“Jesus, Don, pay attention,” Cobb said. “I said I want some advice. I’ve got to think things out, which means I’ve got to tell someone I trust, with some brains, to help me think my way through this thing.”
“Son of a bitch,” Beale said. “I guess you don’t want money.”
“I’m getting rumblings,” Cobb said. “Rumblings I don’t like. There’s nomination papers getting circulated in the Second District. For a long-haired kid named Greenberg. He wants our nomination. I never heard of him.”
Beale laughed. “So he can run against Bob Wainwright? Leave him do it. Bob’ll cream him. That district’s been Republican since Hector was a pup. Why’s the kid think Bob’s still there? Because no Democrat can beat him, and so no one wants to try. After he gets through with that, he can try kamikaze school. Get a plane for his next trip.”
“Don,” Cobb said, “goddamnit, you’ve really got to listen. This kid gets the papers in, no one else even files. Even when he loses he will be the power there. That’s what these kids’re doing now. They’ve finally smartened up. Some of them, at least. After this kid takes his beating, he will still have something. He will have something I don’t want him to have: a fucking organization, in the Second District, and a bunch of committed little rich fuckers, with nothing to do but make trouble. For me. They all think he’s running against Lyndon Baines Johnson, and this goddamned war that they hate. Not against Robert Wainwright—LBJ’s their target. When they lose they’re not gonna stop. They’re not going to go away. They’re going to start looking around for the next thing, something to do with their time. And that’s going to be state politics. They’re going to start messing with me.
“I’ve gone to a lot of trouble here,” Cobb said, “and you’ve spent a lot of money, building up what Russ Stanley calls ‘Cobb’s coalition,’ and I don’t want to wake up some morning and find out I’ve got competition. There’s not enough of us yet to survive internal fights. I got trouble enough keeping order, maintaining a group that’ll do what I say, without any traitors and stragglers. Somebody sets up another machine, and I don’t care how weak it is, I lose my sanctions—you see? If I say to a guy: ‘I want you to do this,’ and he says: ‘But I want to do that,’ I can’t say to the guy: ‘Hey, you do this, all right? Otherwise you’re fucked.’ Because he will just look me straight in the eye, and say: ‘Fuck you. I’ll go somewhere else.’ Because he’ll have somewhere else to go. Which he doesn’t have, right now. It won’t be enough to support him, and he’ll get his ass whipped for him. But it will be enough to persuade all the others: it’s okay to break ranks. Jesus,” Cobb said, “now I know how Captain Bligh felt. And what he should’ve done. I got a mutiny on my hands here. Got to lash the bastards right now.”
“So, what do you want to do, Ed?” Beale said. “You asking me if you should run?”
“No, I’m not,” Cobb said. “And if you’re asking me if I’d be willing to run, I’m saying ‘No way in the world.’ In the first place, Congress doesn’t interest me. If the incumbent was Peter Rabbit, I wouldn’t challenge him. I don’t want the goddamned job. And this is a good thing, because Bob Wainwright’s not a rabbit, and as long as he remembers what to do, breathing in and breathing out, he will be the congressman.
“What I’m asking you,” Cobb said, “is for the name of somebody who can take out papers too. And then—yeah, then you’ll be right—some money to support him. Not much. My guy in Washington, this’s the guy I called for Earl, he says he’ll get me some dough from his people, if we get somebody that at least when we put him up, people won’t laugh at him. So all I need is just enough to get him through the fucking primary, and beat this kid, Greenberg. Then we can cheap it out in the general, let Wainwright win, as he’s going to. Tell Stanley at the paper that we’re philosophical—‘Every journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step’—and we’ll try again next time. ‘gallant fight,’ and all that shit. ‘Really sorry that we lost.’ But actually, we won.”
“You know more names’n I do,” Beale said. “You’ve done enough favors for people. There’s not a state agency doesn’t have your guys, loafing around for the paycheck. That’s not what you’re asking me.”
“The names I know,” Cobb said, “the names I know’re guys that in the first place wouldn’t do it, because they know what’d happen. And in the second place, the ones that would, nobody’s heard of them. Which is why they’ve got nothing to lose. The first group won’t run, and the second group’s useless. At least that’s what I think right now. Pretend we’re back in college, staying up late and still talking. Make believe we’ve still got the office, long after dinner, we’re there. Trying to figure out what’s going on. ‘What the hell’re we gonna do now?’ I always sharpened you up, then. I’m the one that told you: ‘We shut down, and you sell cars, and I will run for office.’ And goddamnit, I was right. Now you sharpen me up, all right? What the hell do I do now?”
Beale stood up. “Come on,” he said. “Got something to show you. Come with me out to the back. I’ve got to think about this.”
8
“It’s sort of swoopy looking, isn’t it?” Cobb said, studying the Mercedes from behind the left rear fender. “What the hell is it?”
“One-ninety SL,” Beale said. “ ’Fifty-nine. It’s not your XK One-twenty Jag or anything, but the fuckin’ Huns did a good job with the looks. Can’t get out of its own way, of course—little four-banger hauling two tons of iron. Practically has to go and lie down for a while, you ask it to go over forty. Gearshift’s like a toilet handle; have to jiggle it around until you find what you want. But it’s comfortable. Get a nice sunny day, put the top down, you’re in no particular hurry? It’s great. Even hear the radio. I dunno what the zero-to-sixty is. Probably about an hour. But it’s a pretty little thing. You should buy it. Give you some class for a change.”
“I don’t need any class,” Cobb said. “My constituents wouldn’t stand for it. They love me as I am. Vulgar, low class, brute force and plenty of it.”
“Gwendolyn’d love it,” Beale said.
“Gwendolyn’d also love winters on the Riviera,” Cobb said. “A charge account at Tiffany’s, and caviar for breakfast. But she didn’t have good judgment. Married beneath her station. And there’s a limit to how far I’m willing to go to pretend that she does. Or can, as far as that goes. Not on the salary I make.”
“Hey,” Beale said, “you had to know. Second wives can be expensive. You get no sympathy here.”
“Speaking of which,” Cobb said, “what’re you gonna get for this thing?” He ran his hand over the fender.
“I don’t really know yet,” Beale said. “It’s got a low clock, twenty-one thousand miles. And the broad who owned it obviously didn’t drive it in the winter—not a speck of rust on it. I assume they use salt in New Jersey, and it does the same thing to metal down there that it does to metal up here. Probably six grand or so. Maybe more.”
“New Jersey?” Cobb said. “How’d you get a car from New Jersey?”
“I didn’t,” Beale said. “Earl brought it to me. He’s the one that got it. Some dame he knew from New York. She’s some rich guy’s mistress, and she wants to retire. Or else he is letting her go. So she’s selling off all of her presents. Earl knew her from when he played ball.”
“You took a car off of Earl?” Cobb said. “You took a car from Earl, a six- or seven-thousand-dollar item, and you let me touch the thing without asbestos gloves? What’re you, nuts?”
“It’s not hot,” Beale said. “This broad’s a honey that he used to know, back when he’s still playing ball. He was down in New York last weekend, and he runs into her at a club. They cut up a few, the old touches, and she says she’s selling her car, moving back to the city, as soon’s she finds a guy with some cash. But apparently she’s not telling the rich guy she’s selling the presents he gave her. So she wants the car to be out of New York. And he asks her how much she wants for the thing, and she says about half
what it’s worth. So he gives her the three K, and she gives him the keys, and he drives the car up to me.”
“Donald,” Cobb said, “this car is hot. When’d you ever know Earl to have three thousand bucks in his pocket?”
“Several times,” Beale said. “Several times, Ed, back when he was illegal. I never ask Earl, it’s my policy, where he is getting his money. I’ve usually got a pretty fair notion, but I don’t want it confirmed.”
“And he’d lie if you asked him,” Cobb said.
“Probably,” Beale said. “He’s lied to me in the past. In this life you get to pick friends. Not your brothers. Brothers, you take what they issue.”
“Have you got a bill of sale on this thing?” Cobb said. “A paper that says that you bought it? From someone who actually owned it?”
“Not yet,” Beale said. “That’s why it’s not for sale yet. Earl’s getting the paper for me.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Cobb said. “I do not fuckin’ believe this.”
“Look,” Beale said, “the fact that a guy does something once, and gets in the crap to his eyebrows, that doesn’t mean that he did it again, or that’s always what he is doing. Now think about it for a minute. Earl tells me he runs into this dame in a club in New York, and he knows her. Does Earl know the clubs in New York? He sure does. He knows clubs in New York that I never heard of, and wouldn’t go into if I did. Does Earl know the chippies in New York? You bet he does. Earl knows some broads in New York that’d set off a general alarm. Are those girls getting older? Well, you are, and I am, and Earl is, so it stands to reason they are. Do they get the boot from their meal tickets when they start to get long in the tooth? Sounds plausible to me. Who the hell else, ’Cept for guys like Earl, would a rich bastard’s girlfriend sell cars to? She wanted the cash. Earl had some cash. She wanted the car out of New York. Earl’s going out of New York. She didn’t happen to have a bill of sale on her. So that’s coming to me in the mail.”
“So why didn’t he drive it to Boston?” Cobb said. “Put it on his dealer’s lot?”
“Because Waldo sells cars to niggers,” Beale said, “and some of those niggers’re white. Guys who haven’t got money. You’re not gonna buy this little buggy with no unemployment check, and you’re not gonna leave it sitting out on your lot in West Roxbury all night unless you really think it’d look a lot better with the top and the tires all slashed. There’s a reason why Waldo took Earl on, you know. It’s because the stuff that Waldo sells is cheap, so his salesmen don’t make much money, and only desperate guys want the jobs.”
“It’s also because Earl’s brother guaranteed Earl’s draw,” Cobb said. “And Earl’s brother did it to get him out of here, and Waldo and Earl both know that.” He frowned. “I hope,” he said, “I don’t think what I hope, but I’m hoping, that what I am thinking’s not true.”
“Like what?” Beale said.
“Like maybe this little item’s connected to my errand that you sent Earl out on. You sure that he got this car from a broad that lives in New Jersey?”
Beale shrugged. “I’m sure he told me just what I just told you,” he said. “I’m sure it had a Jersey plate on it, when he drove it in here. And I’m sure not going to sell it till I get that bill of sale.”
“Because,” Cobb said, “if that silly son of a bitch went down to Rhode Island Saturday, and clipped this thing off Battaglia, or someone Battaglia knows, he might as we”ve bought a gun, and one bullet, and just shot himself in the head. Or if he got it from Battaglia, and Battles gave it to him, he might as well’ve brought you a time bomb. Because something’s very wrong. I wish I knew what Battles wanted done when he called me up. I mean, I know it was something shady, ’cause that’s all that Battles does. But what it was, I didn’t know. Just that he needed a guy in the car business, and that was all I knew. Earl tell you what Battles wanted done?”
Beale laughed. “Tell me?” he said. “He only bitched about an hour when he got in here. ‘You and your fuckin’ friends. Was it Ed Cobb, got me in this?’ ”
“Did you tell him?” Cobb said.
“I did not,” Beale said. “He suspects it was you, and he’s got more’n a feeling it was somehow tied up to Hank Briggs. But I know a lot of things about Earl, and I suspect even more, and I tell him nothing, myself. I know my brother pretty well. I’m sorry his life’s in the sewer, and also his girl has to hook. But I still tell him no more’n I think’s absolutely necessary. Earl’s not trustworthy.”
“He’s worse’n that,” Cobb said. “People also remember Earl. They remember the guy. When I called Battles back, he knew the name right off. Well, not right off—took him two or three minutes to place it. Something another guy could do, and get away with it because no one remembers his face, well, if Earl does it, they do. Describe the guy down to his hangnails. What’d he want Earl to do?”
“Seems he’s got a couple of pals,” Beale said. “That’s what he told Earl, at least. And one of them’s a lawyer that does mostly wills for people, and the other one’s an auctioneer. When the old people kick off, the lawyer hires the auctioneer to appraise the estates and then sell off the stuff. And the three of them’ve cooked up this scheme where the appraisals’re too low, and the assets get knocked down cheap, to straws, and then the straws resell them, and these birds split the take. But apparently some of their people’re getting kind of nervous. I guess some of the heirs’ve been suing, and they’re afraid unless they change their patterns of doing business, someone’s going to catch on, and nail them. So now what they’re looking for’s out-of-state buyers, that won’t look like sidekicks of theirs. To buy up the houses and cars and that stuff, and they want Earl to take some of the cars. Or talk Waldo into doing it would be closer to the truth, since nobody in the whole wide world ever takes more’n one check from Earl. Anyway, it’s strictly a fake paper deal, but it looks like the straight up-and-up.”
“Is he going to talk Waldo into doing it?” Cobb said. “I’ve got to tell you, Don: I can’t do it again. If Earl gets in the shit again, and gets convicted of something, I can’t make it go away twice.”
“Ed,” Beale said, “Waldo’s kind of a funny mixture of ingredients, like that stuff they sell for headaches—‘a combination of ingredients.’ Only none of them match each other. He’s got no compunction at all about selling cars to people who can’t afford them and should be getting new kids’ shoes instead of buying a new car. And he runs the cheapest operation I have ever seen. But he’s also got this mammoth motorboat that costs a whole bundle for gas, and he’s still playing basketball with guys half his age, and cripes, you should see his wife’s clothes. She’s pretty plain looking, but her clothes’re gorgeous. Waldo knows exactly where the lines are, and he doesn’t step over them. Waldo wouldn’t touch a thing that even remotely smelled, and Earl knows this. Which is why he was so pissed off. Because he wasted a day going down to see Battles, and he blames me for making him do it. ‘Just a good thing for me that I ran into Sally,’ he said. ‘Least I got something, this weekend.’ ”
“He’s liable to get another spell in the cooler,” Cobb said, “if this car deal’s got something wrong. Jimmy’s a real wrong number. Wished I never heard of the guy.”
“What’d he do for you, anyway?” Beale said. “How is it you owe this guy something? He does not sound, to me at least, like your type of guy at all.”
“Ah,” Cobb said, “I’m not gonna tell you that much. I knew a guy that got in some trouble, one night down in Rhode Island. Nothing came of it, but it could’ve and it looked like it was going to. And he called me from the road and asked me if I could help him. Well, I didn’t know anybody down there, really, but I knew my guy in Washington who knows everybody, everywhere, met him at the ‘sixty convention, he was for Johnson, I wasn’t, but we still got along all right. And I called him up and asked him, and he naturally knew somebody from Providence that could pull a string down there, and I called him up and he said ‘Battaglia,’ and he took c
are of it for me. I knew it was going to cost me. I didn’t know when, and I didn’t know what, but I knew it would, sooner or later. And now it did. Two things. This is the second thing, here. And now my guess is: I’m still not paid up, because Earl didn’t do what he wanted. And I couldn’t do the other thing. Or I’m not sure I did, at least, but I don’t think I did.”
“What two things?” Beale said.
“Ahh,” Cobb said, “he wanted a guy that could do things with cars. And I of course thought of you. Which meant that I thought of Earl. And he wanted a guy, this was first on his list, that could do things with the army.”
“The army,” Beale said. “What’d he want? Some country invaded? Didn’t he hear about the Bay of Pigs?”
“No,” Cobb said, “his kid’s in the army. And the kid wants to go to Vietnam. He’s a hero, all right? He wants to prove it. And Battles thinks he’ll get killed, and the kid has got this wife that Battles says looks like a toad, and she had a kid that Battles says looks like he should live under a bridge and live off of fish that he catches with his hands, and Battles says he doesn’t care to support them and live with them, and if his kid gets killed, he will have to. So he does not want his kid to go to Vietnam, and he wanted me to make sure he doesn’t.”
“Can you do that?” Beale said. “You’re gonna be the most popular pol in the country, if you can pull that stunt off. You’ve got the daddy vote wrapped up, my friend, if you can bring that one off.”
“Of course I can’t do it,” Cobb said. “All I can do’s what I said I could do. Make a call. And I made the call. To the guy I called in Washington, who is getting sick of these calls, that gave me the name of the guy in Rhode Island that knows Jimmy Battles. Which is how I got into the whole gonfalon in the first place. And the guy down in Washington laughed at me, naturally. So I said: ‘Well, you see? This’s why we need a Democratic congressman up here. So he gets all the calls, and we meet only for drinks.’ But I did what I said I would do. And that is all I can do.”
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