“Later, Daddy Whorebucks,” John Fuller Gall told him. “Man cannot live by broads alone.”
“The hell he can’t,” Daddy Whorebucks muttered.
“John, you’re forgetting to introduce Randy,” Little Effn’ Aynie interjected. She tweaked the ears of the large, slavering, furry, four-footed beast rubbing up against her.
“Oh, what kind of doggie is that?” Penny asked.
“He’s not a dog, he’s a wolf,” Little Effn’ Aynie explained, restraining Randy, who was snarling his resentment at the insult. “A genuine wolf.”
“I’ve met his type,” Penny answered, girl-to-girl. “But only the two-legged variety.” Then, in keeping with the chummy rapport she was establishing, she asked, “Why do they call you ‘Little Effn’ Aynie’ ? ”
“Because I’m petite and I used to work for Daddy Whorebucks over there,” Aynie explained.
“Turned many a good trick, she did,” Daddy Whorebucks sighed nostalgically.
“Why did you quit?” Penny asked.
“We of GRABB don’t believe in prostituting our services,” Aynie explained. “It was all right until I began enjoying my work. That was dishonest, you see, because I was also getting paid for it. I was being overpaid for what I was selling.”
“I always thought so,” Gall remembered. “But please, Miss Candie, allow me to present the last of my disciples. This is Dr. Werner Braunshnout.” He indicated a slender little man with a Charlie Chaplin moustache and his hair falling in his eyes.
“How do you do, Dr. Braunshnout,” Penny said politely.
“Heil Hitler!” Dr. Braunshnout clicked his heels and raised his arm stiffly.
“Werner . . . ” There was a note of chastisement in Gall’s voice.
“Ach! I’m sorry, mein Fuhr— Ach! Again I apologize. Habits are so difficult to break. One cannot escape one’s own magnificent Kultur.”
“Are you German?” Penny asked naively. “Ja! Aber nicbt Nazi! Nicht Nazi! I didn’t know what was going on. I just did like I was told, like all gut citizens of the Fatherland. Ich -”
“That’s enough, Werner.” Gall’s voice was sharp. “The war has been over for twenty years.”
“Ja! So sorry. Aber the war against degenerate socialism must go on, mein Fuhr— I mean, Herr Ubermeister Gall.”
“There you are right, Werner. We must indeed exterminate this plague of creeping socialists infesting the world. And this time we must not fail. There must be no repetition of that last fiasco with the bazooka. This time that abominable UN building must be destroyed.”
“Still, we were fortunate,” Little Effn’ Aynie interjected. “We were lucky to be able to pass the buck to two Cubans. But you’re right. It was a fiasco. We never should have tried it. It stood to reason that any attack launched from such an unlikely place as Astoria, Long Island, would have to fail.”
“Perhaps. But every movement has its own Bay of Pigs,” Daddy Whorebucks pointed out. “Just think how differently history might have turned out if it wasn’t for that Washington tailor.”
“What Washington tailor?” Penny asked curiously.
“The one that found the note in the Secretary of State’s pocket and removed it. Surely you’ve heard of the incident.”
“No, I haven’t,” Penny owned.
“It read, ’Don’t forget to tell President about Bay of Pigs’,” Daddy Whorebucks explained. “But the tailor threw it away and the Secretary of State did forget. A pity.”
“Don’t be naive. It was all part of a plot,” Little Efin’ Aynie told him. “Our agents found out later that that tailor was a homosexual who slept with a high official in the State Department. And do you know what they slept on?”
“No. What?”
“A Castro convertible!”
“It figures,” Daddy Whorebucks sighed. “The State Department is riddled with Communists today-—and of course they’re all homosexuals.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, dumkopf,” Dr. Braunshnout advised.
“Enough, Werner!” John Fuller Gall commanded. “Enough, all. We have serious business to discuss. We must finalize our plans for the destruction of the UN building.”
“Why do you want to destroy the UN building?” Penny asked timidly.
“I am an architect,” Gall said loftily, as if that statement explained everything.
“I don’t understand.”
“A functional architect.” His tone implied that she was an idiot.
“So?”
“I have it on reliable authority,” Gall condescended, “that in the basement of the UN building, subversively and deliberately hidden from view, there is”—he took a deep, outraged breath—”a gargoyle! Now do you understand? Those collectivist perverts have ruined the entire functionalism of the building by placing a gargoyle in the basement. Not only that, but there are reliable rumors of plans to erect a cupola on the First Avenue side of the building. And it is a fact that the urinals in the men’s room are” — Gall shuddered—“round! Bowl-shaped! This is a besmirchment of the entire decor of the building. They should be triangular, or course! Triangular! Triangular! Triangular!”
“Don’t get so excited, john,” Little Effn’ Aynie soothed him. “Drink some carrot juice to calm your nerves. Then let’s get on with our plans to dynamite this abomination.”
“All right.” Gall downed the carrot juice and composed himself. “I’ll hear your report on the storm troops now, Dr. Braunshnout.”
“Jawohl!” Dr. Braunshnout heel-clicked to attention.
“In Yorkville, our men are ready, aber ein problem there is .”
“What is this problem?”
“There is only one tailor in the neighborhood, and the sleeves of our troops’ black shirts need sewing.”
“His reason for refusing?”
“He is Jewish.”
“Can’t you persuade him?”
“Nein. I tried.”
“How did you try?” Gall wanted to know.
“ ‘You have relatives in Chermany? ’ I asked him. But he said ’nein’. I don’t know what the world is coming to. In der guten alten days all the Juden had relatives in Chermany. What happened to them all?”
“You’re asking me?” Gall said with pointed sarcasm.
“Nicht Nazi! Nicht Nazi!” Dr. Braunshnout defended himself excitedly. “Ich had nothing to do with it. Ich never even knew it vas happening.”
“Achtung!” Gall roared. “Get hold of yourself, man! We’ll have no more of your hysterics. Now tell me, was that all that happened with the tailor?”
“Except that he threatened if I did not leave his shop he would report me to the Anti-Defamation League of the B’nai Brith at their next mah-jong party.”
“And so you left,” Gall said. “Well, you had to, I suppose. Still, Werner, I do wish you wouldn’t bother me with these petty details. Get some of the barmaids in the rathskellers to sew on the swastikas. You should have thought of that yourself.“ Why do I have to think of everything? Is there anything else new in Yorkville?”
“Nein - Oh, vait. There is another report going around that Hitler lives. According to the Police Gazette, he vas seen at the dock on Vest Forty-second Street boarding a tramp steamer bound for Argentina.”
“But I thought that according to the last issue of the Police Gazette he was in the Himalayas organizing the Abominable Snowmen into Nazi shock troops.”