Suddenly, the limo’s telephone rang, abruptly shattering the chauffeur’s hero-oriented thoughts about a man he surely worshiped from ten glorious days in France when that great soldier led their battalion. «Lafferty here,» he said, the phone out of its recess and next to his ear.
«Paddy, it’s Sam Devereaux!» yelled the voice over the line.
«Somehow I can tell that, boyo. What is it, Sammy?»
«Are you being followed?»
«I was hopin’ to be, but I’m afraid not, and I’ve kept one eye on the mirrors—»
«We are!»
«That don’t make sense, lad. Are you sure?»
«Definitely! I’m calling from a pay phone on the Waltham road—at a place called Nanny’s Naughty Follies Et Cetera.»
«Hey, boyo, get out of there. You shouldn’t be seen on those premises. Mr. Pinkus wouldn’t like it.»
«What? Why?»
«Are you callin’ from the phone about ten feet from the jukebox?»
«Yes, I guess so, I see a jukebox.»
«Look over to your left, at that big circular bar below a long, raised platform.»
«Yes, yes, I will… There’s just a bunch of dancers—oh, my God, they’re all naked! Women and men!»
«That’s the et cetera, boyo. Now, if I were you, I’d take fleet feet and beat it.»
«I can’t! Knute and Stosh went out after the Chevy that was following our cab and stopped when we stopped. I mean, they’re really professionals, Paddy. They spotted the ‘tag’—they called it a ‘tag’—and got rid of the taxi, and now they’re closing in.»
«I’ll be there in less than ten minutes, Sammy! I’m droppin’ these Greek archbishops off at the next gas station and swingin’ north. I know a shortcut. Ten minutes, boyo!»
«Loco man, are you wid us?»
«If your trail markers are accurate, no more than five minutes, D-One. I just passed the Chicken Shot Café, the one with the red neon rooster sign.»
«Maybe you gringos don’t know dee difference. Maybe you eat chicken McRooster, no?… It don’t take you even five minutes from that place.»
«What’s the status—what’s happening?»
«We good corporales. We got a liddle surprise for you, loco man.»
«Ten-four!»
«Ees not six o’clock—»
«Rolling!»
The stolen Oldsmobile from somewhere in the Midwest careened into Nanny’s parking lot in less than three minutes, MacKenzie Hawkins chewing the stub of his cigar and peering out the windshield for his aides-de-camp. Instantly, he saw D-Two at the far end of the asphalt, waving what looked like a large, torn dark blanket. As he raced toward his mechanically talented adjutant, he saw that the signal flag was not a blanket but, instead, a pair of trousers. The Hawk leaped out of the car and approached D-Two, taking a moment to straighten his too-long, too-red, and, definitely still too-loose wig.
«What’s your report, Corporal?» asked Mac anxiously. «And what the hell are those?» he added, nodding at the trousers.
«Dere pants, loco man, what you think?»
«I can see they’re pants, but what are you doing with them?»
«Ees better I got ’em than the bad amigo who usually wears dem, no? As long as I have deze and Desi-Uno has the odders, the two dumb amigos stay where dey are.»
«The two—the escorts, the convoys? Where are they … and where’s the target?»
«Come wid me.» D-Two led the Hawk down the deserted far side of the building, which was obviously used for deliveries and garbage pickups. Parked next to a large trash dumpster, parked so close that the door could not possibly be opened, was a Chevrolet coupe, its opposite door equally secured by a long, discarded tablecloth knotted to the handle and tied to the rear bumper. Inside, one in front, the other in the narrow rear seat, were Devereaux’s two guards, their apoplectic faces pressed against the glass of the windows. Closer inspection disclosed the fact that both wore only undershorts, and further surveillance revealed two pairs of shoes and socks placed neatly by the exposed rear tire. «Dee odder windows we open a liddle bit so they got h’air, you know?» explained D-Two.
«Good thinking,» said Mac. «The Geneva Convention calls for humane treatment for prisoners of war… Where the hell’s D-One?»
«Right here, loco man,» answered Desi the First, coming around the trunk of the Chevrolet while counting a roll of bills. «Deze amigos should find better yobs or better women. If it wasn’t for your man in dee photograph, they h’ain’t worth the trouble.»
«We don’t strip prisoners of nonhostile personal possessions,» said the Hawk firmly. «Put it back in their wallets.»
«Hey, man,» protested D-One, «what’s personal about dinero? I buy somet’ing from you, I pay. You buy somet’ing from me, you pay. A personal possession is somet’ing you keep, right? No one keeps dinero, so it’s not personal.»
«They didn’t buy anything from you.»
«What about deze?» said D-One, holding up a pair of trousers. «And doze,» he continued quickly, pointing at the shoes.
«You stole ’em all!»
«Dat’s life, loco man. Or, as you say, dat’s ‘strategy,’ right?»
«We’re wasting time, but I’ll say this now. You’ve both shown exemplary initiative, one might even say extraordinary inventiveness under fire. You’re a credit to this outfit and I’ll recommend you for commendation.»
«Dat’s beautifool!»
«Is dat more dinero, huh?»
«We’ll get to that later; the objective comes first. Where’s the target?»
«Dee skinny man in d’photograph?»
«Right on, soldier.»
«He’s inside, and dot is a joint my mama and my priest would spit on me for ever goin’ into!» exclaimed D-Two, blessing himself. «H’oh boy!»
«Bad whisky, eh, son?»
«Bad entretenimiento. Like you say here, repugnante!»
«I don’t think we say that, boy. You mean disgusting?»
«Well … one half, not the other half.»
«I don’t follow you, Corporal.»
«Everything jiggles. Top and bottom.»
«Top and …? Holy hordes of Genghis Khan! You mean—»
«Daz wot I mean, loco man! I sneaked in to find the gringo you don’ like… He was hangin’ up the teléfono and went to dee big round bar where all these crazy people were dancin’—desnudo, señor!»
«And?»
«He’s h’okay. He watched the mujeres, not the hombres.»
«Christ spinning a yo-yo! We don’t just have to take the son of a bitch, we have to rescue him. Roll troops!»
Suddenly, without warning, a small green Buick sped out of the line of cars in the Nanny’s Et Cetera parking lot, screeching to a stop only yards in front of the Hawk and his advancing aides-de-camp. A frail figure emerged, his gaunt face impassive, but his dark eyes alive with electricity. «I think this is as far as you should go,» he said.