me," continued Marchetti.
"You came to me, I didn't go looking for you, lady. Do you want to bring her highness here up to speed, Mr. Computer Factory?"
All eyes glanced at the CEO of one of America's preeminent computer companies-most briefly.
"It was a meticulously researched decision," replied the slender man in the conservative gray suit.
"It was mandatory that we stop the progress being made by an inquisitive executive of mine, a black man we hired-obviously -for cosmetic purposes. He began to question our duplicate shipments to Munich-destination the Hausruckand even went so far as to trace the receivership, which, naturally, was convoluted. We couldn't fire him, of course, so I flew thousands of miles and met with Mr. Marchetti."
"Who did his own research," broke in the Don of Pontchartrain gently with a friendly smile.
"I mean, why whack a highly intelligent black guy with a lot of letters after his name? It didn't make sense.
So before the gentleman went into the arms of Jesus, I had my associates do a little investigating-like in breaking-and-entering his office at home.. .. Good heavens, Mr. Computer Factory, he was on to you, or close to it. His notes, which he kept locked in his desk, spelled everything out. You were shipping very sophisticated equipment, at virtual cost, to people no one ever heard of and which was picked up by people nobody knew. That was extremely sloppy, sir, if not downright unprofessional. The gentleman we speak of was about to alert the authorities in Washington.. .. However, we took care of your problem and you found a partner of sorts-'of sorts' being the operative phrase."
"I fail to see the connection," pressed the fashionably dressed Christian woman as if addressing a war ted frog.
"You fail once, lady, it's your fault. Twice, it's mine. Don't fail again."
"Really!"
"Please don't insult the both of us," continued Marchetti calmly.
"Our compares in Germany didn't learn where the shipments were going-a plus for your side-but they discovered who picked them up."
"I think enough has been said," interrupted the. mayor of a large northeastern city.
"You have no idea how crime and the minorities are constantly intermingled. Drastic measures are called for."
"Basta!" For the first time the Don raised his voice.
"Try education, real education! I'm a "Wop," a "Guinea," a dirty "Greaseball," and not too long ago we couldn't even apply for jobs, except for laying bricks and making gardens grow. Then came the smart ones, the Gianninis and the Fermis-the heritage of the Da Vincis, the Galileos, yes, even the Machiavellis. But you wouldn't accept us.. .. Don't tell me about the minorities, Mr. Mayorof-Quick Solutions like in blowing up the ghettos. I know history, you don't."
"Where is this getting us?" asked another frustrated mayor from a large city in Pennsylvania.
"I'll tell you where right now," said Marchetti.
"I don't like you and you don't like me. You consider me dirt, and I think you're assholes, but we can work together."
"Considering your objectionable outburst," said another woman, prim, and with her streaked hair pulled back into a stern bun, "I don't believe that is conceivable."
"Let me explain, dear lady." The Don of Pontchartrain leaned forward over the table, the separation of his jacket further revealing his hairy chest, his deep voice again quiet and soft.
"You want a country and its government-that's okay with me, I couldn't care less. What I want are the profits that come from controlling the country, the government. Quid pro quo. I leave you alone, you leave me alone. I do some dirty work for you-which I've done before and am prepared to do in the future-and you throw massive government contracts to those I tell you. It's as simple as that. Is it a problem?"
"Not that I can see," said the senator.
"I'm sure such precedents exist. One accommodates for the good of all."
"Naturally," agreed the Mafioso.
"Take Mussolini and Hitler, El Duce and the Rihrer, they were worlds apart, but they fueled the global profits of war. Unfortunately, they [email protected] both paranoid, filled with delusions of invincibility. We are not, for war is not on our agenda. We seek something else."
"How would you describe that, Mr. Marchetti?" asked the youngest man at the table, a crew-cut blond wearing the blazer of a prominent Massachusetts university.
"I'm a political science major, completing my doctorates little late, I'm afraid."
"Very simple, Mr. Alphabet, and not what you learn in school," answered the Don.
"Politics is influence and succmful politics is power, and political power is fundamentally money-what goes where and to whom. The socalled people,