“And when, in 1923, Señor Villa met his untimely death, in a manner similar to the deaths of those drug people near here — that is to say, he was shot multiple times while riding in his automobile — the same sort of scurrilous allegations were made that Great-grandfather Marcos was responsible. Until his death, at ninety-two, he refused to comment publicly on them.”
“My Carlito’s beloved ancestor, Commander,” Sweaty said, “was — as my Carlito is — what they call a Texican. That means an American of Mexican blood. There’s a phrase, ‘Don’t mess with a Texican.’ You might want to write that down.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Commander Bitter said. “And may I take the liberty of saying, ma’am, that I think I understand why you and Colonel Castillo were attracted to one another?”
“Yes, you may,” Sweaty said. “Actually, it was love at first sight.”
“Oh, really? Where did you meet?”
“In the charming ancient university town of Marburg an der Lahn in Germany. Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin had sent my brother and me there — we were at the time SVR officers — to whack him. Circumstances didn’t permit that to happen. And the next day, we met for the first time. One glance and — well, here we are.”
[TWO]
The producer held up his hand with four fingers extended and began to count downward, “Five, four, three…”
Where he would have said “two” he balled his fist, extended his index finger upward, and, where he would have said “one,” pointed it toward Pastor Jones, who was wearing a wing-collared boiled shirt and a tuxedo.
“Good evening, it’s twelve o’clock in Montpelier and nine o’clock here in Sin City, and this is Pastor Jones.”
He stopped suddenly and put his finger on what looked like a hearing aid. His face showed either chagrin or annoyance and then he went on. “Excuse me, I’ve just been informed it’s ten o’clock here in Sin City, where we have Wolf News World Wide cameras set up at the fabled Streets of San Francisco Hotel, Resort and Casino, where Miss Red Ravisher just moments ago won the distinguished actress award in the fifteenth annual Climax Awards of the Adult Motion Picture Industry Association.
“And that means, Mommies and Daddies across the world, that it’s time to send the wee ones off to bed, as we expect Miss Ravisher to be with us momentarily, and if we’re lucky, we hope to have a clip from her epic film Catherine and the Household Cavalry.
“And here she is,” Pastor Jones said, as Red Ravisher walked up to him. She was wearing a gold lamé frock that clung closely to her body and carrying against her bosom the gold — probably gold-plated — sculpture the AMPIA had just awarded her.
“Thank you for finding time for us,” Pastor Jones said.
“My pleasure, Reverend.”
“I’m not a reverend. Pastor is my first name.”
“How odd!”
“Red isn’t exactly an ordinary name, if I may say so.”
“Red Ravisher is my professional name,” she said. “My birth certificate says ‘Agrafina Bogdanovich.’ Agrafina means ‘born feet first.’ What’s your real name?”
“Pastor Jones is my real name.”
“How odd! Have you ever thought of taking a professional name? If you did, you wouldn’t be mistaken for a man of the cloth.”
“Your name sounds Russian,” Pastor said.
“I am of Russian heritage.”
“Well, let me congratulate you on your award. There aren’t very many women who have earned so many Hard-Ons as you have. How many is it that you have?”
“I have six Best Actress Hard-Ons, plus this one, which is for best film of the year. I wrote, produced, and directed Catherine and the Household Cavalry. That’s seven, altogether.”
“So tell me, who is Catherine?”
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t know who Catherine was?”
“You tell me.”
“She was Empress of Russia.”
“And she liked the cavalry, I take it.”
“She liked cavalrymen. I make adult films, not documentaries.”
“And you played Catherine?”
“No. I played one of the horses. Are you for real?”
“So tell me, Miss Bog— Bogdo—”
“Bogdanovich. Agrafina Bogdanovich.”
“Now that you’ve walked off the stage with a Hard-On—”
“Two Hard-Ons. For a total of seven. I just told you that.”
“What are your plans?”
“A little vacation. In Mexico. To get away from my fans, to tell you the truth.”
“Where in Mexico?”
“If I told you where in Mexico, then my fans would know where to find me, wouldn’t they?”
“Well, can you tell me why you’re going to this place you won’t tell me where it is?”
Red Ravisher shook her head, but answered the question.
“Two reasons. They make great borscht.”
“That’s unusual for Mexico, isn’t it?”
“Well, the resort makes it for the security staff, all of whom are Russian émigrés. They’re all ex-Spetsnaz, which is like our Special Forces, but Russian. There’s nobody better at security, except maybe our Special Forces or SEALs, than ex-Spetsnaz.”
“So you’re going to this place so these Russian ex-Spetsnaz émigrés can protect you from the attention of your millions of fans?”
“Not exactly. The last time I was there, they said if I ever came back, they would show me how to slowly and painfully kill people by breaking their bones one at a time.”
“You want to break the bones of your fans?”
“Not of my fans, stupid. I want to break Matthew Christian’s bones. If I ever run into that miserable twerp, I intend to be ready for him.”
[THREE]
The President of the United States knocked softly on the door and politely inquired, “May I — or more specifically, may I and Robin Hoboken — intrude?”
When there was no reply, President Clendennen slowly and carefully opened the door.
The First Lady and the First Mother-in-Law were seated on identical red-leather-upholstered reclining armchairs, which were in the reclined position, watching a wall-mounted flat-screen television.
“Mommy, dearest,” the First Lady inquired, “what do they call that gold-plated thing Miss Ravisher is cradling so lovingly in her arms?”
“I don’t know what they call it, Belinda-Sue,” the First Mother-in-Law replied, her voice coarsened by cigarettes from what once had been a three-pack-a-day habit, “and as a Southern lady, I’m certainly not going to say what it looks like.”
“Getting settled in comfortably, are you, Mother Krauthammer?” President Clendennen inquired politely.
“Shut up, Joshua,” the First Mother-in-Law snapped. “Can’t you see that Belinda-Sue and I are watching Pastor Jones interview Red Ravisher live from the Climax Awards at the Streets of San Francisco in Las Vegas?”