Authors: Robbins Harold
"Quit talking about my father! You don't know anything about my
father!"
"I'm told I'm like both of you," said Bat quietly.
"My father died in 1925. Who could have told you anything about
my father? Only Nevada, and Nevada never had a chance to talk to you
much."
"He talked to Jo-Ann, and Jo-Ann has talked to me."
Jonas nodded and sneered. "So. The two of you. A fine pair.
Okay. To hell with you."
Bat stood and walked to the bar. He poured his Scotch into the sink.
"Okay. To hell with me. But one thing ... I found out about the
man who beat up the little hooker. He's a very bad fellow. Nobody
knows his real name, but he's called Malditesta. The name means—
"
"I know what it means. A hit man."
"Right. A hit man," said Bat. "The worst of them."
"For?"
"One of us. Or both."
Jonas stood up. He pointed at the place where Bat had been sitting.
"Sit down, for Christ's sake." He went to the bar and
refilled the glass Bat had poured into the sink. "Look," he
said. "I don't like you. And you don't like me. And I don't know
how the hell we could ever learn to stand each other. But this is a
question of getting killed or not getting killed, and I think we'd
better tolerate each other till we get past it."
"Assuming we're going to," said Bat.
Senator John McClellan presided over the Select
Committee on Improper Activities in the Labor or Management Field —
usually known as the McClellan Committee. He placed much confidence
in his committee counsel, Robert Francis Kennedy, and allowed the
young man a great deal of latitude in pursuing whatever lines of
inquiry he thought proper. The senator knew that his young counsel
had chosen the Teamsters Union as his
bête noire
, but he
didn't care; the Teamsters was a Republican union. Anyway, Bobby
Kennedy's dogged investigation of the Teamsters and now Jimmy Hoffa
had won the committee a vast amount of admiring publicity.
Two men could hardly have been more unlike than John L. McClellan and
Robert F. Kennedy. The senior senator from Arkansas was a courtly but
competitive gentleman with a tall bald dome of a head and dark
horn-rimmed glasses. The lawyer from Massachusetts was a sandy-haired
Irishman with chipmunk teeth and a flat Boston accent. But they
worked together to their mutual advantage.
In the cocky, sarcastic Jimmy Hoffa they had found themselves a
whipping boy both of them could use. When he appeared before the
committee, the news media covered every word.
"Mr. Hoffa, in previous testimony you have identified the
Central States Pension Fund as a trust fund in which money collected
from union members and employers is deposited in trust to provide
members of the Teamsters Union their, uh, retirement benefits. Is
that not correct?"
In order to sit with his legs crossed and yet be close enough to the
microphone on his table, Hoffa sat with his chair turned to the left
and spoke into the microphone over his shoulder. He grinned and
nodded. "That's right, Counsel. You did hear me testify to that
before."
"Yay-uss. And you are a trustee of that fund, are you not, Mr.
Hoffa?"
"As I testified before," said Hoffa.
"How do you invest the pension fund?" asked Kennedy.
"In a variety of things. I testified about that before, too."
"Specifically, Mr. Hoffa, has the fund invested in a project to
build a hotel and gambling casino in Las Vegas, Nevada?"
"Absolutely. There's a lot of profit in those hotels."
Bobby Kennedy's eyes shifted from Hoffa to the second row of chairs
in the hearing room, where Toni Maxim sat. His glance met hers.
"In order for that investment to make a profit, though, you will
have to get a license from the Nevada Gaming Commission," said
Kennedy. "Isn't that so?"
Hoffa nodded. "That is so. But it's no problem."
"Well, let's see if it's a problem, Mr. Hoffa. You have already
filed an application for the license, and in your application you
list the officers and directors of the company you have formed to
operate the casino."
"The stock will be held by the fund," said Hoffa. "The
profits will be paid as dividends. That will enrich the fund. My
members will benefit."
"They may if you get the license."
"We'll get the license," said Hoffa with a twisted, toothy
smile.
"Well, let's see," said Kennedy. "Are you familiar
with the terms of Nevada Statute Number 571 dash 1302?"
"I don't try to memorize all the laws, Counsel. Maybe you do. I
guess that's your business: to know as many laws as you can. I have
other problems."
"The Nevada statute I'm citing to you, Mr.
Hoffa, is the one that says a gaming license cannot be issued to any
individual with a felony record — nor to any organization which
has such an individual among its officers or on its board of
directors. You
are
familiar with that, are you not?"
"I've heard of it, Counsel."
"Yay-uss. Aren't you concerned about the felony record of one of
your corporate officers?"
Hoffa swung around and leaned toward the microphone. "None of my
officers has a felony record, Mr. Kennedy."
"Way-ull, let's see about that. What about Mr. Maurice Cohen?"
Hoffa grinned. "You blew that one, Counsel. There's no Cohen
associated with our company."
Kennedy opened a file folder that had lain before him all during the
questioning of Hoffa. He glanced again at Toni. "The man who
calls himself Morris Chandler," he said, "is in fact one
Maurice Cohen. Mr. Cohen has a criminal record, supplied to this
committee by the FBI. He served a year in prison in Louisiana many
years ago for larceny. He served more than two years in the Ohio
Penitentiary for violation of the National Prohibition Act. In
addition to that he served time for public vagrancy in Texas. His FBI
sheet says also that he was a member of the Purple Gang. Were you
unaware of this when you made him an officer of your hotel
corporation, Mr. Hoffa?"
"I sure as hell was," said Hoffa. "If all that's true
— which I doubt — it's news to me."
Kennedy closed the file. "I believe the Nevada Gaming Commission
will say it was something you were supposed to find out before you
employed Mr. Cohen."
"Okay," said Hoffa. "Let me tell
you
somethin'. Cord Hotels owns one Vegas casino-hotel and is
buildin' another one. One of the directors of that company is a Mrs.
Wyatt. Okay. Mrs. Wyatt didn't do time 'many years ago' like you say
Mr. Chandler did. She did hers not so long ago. And it wasn't for
sellin' liquor during Prohibition, either. Mrs. Wyatt went to the
federal pokey for stealin' mail outa mailboxes! Check it, Counsel.
Check somethin' more. When she was arrested, she had counterfeit
money in her possession. Who's clean, Mr. Kennedy? Not your friends
the Cords either!"
Toni opened her door and welcomed Bat into her Washington apartment.
They had agreed it might not be wise for them to meet in his hotel or
to go to dinner in a restaurant — not right now.
"I'm sorry, Bat," she said. "I really am. I didn't
realize I was opening a can of worms."
He tossed his coat on a chair. "My father's answer to that is to
hell with it; he's glad we did it. So Angie resigned from the board."
"Poor Angie."
"She's getting something better," said Bat. "He's
marrying her. Christmas Eve. At the ranch."
Toni sat down on her couch. "Jesus ... Last year I wasn't sure
he'd make it through 1958."
"It's been a good year for him. Being active in the business
again, having a fight on his hands ... He thrives on it. It's what he
cares about."
"I'm surprised it's at the ranch again," she said.
"He did talk about selling it," said Bat. "He didn't
think there could be another Christmas there. Now he's glad he didn't
sell. And I suppose the ranch is the closest thing he's ever had to a
home. There'll be the party. We're all invited. Even Monica."
"I'm not sure I can come this year, Bat," she said. "My
father and mother— "
"Toni," he interrupted. "You
must
come. My mother will be there. And my stepfather, Virgilio Escalante.
My mother hasn't seen you since we were at Cambridge. She wants to
see you. Besides ... it may be the last time
I'll
be there for
Christmas. The old man and I are pretty close to an end."
"I can't believe that."
"
Do
believe it. There's only so much I
can tolerate."
"He's invited
Monica?
" Toni
asked. "He's going to marry Angie in the presence of— "
Toni shook her head. "I guess that's his style. A Roman
triumph."
"I'm not sure," said Bat. "He may have it in mind just
to collect around him the people he cares most about."
"For his wedding."
"Right. And more news. Jo-Ann is pregnant."
"Lucky girl," said Toni, half sarcastically, half not.
As she always did, Toni pulled her panties back on after they had
sex. That was an idiosyncrasy of hers that had always amused Bat. He
had first undressed her twelve years ago, and in those twelve years
she had not gained weight; nothing had loosened or slackened. She
wore her hair shorter. She had developed a few very fine lines around
her eyes, but instead of detracting from the beauty of her face they
lent it character.
He picked up his shorts, then smiled and tossed them aside. Another
of her idiosyncrasies was that she enjoyed seeing him naked. He had
gained a few pounds. The fact was, he had been too thin when he came
back to Harvard after the war. Over the years his scars had faded and
lost most of their color. Toni seemed not even to notice them
anymore. In the small, warm, cozy rooms of her Georgetown apartment,
he enjoyed being naked. Besides, he could expect she would want his
penis again before long, for something or other.
They returned to her living room, where she poked at the coals in her
little marble-faced fireplace and set the fire blazing again. Bat
poured Courvoisier into two snifters, and they sat together on the
couch.
"Bobby Kennedy will hang on to Jimmy Hoffa like a bulldog,"
she said. "One thing, though. We've got to worry about one
thing."
"What's that?"
"The 1960 election. Dick Nixon is hand in glove with Hoffa.
He'll drop the prosecutions. He might even pardon him."
"So your friend Kennedy has to be elected President. You'll have
a tough time selling that idea to Jonas Cord."
Toni lowered her face to Bat's stomach, took his penis in her hand,
and began to lick gently, languidly, manifestly not anxious to bring
him along quickly. He caressed the back of her neck.
"I'll come to the ranch with you for Christmas," she said.
"But I've got to go to Florida before or after and spend some
time there. Morgana insists I must come."
"Problem?" he asked.
"You know Morgana. She's always thought it was her business to
arrange my life."
"So what's she arranging now?"
"She's been talking to some people at the
Miami
Herald
. There's a possibility I'll be the Washington
correspondent for the
Herald
. There's even a possibility I'll
be political editor."
"Meaning live in Florida," he said.
She had slipped his penis inside her mouth, so she answered,
"Mmm-hmm."
"Toni."
"Hmm?"
"Do I have to remind you I love you?"
She pulled her face back. "I love you, too," she said. "I
always have. I actually tried to stop loving you. You're not the
ideal man to be in love with, you know."
"I am capable of being more than one kind of idiot," he
said.
She ran the tip of her tongue from his scrotum to his foreskin. "This
conversation is getting very serious, Bat," she said softly.
"I want to marry you. I want us to have a home and children."
"It can be arranged," she said. "You could take the
Florida bar exam. You could do worse than live in a home on a Fort
Lauderdale canal. We can work together, work it out. You don't need
Jonas."
"
He
needs
me
," said Bat.
"Right," Toni sighed. "A thought like that can ruin
everything."
JONAS CORD AND ANGELA WYATT WERE MARRIED WITH simple formalities at
the ranch house on Christmas eve. A justice of the peace arrived
about seven o'clock and performed the short ceremony in the presence
of Bat and Toni, Jo-Ann and Ben, Sonja and Virgilio, Monica and Bill.
Angie cut a wedding cake and fed the first slice to Jonas as was
traditional. Afterward, the company did not sit down to a dinner but
nibbled from a buffet. They mixed and talked.
Toni was touched to see how proud Jonas was of Angie — and how
protective of her. He had changed still more. He was the picture of a
man who had recovered from a heart attack but was alert for the signs
of another one. He was thin. He was more economical in his movements,
even with his words. But nothing diminished his force. He was, as
always, the focus of the assembled group — no longer as the
lion in winter; no, as the lion scarred but recovered from his
wounds, fit and ready to do battle.
This was Angie's and Jonas's happy occasion, and Toni and Bat had
agreed not to distract any attention from it by announcing their own
plans to marry. They would keep that word for later. Bat had told his
mother, and Toni had told her parents, but no one else knew.
Jonas saw Toni standing alone by the Christmas tree studying the
ornaments — probably comparing them to the strings of popcorn
Robair and Nevada used to put on a tree. He walked over, took her
hand, and squeezed it warmly. "You're more beautiful every time
I see you," he said.
"Why, thank you, Mr. Cord. You are more distinctively handsome
every time I see you," she said.