genius.
“Nothing would be easier than for me to call in the photographers, pics with you presenting the scroll. The publicity would do me a barrel of favours, I can tell you.” He eyed me.
He laughed mirthlessly, quoted, “Maynooth Marchs into Bimbo Limbo.” That, and his wealth, were why I’d chosen him. A pious ex-seminarian suddenly exposed as a fund funster with a secret taste for sexual acrobatics was too good to miss.”
He stayed my comment with a hand, did his non-smoking smoke trick, gazed longingly into the ashtray.
“Bastard doctors,” he said. I agreed, nodding with conviction. “I’m subjected to the most scurrilous attacks, lawsuits, abuse, since my, uh, personal philosophy became public. It’s a feeding frenzy. Every moral vigilante group on the East Coast’s after my blood.”
He tapped with a pencil, snapped it, dropped it anywhere. He hadn’t looked away from me.
“Major Lister’s orphanage is legit, right?”
“Correct, Mr Maynooth.”
“How much did I donate?” he asked wrily.
I went red. I’d forgotten what I’d said for Vertigo to put on the scroll. “I think twenty thousand.”
“The columns’ll claim it’s a put-up, by my own publicity people.”
“They’d be proved wrong by hard independent evidence, Mr Maynooth. Major Lister’s certificate acknowledges receipt of your generosity a year ago, before any opprobrium.”
He mused. “This out of the goodness of your heart?
His mind was too slick to flannel. “Not really. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else, somewhere else. Don’t worry. We’ll reveal nothing. Nobody knows we’re here. Major Lister here’ll vouch for me.”
Silence for a moment, while he grew angry with something out of view. “You know what those bastards are doing right now? Running a ’cking
“My mate’s come a long way,” I said to soothe him. I didn’t want him mad. “Might as well call in your tame city clickers and get your cent’s worth, eh?”
“Twenty thousand’s nothing. You can have it anyway. The morality brigades are opposing my casino, threatening to close me even in N’YorkP
“Could they?” I was interested.
“They can damn well slow me down. This is America.”
“They’ll not close you, Mr Maynooth. Not after what happens next.”
I waited while he re-ran the words. “This is the bite, huh? The bite that costs nothing?”
Honestly, I felt quite sorry for him. Nobody likes to have their genital activities plastered over every tabloid and screen, to the howls of enemies.
“You need to prove anew that you can organize your businesses and casinos in a law-abiding manner.” I felt eloquence effervescing with the glee of fraud. “Difficult when the moral battalions besiege Maynooth Towers. It has to be major evidence.”
“Like what? I’ve every security agency in the country on my payrolls and it’s not enough.”
“Parts of New York are a mess, Mr Maynooth. Your Taxi and Limo Commission alone tries four hundred taxi- driver offenders a day for assault and abuse of passengers. The killings, muggings, the crime—”
“Gimme a break. It’s not my doing.”
“Supposing you halted all crime in one area for a whole twenty-four hours? Call it a Law Day.”
“That’s dumb talk, Wilkins. We got police. They try and fail.” He was the sort of bloke I suppose women fall for, handsome and in the prime of life, but in a cleft stick. His affair had suffered more mudslinging than Richard III. He gave in when I said nothing. “You know they were tipping me as a presidential nominee?”
“There’ll be one fewer of those in a couple of days, Mr Maynooth. Work out what you’ll say to the cameras. You’ll be shyly conceding that you’re a secret benefactor, and an anti-crime potentate. You’ll contribute this gesture as goodwill to this great city of yours. Clear your path almost immediately.”
He was still sour about other nominees. “They got that punch-drunk Texan as sellingest contender. And that shifty bastard Brandau. I could lose them any day of the week.”
“I’ll lose you Brandau this week, Mr Maynooth.”
We talked seriously then, with John Lister’s head turning like a Wimbledon regular’s between us. It took a little over an hour. Mr Maynooth gave the orphanage a donation way above his previous year’s mythical donation, following which his minions were summoned to round up the media photographers. I quietly faded. They could do without my picture.
As John left for the airport, dollars winging ahead of him to Rutland, I went to see Busman, to ask a favour and start negotiating a price for Thomas Maynooth’s new invention, a piece of peace in Manhattan. I needed success now.
THERE’S that theory of success, isn’t there—confidence makes you win. Lose heart, and you’ve lost no matter how big your army.
I took a taxi down Eighth Avenue, and walked into the bus terminal. It was getting on for six, the day drawing in. Maybe it was tiredness, maybe from being away from antiques so long, but I was so really down. At the terminal I had a quick coffee while I wondered what I’d do if I failed with Busman. Should I try to see Sophie? But maybe she too thought I was dead. Or Gina? Too risky—I’d have a fatal visit from Tye. Rose? At least she was innocent of all the mayhem. I’d maybe look her up when it was over.
