior, I’m here—right here with you!»
«The time’s right,» said the Shroud, looking at his watch. «He’s gotta be alone now.»
«Do as I say.»
«I got a choice? I can take the no-fingernails bit, but your outsized claw around my throat while you grab the Ameche is somethin’ else.» Little Joey crossed to the bedside telephone and picked it up. «It’s me,» he said, «and the big General Fazool is ten feet away as we speak, Bam-Bam. He wants words with you, only he don’t know who he’s talkin’ to but I value my fingers, if y’know what I mean in Vegas terms, huh?»
«Put him on, Joey,» said the calm voice of Vincent Mangecavallo.
«Here,» cried the Shroud, holding out the phone for Hawkins, who walked rapidly over and grabbed it.
«Commander X, here,» said the Hawk into the mouthpiece. «I assume I’m talking to Commander Y.»
«You are General MacKenzie Hawkins, serial number two-zero-one-five-seven, United States Army, twice recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, and the biggest pain in the ass the Pentagon has ever had to put up with. Am I correct?»
«Well, certain judgments are not necessarily absolutes… Who the hell are you?»
«I am a man who barely a day ago wanted you in your grave—with full military honors, of course—but who now wants you to stay very much alive and above ground, do I make myself clear?»
«No, you don’t, you D.C. pricky-shit. Why change sides?»
«Because the zabagliones who wanted your exit papers now want mine, and I find that determination not to my liking.»
«Zabagliones?… Little Joseph here …? You were the clown who sent that asshole Caesar somebody-or-other to the Four Seasons?»