Gold Coast

That was similar to what Mr Mancuso had told me. That assurance must come with government work. They must know something I don't know. I replied, "And I would be happy to sit on the jury." I held the door open for him. He took another step toward the door, then again turned to me. "Perhaps I could use your services one day. I do very well, you understand, but I have no law degree."

"Which is why you do very well, instead of just fairly well."

He chuckled. "You're well-known in the Manhattan IRS office. Did you know that?" I suspected I was, but didn't know for certain. I asked, "Do they throw darts at my picture?"

"Actually, when I worked there, we had a whole wall in the coffee room captioned "Rogues' Gallery."' He smiled, but I was not amused. He added, "Not photos, of course, but names and Social Security numbers. Not of tax cheats, you understand, but of attorneys and CPAs who beat the IRS at their own game. They don't like that. So, you see, I knew you, or of you, before I heard from you." He paused, then said, "So, it is ironic, is it not, that you should find yourself in need of tax assistance from me?"

Irony to me often smells like a put-up job, and that's what he was hinting at.

So I asked him, "Do you believe this case is a personal vendetta against me?"

He let a meaningful second pass before answering, "Who can say for sure? Bureaucrats can be so petty. The point is, even if they did single you out, they did find something, did they not? Even if it is a technicality." A rather expensive technicality. Well, if the only fitting death for a lion tamer is to get eaten by a lion, then the only fitting financial death for a tax man is to get eaten by the IRS.

Mr Melzer returned to his original subject and asked, "I would like to call on you for advice."

This was hardly the moment to tell him to fuck off, so I said, "I'm available for my usual hourly rate."

"Good. And would you be available for more extensive work? For instance, would you consider forming a limited partnership?"

Mamma mia, I was getting more offers than a Twelfth Avenue whore. I replied wryly, "I hardly think that a man who is facing charges of tax fraud would be an asset to you, Mr Melzer."

"You're too modest."

"You're too kind."

"Mr Sutter, I could double your present income in the first year."

"So could I, Mr Melzer, if I chose to. Good evening."

He took the heavy hint, put it around his neck, and left with a hanging head. I felt I needed a shower, but made a drink instead. I loosened my tie and sat in my armchair, wiping my forehead with a handkerchief. These old houses, all stone and with no duct work, are nearly impossible to air-condition properly, and my study was hot in the July heat. I could get a few window air conditioners, I suppose, but that looks tacky, and people around here are more concerned with appearances than comfort. That's why we wear ties and jackets in the heat. Sometimes I think we're crazy. Sometimes I know we are. I sipped on a gin and tonic, my summer drink, made with real Schweppes quinine to ward off malaria, and real Boodles gin to ward off reality. Double your present income. My God, I thought, this used to be a nation that produced useful goods, built railroads and steamships, and subdued a continent. Now we perform silly services, make paper deals, and squander the vast accumulated capital of two hundred years of honest labour. If Melzer could double my income to about $600,000, then Melzer must be good for over a million himself. And what did he do for that million? He fixed tax problems that were in large part created by people like himself. And the bozo probably went to a second-rate state university and squeaked out a degree in accounting. I made myself another drink.

Communism was dead, and American capitalism had a bad cough. So who and what would inherit the earth? Not the meek, as the Reverend Mr Hu

People like the Stanhopes might survive because their ancestors had stashed away enough acorns to last for a long time. People like Bellarosa might survive if they could make deals with the new wolves in the woods. Evolution, not revolution. That was what America was all about. But you had to evolve fast. I took my gin and tonic and went out on the back terrace. Susan, who had taken to drinking Campari and soda this summer (probably because it was served at Alhambra), joined me outside. She asked, "Is everything all right?" "Yes. But I need to borrow twenty thousand from you."

"I'll have a cheque drawn to you tomorrow."

"Thank you. I'll have it back to you as soon as I unload some stocks. What is your interest rate?"

"The vig is one percent a week, compounded daily, and you got ninety days to pay up the principal or I break your legs." She laughed.

I glanced at her. "Where did you learn that? Next door?"

"No, no. I'm reading a book about the Mafia."

"Why?"

"Why? You read books on local trees, I read books on local wildlife." She added, "Those wiseguys are not nice people."

"No kidding."

"But they make much better interest on their investments than my stupid trustees do."

"So tell Bellarosa you want to capitalize his loan-sharking." She thought a moment, then said, "Somehow, I think Frank is different. He's trying to go a hundred-percent legitimate."

"He told you that?"

"Of course not. A

She shrugged. "Did you see that article in today's Times?

"Yes. Are you reading the newspapers now?"

"Someone told me to read that."

"I see." The article in question concerned an a

"I see." Neither of them had come home directly after school. Carolyn had gone to the summer home of her roommate's parents in Cape Cod, and Edward had remained at St Paul's for some vague reason, probably having to do with a girl. I asked Susan, "Where are they going in a few weeks?" "Carolyn is going to Cuba with a student exchange group to promote world peace and perfect her Spanish. Edward and some other graduating seniors are going to Cocoa Beach where there is a house available to them. I don't think they're going to promote world peace."