«I don’t know where the hell it is!»
«All the better… Does your go-between know?»
«He can find out if the reason’s good enough to convince Thunder Ass.»
«You said on the telephone that he wanted—what was it?—oh, yes, ‘support troops.’ Would that be good enough?»
«I would hope to kiss a pig it would. That’s what he needs… Who did you figure on?»
«Your associate with the unique name of Meat, to begin with—»
«Pass,» negated Mangecavallo. «I got other work for him to do. Who else?»
«Well, we may have a problem then. As I mentioned, our padrones near and far are adamant that there be no traceable connection to any of the families such as might be construed by Mr. Caesar Boccegallupo. I assume Meat is an exception because, as your batman of sorts, he’s not enormously large in the brain department. I believe you said he’s the penultimate ‘street gorilla.’»
«Penultimate?»
«Well, the ultimate would be a real gorilla who understood English, wouldn’t it?»
«What the hell does Batman have to do with my street soldier Meat?»
«No, not Batman, Vincenzo, but batm’n, someone who carries out various minor tasks for you.»
«You know, you frost my apricots, I mean, you are weird!»
«I’m doing my best,» said the industrialist, close to verbal exhaustion. «I’m afraid we’re on different wavelengths.»
«Well, get on mine, Smythie! You sound like that baked apple who runs the State Department, chum-chum!»
«That’s why I’m valuable, don’t you see? I understand him; he’s marginally socially acceptable, but your solutions, as degrading as they may be, are infinitely more productive than his where my own interests are concerned. I may prefer his lemon daiquiris to your boilermakers, but I certainly know when to order a shot and a beer. Why do you think the industrial democracies are so blessedly tolerant? I may not care to break bread with you, but I’m more than happy to help you bake the loaf.»
«You know, Candy Balls, I think I hear your mama talking. Underneath your bullshit, you’re up front. So where do we go from here?»
«Since the normal avenues are closed to you, I suggest you recruit several men from an available pool of talent. Namely, mercenaries.»
«Who?»
«Professional soldiers for hire. They’re generally the scum of the earth, but they fight solely for money and care not one whit for causes other than money. In the old days, they were ex-Wehrmacht hoodlums, or murderers on the run, or former disgraced military personnel no army would have in its ranks, and I suppose the last two categories remain the same, since most of the fascists are either dead or too old to carry a drum or blow their damn bugles. Regardless, I believe it’s the wisest course of action.»
«Where do I find these goody two-shoes Boy Scout types? I want protection up there as soon as possible.»
«I took the liberty of bringing you a dozen résumés from a Washington agency named Manpower Plus Plus. The messenger I sent over there, an executive of mine from Milan, actually, informs me that all the candidates are available within twenty-four hours with the possible exception of two who are expected to successfully break out of prison by tomorrow morning.»
«I like your style, Fontini,» said the temporarily deceased director of the Central Intelligence Agency. «Where are these résumés?»
«In the kitchen. Come with me. You can tell Meat to watch the front porch.»
Ten minutes later, seated at a thick pine table, the file folders spread across the surface, Mangecavallo made his decision. «These three,» he ordered.
«Vincenzo, you are indeed remarkable,» said Smythington-Fontini. «I would have chosen two out of the three, except that I must tell you that those two are at this moment about to execute their escape from the Attica prison, so they’ll be the most grateful for immediate employment. The third, however, is actually a certified lunatic, an American Nazi who keeps burning swastikas on the grounds of the United Nations.»
«He threw himself in front of a bus—»
«It wasn’t a bus, Vincenzo, it was a patrol wagon carrying his friend, another lunatic who was arrested walking down Broadway wearing a Gestapo uniform.»
«Still, he went the whole nine yards to stop something from happening, and that’s what I’m looking for.»
«Agreed, but it’s debatable whether he really meant to take that action or was punched out by a rabbi on Forty-seventh Street.»
«I’ll gamble… When can I get ’em to Boston?»
«Well, the first two we’ll know about in the morning, after the prison roll call, and our Nazi is champing at the bit since he’s drawing welfare on a stolen Social Security card of some loan shark he put in the East River.»
«I like him already—not his politics ’cause I don’t go along with that lousy shit, but he can be useful. All those whacko nuts can be useful—like you say, all you gotta do is bang a drum and blow a bugle. And if the other two break out, they’re the Holy Mary’s gift to our cause to right a terrible wrong to a tribe of real losers who would drop fuckin’ dead except for my benevolent intervention. The main thing is that we get this act together as fast as we can and shoot ’em up to Boston and that safe shelter place, wherever the hell it is… You know, it’s just possible that those Zucchinis in Washington are zeroing in on the general at this moment.»
«I doubt that, old boy. If you don’t know where he is, and your go-between doesn’t know, how could Washington find him?»
«I just don’t trust the silk underwears. They’ll stop at nothing, those lowlifes.»
In a dimly lit booth at the rear of O’Toole’s Bar and Grill barely two blocks west of Aaron Pinkus Associates, the young, elegantly dressed banker pressed his gentle assault against the middle-aged secretary by way of a third martini.
«Oh, I really shouldn’t, Binky,» protested the woman, giggling and running her hand nervously down the left side of her long, graying hair. «It really isn’t right.»
«What isn’t right?» asked the walking advertisement for Brooks Brothers apparel, his mid-Atlantic accent somewhere between Park Avenue and Belgrave Square. «I told you how I feel.»
«So many of our attorneys drop in here after work … and after all, I’ve only known you for an hour or so. People will talk.»
«Let them, dear heart! Who cares? I stated my case quite clearly and with abiding integrity. Those infantile idiots a man like me is expected to go out with simply don’t interest me. I much prefer a mature woman, a woman of experience and insight… Here, cheers.» Both raised their glasses to their lips; however, only one swallowed, and it was not the Ivy League banker. «Oh, slight business, my love… When do you think our executive committee can meet with Mr. Pinkus? We’re talking several millions, of course, as his legal advice is very much sought after.»
«Binky, I told you…» At this point, the suddenly perplexed secretary involuntarily crossed her eyes and hiccuped four times in succession. «… Mr. Plinkus hasn’t been in touch with me all day.»
«Don’t you know where he is, dear heart?»
«Not saxually—actually—but his chauffeur, Paddy Lafferty, called to have me clear the car rental agency for two automobiles.»
«Really? Two?»
«Something about the ski lodge in Hooksett. That’s in Hew Nampshire, across the state border.»
«Oh, well, it’s all irrelevant, just boring business… Will you excuse me for a mo’, sweet thing? As they say, nature doth call.»