“What do you care?” Walker said. “Nothing but another thug.”
“Kenneth,” Riordan said reproachfully, “I am a government agent. I am sworn to uphold the Constitution and the laws of the United States. Jeremiah Doherty is an American citizen, and he cannot be deprived of his life or property without due process of law. I don’t think Magro’s going to be too keen on due process for the Digger, if he gets out.”
“What’s the real reason?” Walker said.
“You ever been in the Bright Red?” Riordan said.
“Can’t say as I have,” Walker said. “Little outside my regular rounds.”
“I have,” Riordan said. “I have been in there once. I got made within forty minutes. I was sitting at the bar, having a dog, onions, mustard, Labatt’s ale, some chips, and I was watching the ballgame. And every so often I would sort of glance around and see all these little white fund-raising canisters. The kind you drop quarters in? For Little League and the softball team and poor Flynnie the fireman that fell off the ladder practicing on a three-decker up in Savin Hill? Now Ken, I am used to seeing quarters go into those things. Sometimes two quarters at a time, if Flynnie was a real good guy and him and Frances had about three hundred kids and she can’t work on account of that mastoid thing she’s got. I am used to that. But there are bills, American currency, going into those canisters, and this is not a wealthy crowd. In addition to which, there are no labels on those canisters. Not even any Magic Marker writing. So if you look at them, you don’t know where your hard-earned dollars’re going.”
“Unless, of course,” Walker said, “you do know where those hard-earned dollars’re going.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Riordan said. “That’s what I was thinking when all of a sudden I noticed a mean-looking guy across on the other side of the room and he was looking at me real hard. He said something to the guy who was having refreshments with him, and that guy said something to the next guy, and pretty soon the only voice in the saloon was the announcer on the ballgame. So I decided I was right, and I do know where those hard-earned dollars are going. I got up and I paid my money and I left.”
“Gunrunning,” Walker said. “A little noisemaker or two for some people up in Ulster and Connaught who resent the British soldiers in their midst.”
“That is what I thought,” Riordan said. “And I also think that if I get time enough, sooner or later the Digger will show me where those party favors are. Unless the guys I am running around trying to find all over the damned country because my asshole boss in Washington decided I can catch unicorns if he decides that he wants unicorns, unless those guys come out of the bushes some night and knock me off. Which could happen.”
“So,” Walker said, “Mister Magro’s release could complicate your life.”
“Indeed,” Riordan said.
“Well,” Walker said, “I’m not sure this’ll do any good, but it’s all I can do. You can put me down as opposed to commutation or pardon, on the grounds of the seriousness of Magro’s offense.”
“How about Frick and Frack there,” Riordan said. “Any trouble with them?”
“Right now, yes,” Walker said. “Next week, no. Mayes wants me to let a nasty little bastard out for this weekend, even though I know the shifty little rat’s gonna run for the woods the minute he gets outside the gate. I was gonna fight it tooth and nail. Now I think I’ll just record my opposition, for the record, and cite Doctor Mayes’s confidence in the man’s rehabilitation. That should keep Doctor Mayes’s plate full for the next six months or so, when the papers get ahold of that one.”
Riordan stood up. “Always a pleasure to talk to you, Kenneth,” he said.
“Mine too, Peter,” Walker said, “mine too. Except generally, I’m the only one I do have to talk to.”
“SO,” SEATS SAID, as Greenan walked in with the Lord & Taylor bag, “here is Greenan, late as usual. And he is carrying a bag. This is probably a large amount of money that a guy gave him in a hotel room at the Sheraton and told him he was some fuckin’ A-rab or something, and Ticker would be rich if he did what the guy wanted, and the guy was from the Eff-bee-eye and somebody inna next room was probably takin’ pictures the whole thing. You wanna be careful, Ticker, is what I think. Sooner, later, you’re gonna find out the grand jury is mentioning your name a lot and you have got serious problems down Post Office Square there. Which is the next stop before Leavenworth.”
“It’s not money in this bag,” Greenan said sullenly. He gripped it tightly at his side and came to the table.
“There you go again, Greenan,” Seats said. “It’s probably drugs or some goddamned thing you started selling. You know what they’re gonna do in honor of you? They are gonna reopen Alcatraz and put you out there all by yourself with the fuckin’ gooney birds and all them other animals that shit all over everything. And you will probably feel right at home, you are such an asshole.”
“Quit goosing me, all right?” Greenan said.
Lobianco snatched the bag out of Greenan’s hand. “I got to see what’s in this, Ticker,” he said. “You keep a sharp eye on things here, Francis,” Seats said to the maitre d’. “Somebody comes in here with some indictments or something, I want support that I was merely doing my duty as a law-abiding citizen and everything.”
“You son of a bitch,” Greenan said, grabbing for the bag.
“Uh-uh,” Lobianco said, holding the bag away from Greenan’s grasp. “You got this here bag with the Lord and Taylor thing on it, and I wanna know what’s in it, before I let you sit down at my table and end up getting the next room at Alcatraz. Mans got to look out for himself in this world, and that is all I am doing.” He opened the bag. He removed a beige shorty nightgown, decorated with lace at the bodice. He held it up by the straps and admired it. “This is very nice, Ticker,” he said. “I think it’ll be quite attractive on you.” He tossed the nightgown to Greenan, whose face was red. “Here you go, Ticker,” Lobianco said, “why’ncha model it for us? Jesus, all these years I known you, I didn’t know you liked to dress up. Lemme see what else we got in this here Lord and Taylor bag. Cripes, you shop the fancy stores, huh?” Lobianco rummaged in the bag. Greenan rolled up the nightgown and put it in his jacket pocket. “Panties,” Lobianco said. He held up the beige panties with the decorative lace. “Bikini panties, for Christ sake, Ticker. Oh, you’re gonna be a knockout in these, huh?” Lobianco waved the panties around. The other patrons looked up from their lunches and grinned. He held them up to the light from the windows. He squinted at them. “Although come to think of it, Ticker, I would think these might be a little snug on you. You ain’t fat, exactly, but you’re carrying a little more baggage inna trunk than you used to. You sure you can get these on and feel comfy and everything?”
Greenan grabbed the panties away from Lobianco and stuffed them in his jacket pocket with the nightgown. “They’re not mine,” he said.
“Oh ho,” Lobianco said, tossing him the paper bag, “you got something going on the side, huh, Ticker? Wait till Mrs. Ticker finds out about this, you got a honey. Whaddaya think? Think she’ll be mad?”
Greenan sat down. He put the empty Lord & Taylor bag on the floor. He took a pink napkin off the table and spread it over his lap. Francesco returned and stood over him. “A cocktail, sir?”
Greenan looked up as though he had not expected to encounter a waiter in a restaurant. “I …” he said.
“Of course, Francesco,” Lobianco said. “Mister Greenan always has a cocktail before lunch when he’s not buying. Naturally he will want one today, when he is paying. I’ll have another one myself. A bloody for me and … what’re you drinking these days, Ticker? Is it pink squirrels, or orange blossoms, or grasshoppers? I forgot. See, Francesco, the last time we had lunch, me and Ticker, I was buying, and he drank about thirty-five things that looked like ice cream sundaes that my grandchildren’re always pestering me to buy them. Except there isn’t any booze in the sundaes, I don’t think. They don’t act a
s funny afterward as Ticker does, anyway.”
“Cuba libre,” Greenan said.
“Pardon?” Francesco said.
“It’s not a fuckin’ battle cry, Francesco,” Lobianco said. “What he wants is a rum and Coke.”
“Yes,” Greenan said, “rum and Coke.”
“Rum and Coke,” Francesco said. He left the table.
Seats leaned toward Greenan, who sat farther back in his chair. “Ticker,” he said, “rum and Coke. You must have something serious on your mind. Here you are, buying lunch and actually starting off with a drink that you can almost taste the hard liquor in. What is on your mind?”
“Well,” Greenan said, “first thing is: I don’t think you should make fun of me like you do.”
“Why not?” Lobianco said. “I make fun of everybody else. Everybody else makes fun of me and takes advantage of me all the time, and I grin and bear it. Why the hell shouldn’t I have a few laughs at you? What makes you different?”
“I’m not used to it,” Greenan said.
“Ticker, Ticker,” Lobianco said. “You grew up in Roslindale, Ward Nineteen. You stayed in Roslindale, Ward Nineteen. You run for Mayor twice and got your ass blown off three times, twice running for Mayor and once when you first tried, get back inna Reps, because everybody was still laughing at you for running for Mayor them two times. The only reason they put you back in was that they got sick of laughing at you and decided they were ready for somebody else to have a laugh at and they hadda give you something to occupy your time so you wouldn’t be around so much, making everybody laugh. You should be grateful, people’re always going around and laughing at you. It gives them something to do instead of getting up a posse and going out to lynch you. Getting laughed at’s your biggest strength in politics. You’d be out a fuckin’ job, people decided all of a sudden Ticker Greenan isn’t funny anymore.”
“Seats,” Greenan said.
“I mean it,” Lobianco said. “Them heart attacks they always make you get inna House when the Speaker hasn’t got the votes and they need adjournment quick, a recess inna middle the night? People just about bust their guts every time Ways and Means tells you, keel over, and you do it. You got the best act this side Houdini, and he really is dead. I think you must’ve set the record, heart attacks in the Great and General Court, and you didn’t once break your teeth or even sprain an ankle or anything. This is a great talent, Ticker. You brought much joy into the lives of many people that would’ve otherwise’ve spent their entire lives on Beacon Hill without one single goddamned belly laugh, and thanks to you, they had thousands of them. I’m telling you, Ticker, you get to those pearly gates up in the sky and Saint Peter’s gonna let you right in. ‘Swing ’em open for Greenan,’ he’ll say the guy that runs the motor, ‘if it wasn’t for him it would’ve been like being in a coma in the Massachusetts Legislature, but this guy could always take a header when it really counted.’ You make Buster Keaton there look like a fuckin’ amateur, and you done a lot more good, the human race in general, and I don’t care how many people saw his movies, I will back you any day. Except I don’t think you should start wearing the dresses, there. You don’t need that.”
“Seats,” Greenan said. The waiter brought the drinks. “I got to talk to you.”
“Just a minute, Ticker,” Lobianco said as the waiter set the drinks down, “you’re forgetting all the things you should’ve learned in all these years. You never talk about anything that you’ve got to talk to anybody about until there is nobody else around that can hear it. You know better than this. This is a nice fellow here, but he is not part of this here discussion and there is no need burdening him with such matters.” The waiter grinned and left. “Now,” Seats said, “you may say what is on your mind besides flimsy things for sexy ladies, Ticker, but you have to remember to keep your voice down.”
“There’s a hearing on today,” Greenan said.
“No shit, Ticker,” Seats said. “Even I knew that, the notorious do-nothing and overpaid public servant that I am. You’ve been reading the papers again, haven’t you, Ticker? Or having somebody read them to you. Which is it? Yeah, there’s a hearing on today. You wanna come and tell the people what it is that’s being heard? I can save you the trouble. It’s the usual shit. We got two judges up for confirmation. There is one that is black and is stupid and is honest and a woman, and I will give you three guesses about who wants to take the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth on that one. After which, they will inform the thoughtful people in the room that this is a black woman who got through law school with a fuckin’ tour guide and a goddamned roadmap and didn’t swipe anything once the bar examiners give her the license to steal anything that nobody else happened to be using at the time. This is jerk-off city because everybody in the world knows she is gonna get the fuckin’ job right this very minute, and they’ve known it since the last election because she happens to be one of the first black women that came out and said this guy was gonna be one hell of a governor. Which proves she is a liar but nobody’s perfect. I know a lot of judges that I have met personally who do not always tell the truth when it is their jobs that are involved. Small potatoes.
“Then,” Seats said, “we have got the guy that saw a law book once but he isn’t really sure what it looked like and he cannot describe it. It is his bad luck to be a white man getting a judgeship that a lot of other people would like to have. Some of them are women and some of them are blacks and some of them don’t even happen to want the fuckin’ job, but they are sure they don’t want him to have it and they are therefore going to make one hell of a ruckus which will go on until the TV crews have to pack up and go home. That should be a pretty good show, actually. It won’t make a fuckin’ bit of difference to anything except the news and the people who like to scream and yell a lot, but it’s something that you got to get through in this line of work and we sort of look at it as the temporal punishment due to sin. I figure the whole parade’ll be over by four, which is good for me because I got an appointment tonight someplace else.”
“There is something else on the agenda,” Greenan said.
The waiter came back. “Are you gentlemen ready to order? he said.
“I haven’t looked at the menu yet,” Greenan said, opening it quickly.
“I have,” Lobianco said. “While he’s doing his studying, lemme have a dozen oysters and a stein of Heineken, please.”
Greenan looked alarmed.
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said.
“Then,” Lobianco said, “the crabmeat cocktail. Cocktail sauce. A lot of lemon wedges. No mayonnaise.”
“Very good, sir,” the waiter said.
“Hey,” Greenan said.
“Some white wine with the crabmeat,” Lobianco said, “the Muscadet, I think.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said.
“Seats,” Greenan said.
“Now,” Lobianco said, “for the main course, the Dover sole with the lobster sauce.” He flapped the menu shut.
“Thank you, sir,” the waiter said. “That will be a full bottle of the Muscadet?”
“Of course,” Lobianco said. “And bring my companion a cheese sandwich and some digitalis.”
“This isn’t funny, Seats,” Greenan said.
“I didn’t say it was funny,” Lobianco said. “The last time I took you to lunch, at Anthony’s, you had shrimp Rockefeller, clam chowder, roast prime rib of beef, half a bottle of white wine and half a bottle of red wine, and strawberries Romanoff for the finish. You do it to me, I do it to you. You’ve been in politics long enough to know that.”
“I’ll have the fish chowder,” Greenan said to the waiter.
“Also,” Lobianco said to the waiter, “he will have the prime rib, cooked until it looks like anthracite, and a baked potato with sour cream and chives and all the butter you can carry, and a half-bottle of the best Cabernet Sauvignon you’ve got, and take no back talk from him. Okay?”
“Yes
, sir,” the waiter said.
“And you listen to me,” Seats said to Greenan. He pointed his left index finger at him. “I know you. I’ve known you a long time. You’ve got a short memory and it doesn’t help you none. You call me about seeing me, you got something on your mind. But it’s temporary, Ticker, its temporary. I helped you before, and I did what you wanted, and it was temporary. Many times. I did it many times when you asked me, and many times you forgot that I did it. All of the times. Now we are going to play with a little harder ball. This time you are going to remember. And this time you are going to do the right thing.”
Lobianco sat back in his chair. “Now, Ticker,” he said, “we are going to have a little chat. What exactly is it that you want? Because you want something, for sure. You don’t care about black ladies becoming judges, unless those undies that you brought in here with you are for some chocolate dumpling that I never heard about. Which I would’ve, if there was one. The only judges that interest you are the ones that can get your stupid friends jobs being court clerks. You don’t care about the guy that is heading for the Supreme Judicial, because you never knew a lawyer that’s as smart as he is, dumb as he may be. So, what is it? There’s nothing else on the list today that deserves this kind of lunch. Just a lot of pardon applications and other chickenshit that’s going to get pushed under the rug with a broom by the first guy that comes into the room.”
“The Magro thing,” Greenan said.
“I never heard the son of a bitch,” Lobianco said. “All I knows he’s in the can and he wants to get out. Lots of guys inna can feel the same way. The fuck’re you interested in that one for?”
“I want him out,” Greenan said, looking down.
“What put him in?” Lobianco said. “Those things’re pretty routine, it wasn’t too serious.”
“Well,” Greenan said, “it was murder.”
“Ohh,” Lobianco said, “murder. That does make it a little more difficult. Care to give me some details?”
The Pariot GAme Page 7
