«So?»
«A couple of things, maybe. Bam-Bam wants to know if he should call in a squad of torpedos from Toronto.»
«Absolutely not!»
«He figured; there’s not time… Awright, then he wants you to know that his blessed aunt Angelina has done like you wished her to do because her husband, Rocco, is a no good son of a bitch and she loves her nephew, Vincenzo. The stuff you wanted is in the second closet in the hallway on the right.»
«Good!»
«All is not so good. Bam-Bam is a proud man, fazool, and your original American buddies are not so good to him. He says they treat him like garbage and the feathers around his head don’t fit!»
12:18 P.M. The manager of the Embassy Row Hotel on Massachusetts Avenue was not prepared for the current behavior of one of his favored guests, namely Aaron Pinkus, attorney-at-law. As usual, whenever the celebrated lawyer journeyed to Washington, it was a given that his stay was confidential, as, indeed, was the case with any guest who requested the same, but this afternoon Mr. Pinkus had carried confidentiality to its extreme. He had insisted that he and his party use the delivery entrance and ascend to their adjoining suites—on the freight elevator. Furthermore, only the manager himself was to be aware of the attorney’s presence; fictitious names were to be entered into the register and, therefore, should any telephone calls come for him, those callers would naturally be told that no Aaron Pinkus was registered, for indeed he was not. However, should calls come specifying only the room numbers, they should be put through.
It was not like Pinkus to issue such vigilant instructions, considered the manager, but he thought he knew why. Washington was a zoo these days, and no doubt a lawyer of his expertise had been called to testify before Congress on some complicated points of law about a bill fraught with special interests. Obviously, Pinkus had brought down a contingent of the brightest attorneys in his firm to advise him during the hearings.
Which was why the manager was bewildered when, as he routinely checked the front desk, a man in an orange silk shirt, a blue silk sash, and a gold earring swinging from his left lobe came up to the counter and asked where the «droogy store» was.
«Are you a guest of the hotel, sir?» asked the suspicious clerk.
«Wat alse?» replied Roman Z, displaying his room key. The manager glanced at it. It was the number of a Pinkus suite.
«Over there, sir,» said the mortified clerk, pointing across the lobby.
«Iss good! I need new cologne! I charge, no?»
Only seconds later, two swarthy men dressed in uniforms the manager did not recognize, apparently from some South American revolution, he thought, rushed up to the desk.
«Where’d he go, man?» cried the taller of the two, several gaps in his teeth.
«Who?» asked the clerk, backing away from the counter.
«The gitano wid d’gold earring!» said the second Hispanic. «He got the key to d’room but my amigo pressed d’wrong button on the h’evelator. We wen’ up, he wen’ down!»
«Two elevators?»
«Ees securidad, chu know wad I mean?»
«Security?»
«Dat’s it, gringo,» answered the man with the missing teeth, as he studied the formally dressed clerk in the cutaway. «Chu got nice clothes like I got víspera—dee odder day ago. Chu bring ’em back in d’morning, chu no pay so much rent. I read dat on a sign.»
«Yes, well, these are not rented, sir.»
«Chu buy dem? Madre de Dios, you gotta good chob!»
«A lovely job, sir,» said the astonished clerk, glancing over at the even more astonished manager. «Your friend went to the ‘droogy’—the drugstore, sir. It’s over there.»
«Gracias, amigo. Chu keep dis nice rich chob!»
«Indeed, sir,» mumbled the clerk as Desis One and Two raced across the lobby after Roman Z. «Who are those people?» asked the clerk, turning to the hotel manager. «That room key was for one of our better suites.»
«Witnesses?» said the appalled manager, a ray of hope in his reply. «Yes, of course, they could only be witnesses. It’s probably a hearing about the mentally impaired.»
«What is?»
«Never mind, they’ll be gone by the day after tomorrow.»
Upstairs in the suite Aaron Pinkus had reserved for Jennifer, Sam, and himself, the vaunted attorney was explaining the hotel of his choice. «One can usually repel curiosity by confronting it and discouraging it,» he said, «especially if you’re dealing with an institution that profits from your patronage. If I had made our requests to an unfamiliar hotel, the rumors would fly.»
«And you’re not an unknown in this city,» added Devereaux. «Can you trust the manager?»
«I would in any event; he’s a fine man. However, since all flesh has its weaknesses and the muckrakers in this town are vultures constantly in search of informational carrion, I made it plain that he was the only person who knew we were here. I felt bad doing so; it wasn’t necessary.»
«There’s ‘safe’ and there’s ‘sorry,’ Mr. Pinkus,» said Redwing, walking to a window and looking down at the street below. «We’re so close—to what I don’t know, but it frightens me. Within a matter of days my people will either be patriots or pariahs, and right now my money’s on pariahdom.»
«Jenny,» began Aaron, a muted sadness in his voice, «I didn’t wish to alarm you, but upon reflection, I think you’d never forgive me if I didn’t tell you now.»
«Tell me what?» Redwing turned away from the window, staring at Pinkus, then glancing at Sam, who shook his head conveying no knowledge of Aaron’s statement.
«I spoke with an old friend of mine this morning, a colleague from the early days, in fact, who’s now a member of the Court.»
«Aaron!» cried Devereaux. «You didn’t mention anything about this afternoon, did you?»
«Of course not. It was merely a social call. I said I had business here and perhaps we might have dinner.»
«Thank heavens!» said Jenny.
«He was the one who brought up this afternoon,» said Pinkus quietly.
«What?»
«What?»
«Not in terms of specifics, mind you, only with regards to our proposed dinner… He said that it was quite possible he wouldn’t be able to make it for he might be hiding and under guard in the cellars of the Supreme Court.»
«What?»
«That’s what I said—»
«And?»
«He said today was one of the strangest in the annals of Supreme Court history. They’re holding a special session in chambers with plaintiffs over a case that has acrimoniously divided the justices. None of them knows how the others will ultimately vote, but they’re determined to dispose of their initial responsibility, which is to make public a rather momentous suit against the government. They’ll do so immediately after the hearing is over.»
«What?» screamed Redwing. «This afternoon?»
«Originally, they kept it off the Court calendar for reasons of national security and the possibility of reprisals against the litigants—the Wopotamis, I presume; then, apparently, the administration demanded that news of the suit be kept secret for an extended period of time.»