The Godfather returns

Soon, though, the worst of the controversy passed-the whole operation had been approved by Jimmy’s predecessor anyway, something he’d inherited that was too far along to stop-and Corbett Shea sent word that the president was pla

“Much deserved, I might add,” Joh

“My wife!” the Ambassador said, guffawing. He’d been to Fontane’s place in Beverly Hills a few times and was as randy an old guy as you’d ever want to meet.

He arrived a few days later with only his Secret Service detail. He sat out by the pool in the nude, making long distance calls almost nonstop, visibly pissed off nearly all the time but keeping his voice down. Here and there, he took a few minutes off and went up to his room for a session with one of the high-class pros Joh

Truckloads of food and beverages arrived for the impending visit. The day before the president left for his trip west, Joh

“What in hell are you going to do with that?”

“What do you think, Corbett? I have a crew on their way over right now to bolt it over the headboard in the room where Jimmy’s staying. I was going to put quotation marks around slept, but I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”

The Ambassador frowned. “Kind of big, don’t you think?”

“Look around, Corbett. The biggest and the best of everything. My friends are worth nothing less.”

The Ambassador shook his head. “There must have been a misunderstanding, John. Jimmy’s not coming.”

That cracked Joh

“You deaf, you stupid Guinea? He’s not coming. I never said he was. You invited me out here, and I came. Jimmy has too many other matters to contend with right now. He’s going to make that speech, but there’s not going to be time for a vacation. Even if there is, it’s a bad idea for him to be seen in a town like Las Vegas or at the home of… well, at your home.”

“What’s wrong with my home? What are you talking about?”

But Fontane had it figured out now.

“You know we all appreciate everything you’ve done for us,” the Ambassador said.

“That sounds a hell of a lot like a kiss-off.”

“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding, John. Blame that cocksucker in Cuba. He embarrassed my boy. We’re looking into what we can do for revenge. You Italians understand that, though, right? Revenge?”

What did that cocksucker in Cuba have to do with such a titanic act of rudeness? “Who did you think all this food was for? All these-”

“How the hell would I know?” He stood up, letting his towel fall, stark naked with his arms outstretched. He was a large but frail man. Why an old goat like this was determined to go around all the time with his shriveled prick flapping in the wind, Joh

Joh

Early the next morning, the Ambassador left without saying good-bye.

On the outside, Joh

The president gave the speech. Joh

But at the end of the story, the reporter said the president would be spending the next week in Malibu, vacationing at the home of a Princeton classmate of his, a lawyer who-according to the reporter-“is a direct descendent of President John Adams.”

Fontane watched in stu

You stupid Guinea.

Then he flicked off the television and went out to the workshop the construction crews had been using. The crate of TNT they’d used to blow a hole in the rock that had been where the second pool now was had only two sticks left. He’d never used TNT before but was far too furious to be afraid, at least until he lit the first stick and saw the flame racing down the wick. He heaved it, and it landed dead bang in the middle of the helipad. The air rained sand and fist-sized chunks of cement.

You stupid Guinea.

After the second stick, the helipad was pretty much a crater.

Chapter 26

TOM HAGEN, early for his tee time, ducked into the country club restaurant for coffee. He ordered two cups, as was his habit, so he wouldn’t be at anyone’s mercy for a refill.

“Mr. Hagen!” a voice called.

Hagen turned around. “Mr. Ambassador,” he said, approaching the old man’s table, hand outstretched. Corbett Shea was at a table with Secret Service men. “What a pleasant surprise.” It was a secret, apparently, that he’d been staying at Joh

“My foundation is considering a request to build a theater building at the university here,” he said. “I was so shocked Las Vegas even had a university, much less a theater department, I had to come out and see it for myself. Sit.”

Like he was a goddamned dog. But that was the Ambassador. Hagen got the waiter’s attention, then sat. “I just have a minute. Early tee time.”

The Ambassador raised his cup. “Never too early for tea.”

Hagen smiled. “Coffee man, myself,” he said. “You a member here?”

The Ambassador cringed, as if Hagen had asked him if he’d ever fucked a chicken.

“Your son’s doing a magnificent job,” Hagen said. “I wasn’t in Washington long, but it was long enough to know how hard it is to get things done, especially things that might really make a difference in the lives of average Americans.”

This launched the Ambassador into a litany of (Cuba-free) fatherly bragging. Hagen had been sincere, though. His kids had pictures of President Shea on their walls, next to rock-and-roll singers, movie stars, and Jesus. As tainted as the election had been and as callow as Jimmy Shea seemed, Hagen had been astonished to see how swiftly he’d become a great leader. It reminded Hagen of when he was teaching Michael to take over for his father.

Hagen finished his second cup. He had to go. “Are you in town long?” he asked.

“On my way out, actually,” he said. “Couple quick meetings, and I head out of this desert hellhole for California.”