The Road to Omaha (16 page)

Suddenly, the limo’s telephone rang, abruptly shattering the chauffeur’s hero-oriented thoughts about a man he surely worshiped from ten glorious days in France when that great soldier led their battalion. “Lafferty here,” he said, the phone out of its recess and next to his ear.

“Paddy, it’s Sam Devereaux!” yelled the voice over the line.

“Somehow I can tell that, boyo. What is it, Sammy?”

“Are you being followed?”

“I was hopin’ to be, but I’m afraid not, and I’ve kept one eye on the mirrors—”

“We
are
!”

“That don’t make sense, lad. Are you
sure
?”

“Definitely! I’m calling from a pay phone on the Waltham road—at a place called Nanny’s Naughty Follies Et Cetera.”

“Hey, boyo, get out of there. You shouldn’t be seen on those premises. Mr. Pinkus wouldn’t like it.”

“What? Why?”

“Are you callin’ from the phone about ten feet from the jukebox?”

“Yes, I guess so, I see a jukebox.”

“Look over to your left, at that big circular bar below a long, raised platform.”

“Yes, yes, I will.… There’s just a bunch of dancers—oh, my
God
, they’re all
naked
! Women
and
men!”

“That’s the
et cetera
, boyo. Now, if I were you, I’d take fleet feet and beat it.”

“I can’t! Knute and Stosh went out after the Chevy that was following our cab and stopped when
we
stopped. I mean, they’re really professionals, Paddy. They spotted the ‘tag’—they called it a ‘tag’—and got rid of the taxi, and now they’re closing in.”

“I’ll be there in less than ten minutes, Sammy! I’m droppin’ these Greek archbishops off at the next gas station and swingin’ north. I know a shortcut. Ten minutes, boyo!”

•  •  •

“Loco
man, are you wid us
?”

“
If your trail markers are accurate, no more than five minutes, D-One. I just passed the Chicken Shot Café, the one with the red neon rooster sign.
”

“
Maybe you gringos don’t know dee difference. Maybe you eat chicken McRooster, no?… It don’t take you even five minutes from that place.
”

“
What’s the status—what’s happening
?”

“
We good
corporales.
We got a liddle surprise for you
, loco
man.
”

“
Ten-four
!”

“
Ees not six o’clock
—”

“
Rolling
!”

The stolen Oldsmobile from somewhere in the Midwest careened into Nanny’s parking lot in less than three minutes, MacKenzie Hawkins chewing the stub of his cigar and peering out the windshield for his aides-de-camp. Instantly, he saw D-Two at the far end of the asphalt, waving what looked like a large, torn dark blanket. As he raced toward his mechanically talented adjutant, he saw that the signal flag was not a blanket but, instead, a pair of trousers. The Hawk leaped out of the car and approached D-Two, taking a moment to straighten his too-long, too-red, and, definitely still too-loose wig.

“What’s your report, Corporal?” asked Mac anxiously. “And what the hell are
those
?” he added, nodding at the trousers.

“Dere pants,
loco
man, what you think?”

“I can
see
they’re pants, but what are you doing with them?”

“Ees better I got ’em than the bad
amigo
who usually wears dem, no? As long as I have deze and Desi-Uno has the odders, the two dumb
amigos
stay where dey are.”

“The two—the escorts, the
convoys
? Where
are
they … and where’s the
target
?”

“Come wid me.” D-Two led the Hawk down the deserted far side of the building, which was obviously used for deliveries and garbage pickups. Parked next to a large trash dumpster, parked so close that the door could not possibly be opened, was a Chevrolet coupe, its opposite door equally secured by a long, discarded tablecloth knotted
to the handle and tied to the rear bumper. Inside, one in front, the other in the narrow rear seat, were Devereaux’s two guards, their apoplectic faces pressed against the glass of the windows. Closer inspection disclosed the fact that both wore only undershorts, and further surveillance revealed two pairs of shoes and socks placed neatly by the exposed rear tire. “Dee odder windows we open a liddle bit so they got h’air, you know?” explained D-Two.

“Good thinking,” said Mac. “The Geneva Convention calls for humane treatment for prisoners of war.… Where the hell’s
D-One
?”

“Right here,
loco
man,” answered Desi the First, coming around the trunk of the Chevrolet while counting a roll of bills. “Deze
amigos
should find better yobs or better women. If it wasn’t for your man in dee photograph, they h’ain’t worth the trouble.”

“We don’t strip prisoners of nonhostile personal possessions,” said the Hawk firmly. “Put it back in their wallets.”

“Hey, man,” protested D-One, “what’s personal about
dinero
? I buy somet’ing from you, I pay. You buy somet’ing from me, you pay. A personal possession is somet’ing you keep, right? No one keeps
dinero
, so it’s not personal.”

“They didn’t buy anything from you.”

“What about deze?” said D-One, holding up a pair of trousers. “And doze,” he continued quickly, pointing at the shoes.

“You stole ’em all!”

“Dat’s life,
loco
man. Or, as you say, dat’s ‘strategy,’ right?”

“We’re wasting time, but I’ll say this now. You’ve both shown exemplary initiative, one might even say extraordinary inventiveness under fire. You’re a credit to this outfit and I’ll recommend you for commendation.”

“Dat’s beautifool!”

“Is dat more
dinero
, huh?”

“We’ll get to that later; the objective comes first. Where’s the target?”

“Dee skinny man in d’photograph?”

“Right on, soldier.”

“He’s inside, and
dot
is a joint my mama and my priest would spit on me for ever goin’ into!” exclaimed D-Two, blessing himself. “H’oh
boy
!”

“Bad whisky, eh, son?”

“Bad
entretenimiento
. Like you say here,
repugnante
!”

“I don’t think we say that, boy. You mean disgusting?”

“Well … one half, not the other half.”

“I don’t follow you, Corporal.”

“Everything jiggles. Top and bottom.”

“Top and …? Holy hordes of Genghis Khan! You
mean
—”

“Daz wot I mean,
loco
man! I sneaked in to find the gringo you don’ like.… He was hangin’ up the
teléfono
and went to dee big round bar where all these crazy people were dancin’—
desnudo
, señor!”

“
And
?”

“He’s h’okay. He watched the
mujeres
, not the
hombres
.”

“
Christ
spinning a yo-yo! We don’t just have to take the son of a bitch, we have to
rescue
him.
Roll
troops!”

Suddenly, without warning, a small green Buick sped out of the line of cars in the Nanny’s Et Cetera parking lot, screeching to a stop only yards in front of the Hawk and his advancing aides-de-camp. A frail figure emerged, his gaunt face impassive, but his dark eyes alive with electricity. “I think this is as far as you should go,” he said.

“Who the hell are
you
, little man?” cried MacKenzie Hawkins.

“Little in stature, but not necessarily in stature, if you can follow a dual application of terms.”

“I break the liddle old gringo in half, but I don’ hurt him too bad, h’okay,
loco
man,” said D-One, walking forward.

“I come to you in peace, not violence,” said the driver of the Buick rapidly. “Simply to confer on a civilized basis.”

“
Hold
it!” ordered the Hawk, stopping D-One. “I repeat, who are you and what’s the nature of this conference?”

“My name is Aaron Pinkus—”

“
You’re
Pinkus?”

“One and the same, sir, and I assume that under that
rather foolish-looking wig, you’re the celebrated General MacKenzie Hawkins?”

“One and the same, sir,” replied Mac, dramatically ripping the inadequate toupee away from his bristling, gray military brushcut and standing erect, the very breadth of his shoulders threatening. “What have we to say to each other, sir?”

“I’d estimate a great deal, General. I’d like to think of myself, with your permission, General, as your counterpart, the commander of the opposition for this small skirmish we find ourselves in. Is that acceptable?”

“I’ll say this for you, Commander Pinkus. I thought I had superb support adjutants, but you outflanked ’em, I’ll not deny it.”

“Then you must reevaluate that judgment, General. I didn’t outflank:
them
, I outflanked
you
. You see, you remained on that busy street for over an hour, so I had my Buick brought down and stayed behind you when you followed Shirley’s limousine.”

“I beg your pardon,
sir
?”

“Your two men were brilliant, positively
brilliant
. In fact, I would happily employ either of them. The business in the fish market, the reconvening in the shadows of the doorways across the street—and,
wondrously
, without a car key, but by simply raising the hood of this car in front of us, turning on the
engine
! All my purported wisdom deserts me. How did they
do
it?”

“Ee’s simple,
Comandante
,” said a bright-eyed D-Two. “You see, there are three wires that have to be pried loose and den you cross—”

“
Halt
!” yelled the Hawk, staring at Aaron Pinkus. “You said you outflanked
me
, you old bastard—”

“I suspect we’re the same age,” interrupted the renowned Boston attorney.

“Not where
I
come from!”

“Nor perhaps myself, except for the shrapnel in my spine from Normandy,” said Pinkus quietly.

“
You
were—”

“Third Army, General. But let’s not get off the track. I
did
outflank you, because I’ve recently become familiar
with your military record, your unorthodox but marvelously successful tactics. I had to be, for Sam’s sake.”

“
Sam? Sam’s
the man I’ve got to see!”

“You will do that, General. And I shall be in attendance for every word you say.”

Without warning or even a hint of sound until it swung off the highway and into the parking lot, the thunderous engine of the Pinkus limousine announced the vehicle’s Wagnerian presence to the area. Obviously spotting his employer’s Buick, Paddy Lafferty swerved to the left and sped across the pavement, tires howling as he skidded to a stop ten feet in front of the small gathering at the side of the building. The chauffeur leaped out of the car, his sixty-three-year-old bulk prepared for all manner of brutal assaults.

“Stand
aside
, Mr. Pinkus!” he roared. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, sir, but these scum won’t touch you!”

“Your concern is very gratifying, Paddy, but no show of force is required. Our conference proceeds peacefully.”

“Conference …?”

“A council of commanders, you could say.… Mr. Lafferty, may I introduce you to the great General MacKenzie Hawkins, of whom you may have heard.”

“Jesus, Mary, and
Joseph
,” whispered the chauffeur, dumbstruck.

“Dee
loco
man is really a heneral
grande
?” said Desi-One, equally impressed.

“
El soldado magnífico
!” added Desi-Two softly, staring in wonder at the Hawk.

“You won’t believe this,” choked Paddy, finding a small part of his voice. “I was thinkin’ about you only moments ago, sir, your great name having passed the lips of a reverent former young soldier.” Suddenly the chauffeur stood at attention, whipping his right arm up in a snapping salute. “Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Lafferty at your service and your command, sir!… This is a privilege beyond me wildest dreams—”

Then the screaming began, muted at first by the distant highway traffic, but growing louder by the moment as the racing feet approached them. “Paddy,
Paddy
! I saw the
limo
! Where
are
you, Paddy?… For Christ’s sake, Lafferty,
answer
me!”

“Over
here
, Sam. Quick march,
soldier
!”

“What?” Devereaux raced around the corner of the building gasping for breath. Before he could adjust his eyes to the shadows, Patrick Lafferty barked his authoritative sergeant’s bark. “
 ’Tenhut
, boyo! I present you to one of the great men of our time, General MacKenzie Hawkins!”

“Hi, Sam.”

Devereaux was momentarily paralyzed, capable only of deep-throated moans that emerged from his gaping mouth, his eyes wild in panic. Abruptly, with the speed of a terrified egret, he whipped around and started racing across the parking lot, waving his arms helter-skelter and raging at the descending sun.

“After him, adjutants!”

“For God’s sake, stop him, Paddy!”

The Hawk’s aides-de-camp were swifter than Aaron Pinkus’s older chauffeur. Desi the First tackled Sam perilously close to the lowered tailgate of a pickup truck, while Desi the Second held Devereaux’s head and, ripping off his tie, stuffed it into his mouth.

“
Boyo,
” shouted the revisited Gunnery Sergeant Patrick Lafferty, “it’s a
disgrace
, you are! is that any way to show respect to one of the finest men who ever wore the uniform?”

“
Mmmfff
!” protested Samuel Lansing Devereaux, pinching his eyes shut in defeat.