The Road to Omaha (76 page)

“What is?” said Devereaux, walking awkwardly out of the second bedroom dressed in a bulky checkered suit with puffed trousers, altogether adding the appearance of seventy pounds to his slender frame. What was even more bizarre was his head. His skull was covered by a knotted brown wig, the free-flowing ringlets falling below a hat best described as a porkpie, the favored headpiece of the raccoon-coated collegiates of the twenties. He pushed Redwing’s partially open door and stood in the frame. “Can I help?”

“
Yahhh
!”

“You’re screaming. Is that a yes or a no?”

“Who are
you
supposed to be?”

“According to the driver’s license and the voter’s registration card provided with the clothes, my name is Alby-Joe Scrubb, and I run a chicken-breeding farm somewhere.… Who the hell are
you
?”

“An ex-
chorus
girl!” replied Jenny, trying once more to clamp the steel breastplate over her generous chest. “
There
! Never mind, I’ve got it!… Now for this stupid kelly-green peasant blouse that wouldn’t excite a sex-starved gorilla.”

“It excites me,” said Sam.

“You’re one step below a gorilla and more easily aroused.”

“Hey, come on, we’re on the same side. No kidding, who
are
you supposed to be?”

“Let’s say a loose woman whose bulging topside under this bulletproof corset will hopefully take the guards’ attention away from the admission procedures.”

“The Hawk thinks of everything.”

“Right down to the libido,” agreed Redwing, slipping the bright green blouse over her head and tugging it into shape above her yellow miniskirt. She bent partially forward, glancing at the swell of her breasts within the loose-hanging blouse. “That’s the best I can do,” she said with a sigh.

“Let’s work on it—”

“Down, Rover.… Now comes the worst part. The
‘headgear,’ as a friend of mine on the Forty-niners calls it.”

“
That’s
what’s different,” observed Devereaux. “Your hair looks funny; it’s all pinned back or something.”

“In preparation for your Neanderthal’s pluperfect revenge.” Jenny reached for a large square box on the bed and pulled out a platinum blond wig that rested on a steel helmet. “That bulletproof skullcap is so heavy I’ll have a stiff neck for the rest of the year, if I see the year through.”

“Yeah, I’ve got one, too,” said Sam as Redwing placed the helmeted wig over her hair. “Shaking your head’s okay, but if you nod, you could break your nose.”

“Shaking my head doesn’t go with this image.”

“I see what you mean. If this is Mac’s pluperfect revenge, what’s perfect?”

“I should think it would be obvious. He’ll set me up with a vice squad ‘john’ and I’ll be arrested as a hooker.”

“
Sam
!” cried Aaron Pinkus from the living room. “I need help!”

“I’m in demand.” Devereaux rushed out of the bedroom, Jenny at his heels. What they saw was as improbable a sight as either could hope to see, with the possible exception of looking at themselves in a mirror. Gone was the slight but nevertheless distinguished figure of Boston’s foremost attorney. In his place, dressed in a long black frock coat and wearing a flat black hat below which hung two strands of braided black hair, was a Hasidic rabbi. “Are you soliciting confessions or don’t you people do that sort of thing?” said Sam.

“You’re not remotely amusing,” replied Aaron, taking several tentative steps forward. Growing unsteady, he grabbed the fringe of a table lamp, which naturally crashed to the floor. “My whole body is encased in
iron
!” he cried angrily.

“It’s for your own protection, Mr. Pinkus,” said Jennifer, dashing around Devereaux and holding the old man’s arms. “Cyrus made it clear, you have to protect yourself.”

“The protection will
kill
me, my child. On Omaha Beach I carried a forty-pound pack on my back that nearly
caused me to drown in four feet of water, and I was much younger then. This metal underwear is much heavier and I’m much, much older.”

“The only really difficult time for you will be the steps outside the Court, and since we have to separate, I’ll have Johnny Calfnose find someone to help you.”

“Calfnose? I seem to recall that name; it’s not a name one easily forgets.”

“He’s Mac’s honcho at the tribe,” said Sam.

“Oh, yes, he called Sidney’s house, and Jennifer and our general had a shouting match, as I recall.”

“Johnny Calfnose and MacKenzie Hawkins make a perfect team. Slime and Sludge. Calfnose still owes me bail money, and Hawkins owes me my soul as well as my career.… Regardless, Johnny will get someone to help you. He’d better, or I’ll have him indicted for skimming thousands from General Thunder Nuts’ bribe money to the Council.”

“He
did
that?” asked Devereaux.

“Actually, I have no idea, but it would be perfectly natural for him to try.”

There was a rapid knocking at the door. Sam walked over and opened it, again mildly startled by the huge elegance of Cyrus. “Come on in, Colonel, although frankly you look more like a darker version of Daddy Warbucks.”

“That’s the idea, Sam, and to broaden your horizons even further, I’d like you to meet two friends of mine, or I should say of ‘Judge Oldsmobile.’ ” Cyrus stepped inside and gestured for Desis One and Two to do the same. However, they were not the Desi Amazes anyone in the room had seen before. D-One, his false teeth in place, was dressed in a conservative gray suit and an oxford blue shirt that emphasized his white clerical collar. D-Two, a religious kin but of a different faith, wore the black suit and collar of a priest, along with a gold cross that fell over his
rabat
. “May I present Reverend Elmer Pristin, an Episcopalian minister, and his comrade-in-protest, Monsignor Hector Alizongo of some Catholic diocese in the Rocky Mountains.”

“Good heavens!” said Aaron, clanking down in the chair.

“My God!” added the platinum-haired hooker, who was Jenny.

“
He
hears chu,” said D-Two, blessing himself, then correcting his benediction and blessing all those in the room—backwards.

“Don’t be a
blasfemo
,” mumbled Desi the First.

“Chu
loco
. I include chu an’ chu are a dumb
protestante
!”

“It’s okay, fellas,” said Devereaux. “We get the message.… Cyrus, what’s this all about?”

“First, let me ask if each of you found everything. There was a check list for your items.” Jennifer, Sam, and Aaron nodded, considerable doubt in each face. “Good,” continued the mercenary. “Is there any trouble with the camo-ex equipment?”

“What’s that?” asked Pinkus from the chair.

“Short for camouflage externals—our disguises. We want you to be as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Any problems?”

“To be honest, Colonel,” answered Aaron, “perhaps you should lease a derrick to move me around.”

“It’s not a problem, Cyrus,” said Redwing. “I’ll get a member of the tribe to help Mr. Pinkus.”

“Sorry, Jenny, there can’t be any communication whatsoever with the Wopotamis. Also, it’s not necessary.”

“Now, wait a minute,” broke in Devereaux. “My revered boss can barely walk in that medieval flak suit!”

“He’ll be flanked and assisted by our two men of the cloth every step of the way.”

“Our
Desis
?” said Jennifer.

“Exactly. It’s Hawkins’s idea and it’s a beaut.… The ‘Reverend Pristin’ and ‘Monsignor Alizongo’ have joined with ‘Chief Rabbi Rabinowitz’ in a religious protest to the Supreme Court over recent decisions they consider to be both anti-Christian and anti-Semitic. You can’t beat that rap unless you throw in antiblack, which would naturally diminish the television coverage.”

“It’s certainly unique,” admitted Sam. “By the way, where’s Roman Z?”

“I hate to think,” replied Cyrus.

“He hasn’t
deserted
, has he?” said Jenny.

“Not for a minute. There’s an old Gypsy proverb stolen from the Chinese that says a man who saves the life of another can live off that person or persons for the rest of
his
life.”

“I’m not sure he’s got that right,” said Aaron. “I believe it’s the other way around.”

“Of course it is,” agreed Cyrus, “but the Gypsies changed it, and that’s all he has to know.”

“So where is he?” asked Redwing.

“I gave him money to rent a video camera. At this moment I suspect he’s stealing one from an unsuspecting clerk by telling him he just wants to check the lens refraction in the sunlight. I could be wrong, but I doubt it. He hates to pay for anything—I think he really believes it’s unethical.”

“He should run for Congress,” said Sam.

“But why a camera?” asked Redwing.

“It’s my idea. I think we should have an audiovisual record of the Wopotami protest, as extensive as possible, including any attempts by specific individuals to interfere, harass, or prevent citizens from the exercise of free assembly and their rights of petition.”

“I knew it,” exclaimed Pinkus weakly in the chair. “He may be a professional soldier and a chemist, but he’s also a lawyer.”

“Not so, sir,” contradicted Cyrus. “Due to the confusion of an early turbulent youth, I—we—had to understand certain basic constitutional rights.”

“Wait a minute,” said Devereaux, a note of skepticism in his quiet voice. “Let’s dispense with ‘We Shall Overcome’ for a moment, and carry this where I think you’re taking it. An unedited videotape, the date and time counted off by seconds in every frame, is generally conceded to be irrefutable evidence, right?”

“I’d think a number of congressmen and senators and a mayor or two would agree with you, Sam,” agreed the mercenary, the hint of a smile on his face. “Especially those who’ve temporarily given up eggs Benedict for the powdered variety on less than elegant china.”

“Yes, and if we have such a tape featuring ‘specific individuals’
engaged in unlawful behavior of a violent nature during the Wopotami protest—”

“
And,
” interrupted Redwing, glancing at Devereaux, who nodded, as if to say be-my-guest, “if those nasty individuals were identified as being under the orders of one government agency or another, we’d have considerable legal leverage.”

“Not just government-oriented,” said Cyrus. “There are a bunch of goons in that crowd who’ve been paid to stop you. Their employers are so much in debt that even the thought of you has them chewing rugs while soiling their trousers.”

“Violent obstruction of the legal process,” added Sam. “Facing ten years in jail, there’s not one of those thugs who wouldn’t break.”

“Colonel, I
salute
you!” said Aaron, struggling forward in the chair, the sound of metal against metal heard in the room. “Even if everything goes wrong, we’ve got secondary positions of defense.”

“I call it frying the asses of those who would fry yours first, Mr. Pinkus.”

“Indeed! You know, law degree or no, I wish you’d consider a position in my firm, say as a strategist in the criminal law department.”

“I’m flattered, sir, but I think you’d better talk with your friend, Cookson Frazier. Apparently he has a home in the Caribbean, two in France, a flat in London, and several he can’t remember in the ski country of Utah or Colorado. They’ve all been broken into, and he wants me to take over his far-flung security.”

“My word, how wonderful for you! You’d be terribly well paid. You’ll accept, of course.”

“Perhaps for a few weeks, but if there’s any way I can work it out, I’d like to get back to the laboratory. I’m a chemical engineer; that’s where the real excitement is.”

“Now I’ve heard everything,” said Devereaux, shaking his head, his porkpie hat above his checkered suit swiveling.

There was furious knocking at the door. “Stay where you are,” said Cyrus calmly as the others reacted in shock. “It’s Roman. He thinks his entrance into any room is a
command performance—especially when the police are chasing him.” The mercenary opened the door; the figure standing in the corridor was, indeed, Roman Z, but instead of a single video camera, he held two in each hand, as well as a large nylon case suspended from his broad shoulder by a thick strap. Also, gone were the silk orange shirt, the blue silk sash, the tight black trousers, and the dangling gold earring. Instead, he was the image of a working media stiff, the kind one sees climbing out of television news vans at the scene of an accident or a fire. He wore neat but abused Levis below a white T-shirt on which was printed in large letters:

WFOG-TV PRESS

“Zee mission is accomplished, my dearest best fren … Colonel,” announced Roman, walking into the room, his words trailing off as his eyes absorbed the sight of Sam, Jenny, and Aaron. “Iss zerr a dancing bear somewhere?”

“If there is, it’s you,” said Cyrus. “Bears forage.… Why four camcorders?”

“Maybe one get hurt,” replied the Gypsy, grinning. “Also plenty of tape,” he added, gesturing at his case.

“Where’s the receipt?”

“Zee what?”

“The paper that shows the amount of the rental and the deposit you gave the store.”

“Oh, zey don’t want it. They hoppy to cooperate.”

“What are you talking about, Roman?” asked Redwing.

“I
charge
it, Miss Janey—if you are Miss Janey under zat beautiful dress.”

“To whom?” said Devereaux.

“Zeez people!” The Gypsy pointed with pride to his T-shirt. “I wass in a great hurry, and they understand.”

“There
are
no such people!” cried Cyrus.

“I write them a letter sometime. I tell them how sorry I am.”

“Please, Colonel,” said Pinkus, struggling out of the chair with Jenny’s help. “We haven’t time for an audit. What do we do now?”

“It’s simple,” answered Cyrus.

It wasn’t.

2:16
P.M.
Boom
-boom,
boom
-boom,
boom
-boom—
boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom!… Hai
-ya,
hai
-ya,—
hai
-ya—
hai
-ya,
hai
-ya,
hai
-ya! The drums went bang while the stompers sang, and the signs were raised and the crowds were hazed, and the steps of the Supreme Court were Wopotami madness. The tourists were famous, wives more than husbands, as the dancing-girl protesters were to a dancer inordinately attractive and their skirts flew high.