“Yeah, well, I still say you should reconsider this reconciliation thing, my brother. You know she shot the balls off her last significant other.”
“Urban legend,” John insisted, with the ghost of a grin.
“Hey – turns out you CAN make a candle out of earwax. But I digress.”
“Sorry about your moms, man.”
“On the upside,” Vinnie said, “she doesn’t have to watch her son become the total loser we always knew he could be.”
“They cut you loose too?” John was surprised.
“Minus the use of deadly force, but yeah. “
“Because of us? Because…” John waited for Vinnie to fill in the blanks.
“Like I said, minus the deadly force, so I’m guessing no. No, definitely no, because this was across the board. Flat on my keister two months now. Subspace chatter says some kind of hostile takeover. ‘The Firm,’ it seems, is now ‘The Family.’”
“Sounds cozy and dysfunctional,” John said.
“A lot like shock therapy,” Vinnie nodded. “A bottom-line reorg they called it. Apparently we cost too much.”
“Hell, they already had us on a contract basis,” John objected.
“That was outsourcing. THIS is offshoring. Keep up!”
“Whoa. Wait. They can’t do that. This stuff – they have to keep this stuff domestic. You don’t want foreign nationals running around doing our dirty work. That’s – un-American!”
“Nugatory, rubber duck. National security is no longer job security. We’ve been downsized, privatized, streamlined, and globalized. I’ve heard it’s a total business-to-business operation now, all done by computer. They put a job out for a bid to pre-qualified non-governmental parties and the lowball wins. Some of those South of the Border types are putting a hurt on us old timers; those muthas kill their dear old abuelas just for fun. Or for hassle-free drug-trafficking. No money down.”
“One hand sliming the other,” John said with disgust. “But speaking of contraband…” He gave Vinnie the box of Cuban cigars.
“Oh Pancho!” Vinnie said, deeply touched.
“Oh Cisco!” John rejoined, helping Vinnie light up. “U.S.S. Enterprise. Really?”
“Yeah,” Vinnie says, puffing away. “When I go, I just want them to beam me up…”
15 Last Train
One other seat at the rear of the car had its overhead light on, but that seat was empty. Finding herself in sole possession of first class, Jane decided to see if Bernie’s Blackberry would work after 10 p.m. on the last train to Zurich. Turned out it would - and was not password protected. Bernie, Bernie, Bernie. Jane just shook her head. John didn’t pick up, so she called Gerald.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dear, and hoping you’re not going to shoot the messenger,” Gerald began.
Jane stopped breathing, fearing the worst. “That can’t be good. Spit it out. Is it John?”
“Oh heaven’s no. Nothing of the sort. It’s just your SBA paperwork has gone missing again. So we’re going to have to start over on the loan. Again, I’m afraid.”
Jane exhaled. “How many times does this make?”
“Yes, I know. It’s really becoming something of a royal pain. It’s all being handled by private banks now, you see. They don’t let government do anything any more and as far as the banks are concerned it’s really so much more convenient to collect the processing fees and just keep their money, don’t you know.”
“And you call yourself a Tory,” Jane teased.
“Humph. I don’t know what to call myself any more. But this is Uncle Sam we’re talking about. Efficiency of the market and all that. Amazing what you Yanks put up with. My clients would cut me up for spare parts if I tried that on.”
“All I need is a name and a social,” Jane offered.
“My dear, don’t tempt me,” Gerald implored.
“Well, go ahead and try it again, I guess. Maybe five time’s a charm. Or is it six? But don’t tell John. It’s probably a screwy idea anyway.”
“He won’t hear it from me,” Gerald promised. “One more thing before you go. If you get a chance to stop by Switzerland or Monaco while you’re out and about, you might want to dip into your safe deposit box and send me a little something on account. Even fake credit cards have to be paid once in awhile. Ciao, Bella.”
Over her shoulder, a smooth and dangerous voice seemed to echo the words that no one else could have heard. A smooth and dangerous man slid into the seat facing hers.
“Ciao, Bella. Where’s your other half? In a coma? Six feet under? Or are you having him stuffed for over the fireplace?”
Totally unperturbed and without taking her eyes off the Blackberry, Jane calmly set about deleting her calls from the call log.
“James. Quelle surprise. How’re they hanging?”
“I get a phantom twinge every now and again. Yours?” James riposted.
“Solid brass. Never better.” She made a move to place the Blackberry back in her purse only to have James lean forward swiftly and intervene. He searched her purse with the thoroughness of long practice and, finding no weapon, sat back. Jane cocked her head at him quizzically as he relaxed and resumed the conversation.
“Glad to hear it. I have a little project I’m recruiting for.” Jane eyed him measuringly. “I’m waiting for the laugh track,” he prompted.
“I’m listening.”
“No questions? Comments?”
“You haven’t said anything yet.”
“That’s not usually a prerequisite.”
“OK, I’ll bite. Public or private?”
“Joint venture. Though in this case government is the junior partner. But I have to ask you again – where’s Mr. Doe?”
“Whence this new found obsession with spouses? Once upon a time I might have found it charming.”
“And now?”
“Irrelevant.” Jane raised her chin and spoke with icy precision. “At the moment Mr. Doe and I are following our separate destinies.”
“Sound marital policy,” James nodded approvingly. “Very post-modern of you. This is a long-term assignment heading up a new risk-management bureau. Triple the top GS-15 rate, full bennies, plus expenses.”
Jane raised both eyebrows and took a shot. “The great right-wing conspiracy pays handsomely then.”
“We prefer to think of it as the great right-wing synergy. And by the way - that whole left-right thing? So last millennium.”
“I’m more interested in that whole price on my head thing,” Jane confided with a touch of sarcasm.
“Oh that,” James conceded, as they reached the outskirts of Zurich and the blur of lights streaming past the windows slowed and resolved into an urgent Morse code that Jane could not quite read.