Part 13 (2/2)
”How many times have you been into Sir Edward's joint?”
”Just once, my last trip in, three months ago.”
”What was the occasion?”
”Meeting of the board. Finance matters.”
”Who'd you bring in?”
”Manny Walters and his legal eagles.”
”Manny the Muck?” The same.”
”What's Detroit got going down here?”
”Bit of juice, I hear, among other things.”
”You don't mean nickel and dime juice.”
”h.e.l.l no, big league stuff. Unofficial loans for off-the-record business enterprises And the take is high. I hear as much as thirty percent in some cases.”
”The Haitian government condona* that?”
Grimaldi shrugged ”What the h.e.l.l is the government? In a country like this one, especially. Look, Bolan. Get the picture. The black people in our country have been screaming about white repression of blacks and all that jazz-and I'm not saying they shouldn't. They're right. Every guy has a right to his own shot at life, his own way. That's not the point. Here's a country that's all black. But it's not very beautiful down here. It's misery and poverty and repression like no American black man has experienced in this century. And he's getting it from his his ovn brothers, see. I mean, when you speak of ovn brothers, see. I mean, when you speak of the the Hsitian government, you're talking about a gang rf thieves and cutthroats with licenses.” Hsitian government, you're talking about a gang rf thieves and cutthroats with licenses.”
”Okay, I have that picture,” Bolan said.
”They're all on the take.”
”Is Sir Edward a black man?”
”I told you I didn't know, dammit.”
”What's his real name?”
”I don't know. In Haiti, he's Sir Edward Stuart. That's all I know.”
”But he is not a citizen of Haiti.”
”No, h.e.l.l no. Look, Port au Prince is just the center. Everything down here revolves around that center.”
”Who does Sir Edward belong to?” Bolan asked quietly.
Grimaldi snorted and replied, ”It's the other way around, friend. Look, he's bigger than-look, get the picture straight, huh? Sir Edward Stuart is not a Mafioso* Mafioso*
”I understood that.”
”A private pilot is like a bodyguard, you know. We hear all kind of stuff-but we're supposed to pretend that our ears are missing. This Sir Edward is an international biggee. I thought you knew that.”
”I do. Who else is getting burned-other than the people of Haiti.”
Grimaldi sighed. ”Everybody, man. Cuba, even, and that's a whole ball game of its own. Fidel thinks he's got Cuba snookered. The poor sap. I could tell Fidel, capitalism is flouris.h.i.+ng in his living room. And it's black money, and it's moving through Cuba like Ex-Lax.”
”Panama bankers?”
The pilot nodded. ”Same laws as Switzerland, you know. h.e.l.l, it's tailor-made for the Caribbean takeover.”
”Then it really is a take-over,” Bolan mused.
”You'd better know it is. Did you ever notice the way the good money always flows behind the blood money? Watch the so-called legit businessmen swarming toward the good thing. They know.”
”What do you know about the Mediterranean tie-in?”
”What the h.e.l.l is this, Bolan?” Grimaldi asked irritably. ”A pump job or a hit?”
”It all figures in, Jack. The more I know, the better I can operate. What's this stuff about the Med?”
The pilot sighed and replied, ”Just talk, that's all I know. A word here and there, a joke, a slip, it doesn't amount to much.”
”Give.”
”They just call it 'the island.' Somewhere in the Med, I don't know where. Someplace around Italy, I think-or maybe it's Greece. h.e.l.l, I don't know. The international Commissione Commissione meets there, I hear. It's like a little UN. But it's more than Mafia, bigger than Cosa Nostra. I don't know just how it's structured. But it's a cartel, Bolan. The world monopoly on organized crime. And it's big, daddy, it's d.a.m.n big* meets there, I hear. It's like a little UN. But it's more than Mafia, bigger than Cosa Nostra. I don't know just how it's structured. But it's a cartel, Bolan. The world monopoly on organized crime. And it's big, daddy, it's d.a.m.n big*
”And Tel Aviv?”
Grimaldi smiled sourly and said, ”s.h.i.+t you do have big ears. That guy is officially retired, I hear. He requested and received political sanctuary under the Israeli charter. You know, the inviolate home of the international jew. The Israeli government doesn't like it, I hear... I mean, giving refuge to a guy like him... but they're stuck with it, gored by their own const.i.tution.”
”Is he retired?” he retired?”
”That guy?” Grimaldi snickered. ”Does a shark turn into a goldfish in its old age?” guy?” Grimaldi snickered. ”Does a shark turn into a goldfish in its old age?”
Bolan muttered, ”It just goes on and on, doesn't it.”
”Make you feel like you're trying to dam the tide with t.u.r.ds?”
Bolan growled, ”Sometimes, yeah. But then I remember.”
”You remember what?”
”I'm not here to cure, just to kill.”
Grimaldi shook away a s.h.i.+ver and said, ”Well, you do that pretty well. And Sir Edward is next on tap. Right?”
”Right. You get me in there, Jack. That's all I ask.”
”You don't want me to get you out?”
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