Lavagni assured his boss that he did know, and added, "That makes our boy Brown here a special case, Mr. Castiglione. So far we been lucky just to get a shot at the guy, but Wils here can walk right up to 'im, see, sort of get him off guard. We're thinking of a Judas kiss, Mr. Castiglione."
The Farmer winced and moved his wound into a more comfortable area of the pillow. "You've said that three times already," he reminded his Washington Caporegime. "I don't like that expression, Tony. I don't want you to say it again. Okay?"
"Sure. Sure, Mr. Castiglione."
"Okay." His gaze traveled to the huge black man. "This Bolan has had his face fixed. How do you figure to recognize him? How do you figure to make it like buddy-buddy with a guy you haven't seen since his face was fixed?"
Brown paused a moment before replying. He had developed an instant hate for the Capo. This cat didn't like being close to black men a thick atmosphere of repulsion hung in the air between them. Brown squeezed his knuckles and said, "I'll have to play it cool, that's all. I've seen his pictures, I know about what he looks like now. If I can just get close to him; I figure he'll come to me."
"What makes you think that?"
Brown shrugged massive shoulders. "It just figures, man. This cat's all alone with the whole country after him. Can't trust nobody, can't lay his head nowhere and close both eyes at the same time. He needs a friend. I'm a friend. If he sees me, he'll come to me."
Castiglione was thinking it over. Silence enveloped the big open-beamed room of the fabulous ranchhouse. Brown's gaze shifted to the window, and he watched the horses moving lazily about the rich pasture. Those horses had it better, he was thinking, than most black men he knew. Then Castiglione broke the silence. He said, "Okay, but we have to work this thing out. You know, plan it and I mean carefully. This Bolan is no punk, I guess we found that out for sure at Miami Beach."
Brown said, "I'll want a firm understanding about the reward money."
Castiglione replied, "How much you figure it's worth?"
"What is this, man?" the Negro said in an angered tone. "You cats already decided how much it's worth. You've spread the word all over the country, a hundred thou for Bolan. Now Tony tells me you added another..."
The Farmer said, "You won't deserve all of that. A contractor handles everything himself, like any businessman. He handles his own expenses, pays his own help. What's left is his profit. You understand profit. In this case, I'm the contractor. I'm hiring you. Now how much do you figure your part is worth?"
"Forget it," Brown snapped. He stood up and said, "Get me out of here, Tony."
Lavagni was staring steadfastly at the floor, unmoving. Castiglione sighed and said, "Sit down. It hurts my ass to look up. I see you don't like to negotiate. Take a lesson from a pro, Wils. Always negotiate, don't just rush off mad because the other guy says something you don't like to hear."
The black man replied, "Allright, I'm negotiating. I want the whole bundle, I want it all."
"You won't deserve all of it. We're going to back you, put up all the expenses, and that includes an army of rodmen. We're going to plan your moves, spot you, and work the setups. All that means time and effort and money. But we're fair, Wils. We'll split the purse evenly."
Brown smiled, sat down, and said, "Evenly means half for me and half for your backing, and it means half the total purse."
"I didn't say that," the Farmer smoothly replied.
"No, man, I said that. It's that or nothing."
Castiglione was smiling, but only with his lips. "You could get too damn big for your britches. They could turn to iron, and wouldn't that make for hard swimming in Chesapeake Bay."
The big Negro again got to his feet. "I been shit on by experts, man. I got over bein' scared a long time ago. Nowadays I just get mad and glad. Mad, I don't get Bolan for you. Glad, I'll give 'im to you in a gift-wrap."
Castiglione winced and shifted positions again. "That fuckin' Bolan!" he muttered. Then, "Okay, big man. We'll make you glad. You just make me glad."
"Half of the pot, net, for me."
"Yeah, yeah, you've made your deal." The Capo's gaze shifted to Tony Lavagni, who had been tensely silent and all but invisible during the discussion. "You got those planes pretty well nailed down now? You're sure of that?"
"Yessir," Lavagni replied. "There was only three possible ways out, by air I mean. Chicago, Atlanta, or Paris."
"You already said that."
"Yessir. I'd say Atlanta looks best, Chicago next. Paris would be a long shot. That plane was leaving when the boys got up there."
"Just the same we'll cover all three, and play heavy on th' long shot. This bastard always seems to..." He reached for a cigar, groaned, savagely bit off the end, and clamped the cigar between his teeth, lit it, and leaned forward carefully to favor his wounded backside. "You know who we got in Paris. You handle it, be sure that plane is met, but don't mention my name in no transatlantic telephone calls. Understand?"
"Sure, Mr. Castiglione."
"Chi and Atlanta will be a snap. I'll put out the word myself from here. You get your boy here set up with a passport and..." He eyed the big Negro in a disapproving inspection and continued. "Get him to a fast tailor, make 'im look like a traveling buyer... uh, pick out something he knows a little about, something that would make sense him going to Europe in case it turns that way. Get him credentials and all th' crap, but don't use any of my connections, you know what I mean. And tell Paris to cool it. If they spot Bolan, just stick with 'im and let us know right away. Tell 'em anything you have'ta, tell 'em the contract isn't payable outside the country, just don't let 'em louse this up. I want a sure thing this time. I'll tell Chi and Atlanta the same thing. You just get this boy of yours ready to travel. You still with me, Tony?"
"Yessir, I'm still with you, Mr. Castiglione," Lavagni assured him.
The Farmer dismissed them.
They let themselves out of the house and went directly to their car. As they were moving along the graveled drive, Brown chuckled and observed, "I never seen you so courteous and polite, man."
Lavagni growled something inarticulate, then replied, "Maybe you better try some of the same, Wils. Arnie Farmer is nobody to cross. He likes to be treated with respect, and you better watch the way you talk to him. Especially until he's well and back on his feet again. You put him over a barrel, you know that, Wils and he don't like that a little bit."
Brown heaved a contented sigh. "He don't scare me none. I'll say this, though. I'm glad I'm not Mack Bolan. Man, I never saw so much hate, and I'm an expert on hate."
"You ever been to Atlanta, Wils? Or Paris?"
"Sure man, I been everywhere there is to go. And it's the same stinkin' world every place, huh."
Lavagni nodded his head. "I guess so. This Bolan's going to find that out too, Wils. There ain't no place he can go where we can't get at him. It might be Atlanta, it might be Chi, it might be Paris. But it won't matter, it's all the same. He's going to find that out."
"I bet he already knows it," Brown said, sighing. "He's been everywhere too, man. Everywhere but dead. Wonder what it's like there."