Part 11 (2/2)
Blanca.n.a.les muttered, ”You want me to go back East and tell 'em that?”
The guy had moved away from the desk. He was standing spread-legged, coat gaping open, hands thrust into hip pockets, glowering at the man at the window. His eyes dropped, slowly, and his voice was dying away as he replied, ”No ... I guess I don't want you to do that.”
”That's just what we come to find out.”
”I can take the heat, if that's what's worrying you.”
Schwarz had risen from his chair and edged his backside onto the desk. With Thornton engrossed in the confrontation with eastern authority, he was quietly and swiftly taking the telephone apart.
”That ain't all,” Blanca.n.a.les was saying. ”We been waiting long enough for this deal. Now with Winters out of the picture, we have to wonder....”
”Don't worry, you'll get your stuff. With or without Winters. But listen-what's the name- DiCavoli?-listen, DiCavoli, this is no dime-store radio, you know. We're into defense security violation when we start messing around with this kind of gear.”
Schwarz's ears perked up at that. His work at the telephone was finished. He moved toward the other men and joined the conversation. ”That's right, Harry. It's not dime-store stuff.”
Blanca.n.a.les quickly picked up the play. ”A radio's a radio,” he sniffed. ”What's such a big deal?”
Thornton coldly returned Schwarz's gaze as he replied to the other ”Mafioso.” ”Mafioso.” ”An L-band feeder horn is a ”An L-band feeder horn is a h.e.l.l h.e.l.l of a big deal when you start stealing them from the military.” of a big deal when you start stealing them from the military.”
”Well we gotta know,” Blanca.n.a.les pushed on. ”Are you going to deliver or aren't you?”
”Of course I'm going to deliver! But, my G.o.d, you don't just muscle your way into-”
”It's heavy stuff, Harry,” Schwarz helpfully b.u.t.ted in. He was probing, now-feeling his way. At the same time, he was establis.h.i.+ng a sympathetic relations.h.i.+p with the harried millionaire who'd lingered too long near the tar pit. ”You can't pick up a feeder horn at the supermarket, y'know. This stuff is heavy, I mean heavy. heavy. What is it, Max -about six hundred megs?” What is it, Max -about six hundred megs?”
Thornton inclined his head in a deliberate nod. He was giving Schwarz a respectful examination now, wondering, pondering the enigma of a Tijuana pimp who spoke with an understanding of sophisticated communications gear.
Schwarz was ”explaining” to Blanca.n.a.les/DiCavoli. ”Y'see, these data links, you pencil-beam into a dish antenna up in the L-band, around six hundred megacycles. It's like a beam of light, only you don't see see it. You don't get no side lobes off the pulse envelopes, so there ain't much danger of the FCC or somebody latching onto you. Right, Max?” it. You don't get no side lobes off the pulse envelopes, so there ain't much danger of the FCC or somebody latching onto you. Right, Max?”
Thornton again nodded his head. ”It's foolproof,” he murmured.
”And the stuff is hard to come by,” Schwarz went on explaining. ”You don't just walk up and ask a government contractor to make you one. You'd have the FCC all over your a.s.s the second you tried to put it on the air-and in no time you'd have feds swarming all over your operation. What Max is saying is simply this: we gotta be patient while he carves one out of a contract. Right, Max?”
Thornton quietly replied, ”Yes. Just like the last one.”
”I guess I wasn't in on that one,” Blanca.n.a.les declared innocently.
”Just who are you people?” Thornton asked, his voice barely audible.
”We came with the man,” Blanca.n.a.les replied, dropping the street accent.
”What man?” Thornton asked wearily.
”Bolan,” Schwarz said, soberly studying their victim.
The guy walked jerkily back to his desk and sat down. He poured several fingers of Haig & & Haig into his gla.s.s and belted it, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Haig into his gla.s.s and belted it, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
”I've been there and back,” he declared quietly.
”But I sure talked myself into this one, didn't I?”
”Keep trying,” Blanca.n.a.les suggested. ”Maybe you'll talk your way out out of something.” of something.”
”You're in deep s.h.i.+t, Max,” Schwarz said gently.
The guy was trapped, and he knew it. He studied his empty gla.s.s for a moment, then raised resigned eyes to Gadgets Schwarz. ”I was born in s.h.i.+t,” he murmured.
”So now you got a chance to wipe yourself,” Schwarz told him. ”How about it?”
”Full redemption, huh?”
”We can't promise that.”
”All right,” the self-made millionaire muttered. ”Pa.s.s the toilet paper.”
14:
TAR.
Bolan's interrogation of Marsha Thornton was revealing very little in the nature of direct intelligence, but she was filling in quite a bit of background insight into the San Diego situation.
”Max is quite a bit older than I am, you know,” she told Bolan in that curious turned-off voice. ”I wouldn't mind that. I mean, I guess I love him. He's a perfect husband ... in every way but one. Gives me everything I want. Except himself. He... can't. So I have to go find that somewhere else.”
”And Max just turns his head, eh.”
”Yes. He understands. He just asks that I be ... discreet. I guess I've caused him a lot of embarra.s.sment, just the same.”
”It figures,” Bolan told her.
”Yes. Well, you'd have to know my husband to understand how gross gross all this could be for him. I mean, a man like him. Well... I have no apologies to make to anyone, except to Max I guess, and he won't let me. He simply understands. I've had a hunger ever since my b.o.o.bs started budding, Mr. Bolan. I can't turn it off. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm no nympho. But when I'm hungry, I'm hungry.” all this could be for him. I mean, a man like him. Well... I have no apologies to make to anyone, except to Max I guess, and he won't let me. He simply understands. I've had a hunger ever since my b.o.o.bs started budding, Mr. Bolan. I can't turn it off. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm no nympho. But when I'm hungry, I'm hungry.”
Bolan murmured, ”I can understand that.” He was getting a bit of an itch, himself.
”You probably think I'm a nympho,” she said, deadpanning a sidewise gaze in his direction. He got very few direct looks from this one. ”It's okay, you may as well think it. Everybody else does. I've been in a.n.a.lysis. My a.n.a.lyst says I am definitely not not a nympho.” a nympho.”
Bolan said, ”Okay.”
”I hated those hoods. They just kept hanging around Max. Oh, they never came through the front door ... don't worry. But they were always around, always popping up, always underfoot. We'd go out to dinner, and there they'd be. We'd go to a club, and there they'd be.” She sighed, a long painful effort. ”I guess I figured they may as well be in the bedroom, too. Instant manpower.”
Bolan told her, ”You don't have to get into this if you'd rather not. I had the Winters telephone tapped. I heard your conversation with Lisa this morning.”
That revelation drew not so much as a blink of the eyes. ”Lisa's a good kid. We're about the same age, you know. Body age, not soul age. G.o.d, my soul must be a million years old.”
Bolan could almost believe it.
<script>