The Raiders

by Гарольд Роббинс

  "Assuming we're going to," said Bat.

  6

  Senator John McClellan presided over the Select Committee on Improper Activities in the Labor or Management Field — usually known as the McClellan Committee. He placed much confidence in his committee counsel, Robert Francis Kennedy, and allowed the young man a great deal of latitude in pursuing whatever lines of inquiry he thought proper. The senator knew that his young counsel had chosen the Teamsters Union as his bête noire, but he didn't care; the Teamsters was a Republican union. Anyway, Bobby Kennedy's dogged investigation of the Teamsters and now Jimmy Hoffa had won the committee a vast amount of admiring publicity.

  Two men could hardly have been more unlike than John L. McClellan and Robert F. Kennedy. The senior senator from Arkansas was a courtly but competitive gentleman with a tall bald dome of a head and dark horn-rimmed glasses. The lawyer from Massachusetts was a sandy-haired Irishman with chipmunk teeth and a flat Boston accent. But they worked together to their mutual advantage.

  In the cocky, sarcastic Jimmy Hoffa they had found themselves a whipping boy both of them could use. When he appeared before the committee, the news media covered every word.

  "Mr. Hoffa, in previous testimony you have identified the Central States Pension Fund as a trust fund in which money collected from union members and employers is deposited in trust to provide members of the Teamsters Union their, uh, retirement benefits. Is that not correct?"

  In order to sit with his legs crossed and yet be close enough to the microphone on his table, Hoffa sat with his chair turned to the left and spoke into the microphone over his shoulder. He grinned and nodded. "That's right, Counsel. You did hear me testify to that before."

  "Yay-uss. And you are a trustee of that fund, are you not, Mr. Hoffa?"

  "As I testified before," said Hoffa.

  "How do you invest the pension fund?" asked Kennedy.

  "In a variety of things. I testified about that before, too."

  "Specifically, Mr. Hoffa, has the fund invested in a project to build a hotel and gambling casino in Las Vegas, Nevada?"

  "Absolutely. There's a lot of profit in those hotels."

  Bobby Kennedy's eyes shifted from Hoffa to the second row of chairs in the hearing room, where Toni Maxim sat. His glance met hers.

  "In order for that investment to make a profit, though, you will have to get a license from the Nevada Gaming Commission," said Kennedy. "Isn't that so?"

  Hoffa nodded. "That is so. But it's no problem."

  "Well, let's see if it's a problem, Mr. Hoffa. You have already filed an application for the license, and in your application you list the officers and directors of the company you have formed to operate the casino."

  "The stock will be held by the fund," said Hoffa. "The profits will be paid as dividends. That will enrich the fund. My members will benefit."

  "They may if you get the license."

  "We'll get the license," said Hoffa with a twisted, toothy smile.

  "Well, let's see," said Kennedy. "Are you familiar with the terms of Nevada Statute Number 571 dash 1302?"

  "I don't try to memorize all the laws, Counsel. Maybe you do. I guess that's your business: to know as many laws as you can. I have other problems."

  "The Nevada statute I'm citing to you, Mr. Hoffa, is the one that says a gaming license cannot be issued to any individual with a felony record — nor to any organization which has such an individual among its officers or on its board of directors. You are familiar with that, are you not?"

  "I've heard of it, Counsel."

  "Yay-uss. Aren't you concerned about the felony record of one of your corporate officers?"

  Hoffa swung around and leaned toward the microphone. "None of my officers has a felony record, Mr. Kennedy."

  "Way-ull, let's see about that. What about Mr. Maurice Cohen?"

  Hoffa grinned. "You blew that one, Counsel. There's no Cohen associated with our company."

  Kennedy opened a file folder that had lain before him all during the questioning of Hoffa. He glanced again at Toni. "The man who calls himself Morris Chandler," he said, "is in fact one Maurice Cohen. Mr. Cohen has a criminal record, supplied to this committee by the FBI. He served a year in prison in Louisiana many years ago for larceny. He served more than two years in the Ohio Penitentiary for violation of the National Prohibition Act. In addition to that he served time for public vagrancy in Texas. His FBI sheet says also that he was a member of the Purple Gang. Were you unaware of this when you made him an officer of your hotel corporation, Mr. Hoffa?"

  "I sure as hell was," said Hoffa. "If all that's true — which I doubt — it's news to me."

  Kennedy closed the file. "I believe the Nevada Gaming Commission will say it was something you were supposed to find out before you employed Mr. Cohen."

  "Okay," said Hoffa. "Let me tell you somethin'. Cord Hotels owns one Vegas casino-hotel and is buildin' another one. One of the directors of that company is a Mrs. Wyatt. Okay. Mrs. Wyatt didn't do time 'many years ago' like you say Mr. Chandler did. She did hers not so long ago. And it wasn't for sellin' liquor during Prohibition, either. Mrs. Wyatt went to the federal pokey for stealin' mail outa mailboxes! Check it, Counsel. Check somethin' more. When she was arrested, she had counterfeit money in her possession. Who's clean, Mr. Kennedy? Not your friends the Cords either!"

  7

  Toni opened her door and welcomed Bat into her Washington apartment. They had agreed it might not be wise for them to meet in his hotel or to go to dinner in a restaurant — not right now.

  "I'm sorry, Bat," she said. "I really am. I didn't realize I was opening a can of worms."

  He tossed his coat on a chair. "My father's answer to that is to hell with it; he's glad we did it. So Angie resigned from the board."

  "Poor Angie."

  "She's getting something better," said Bat. "He's marrying her. Christmas Eve. At the ranch."

  Toni sat down on her couch. "Jesus ... Last year I wasn't sure he'd make it through 1958."

  "It's been a good year for him. Being active in the business again, having a fight on his hands ... He thrives on it. It's what he cares about."

  "I'm surprised it's at the ranch again," she said.

  "He did talk about selling it," said Bat. "He didn't think there could be another Christmas there. Now he's glad he didn't sell. And I suppose the ranch is the closest thing he's ever had to a home. There'll be the party. We're all invited. Even Monica."

  "I'm not sure I can come this year, Bat," she said. "My father and mother— "

  "Toni," he interrupted. "You must come. My mother will be there. And my stepfather, Virgilio Escalante. My mother hasn't seen you since we were at Cambridge. She wants to see you. Besides ... it may be the last time I'll be there for Christmas. The old man and I are pretty close to an end."

  "I can't believe that."

  "Do believe it. There's only so much I can tolerate."

  "He's invited Monica?" Toni asked. "He's going to marry Angie in the presence of— " Toni shook her head. "I guess that's his style. A Roman triumph."

  "I'm not sure," said Bat. "He may have it in mind just to collect around him the people he cares most about."

  "For his wedding."

  "Right. And more news. Jo-Ann is pregnant."

  "Lucky girl," said Toni, half sarcastically, half not.

  8

  As she always did, Toni pulled her panties back on after they had sex. That was an idiosyncrasy of hers that had always amused Bat. He had first undressed her twelve years ago, and in those twelve years she had not gained weight; nothing had loosened or slackened. She wore her hair shorter. She had developed a few very fine lines around her eyes, but instead of detracting from the beauty of her face they lent it character.

  He picked up his shorts, then smiled and tossed them aside. Another of her idiosyncrasies was that she enjoyed seeing him naked. He had gained a few pounds. The fact was, he had been too thin when he came back to Harvard after the war. Over th
e years his scars had faded and lost most of their color. Toni seemed not even to notice them anymore. In the small, warm, cozy rooms of her Georgetown apartment, he enjoyed being naked. Besides, he could expect she would want his penis again before long, for something or other.

  They returned to her living room, where she poked at the coals in her little marble-faced fireplace and set the fire blazing again. Bat poured Courvoisier into two snifters, and they sat together on the couch.

  "Bobby Kennedy will hang on to Jimmy Hoffa like a bulldog," she said. "One thing, though. We've got to worry about one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "The 1960 election. Dick Nixon is hand in glove with Hoffa. He'll drop the prosecutions. He might even pardon him."

  "So your friend Kennedy has to be elected President. You'll have a tough time selling that idea to Jonas Cord."

  Toni lowered her face to Bat's stomach, took his penis in her hand, and began to lick gently, languidly, manifestly not anxious to bring him along quickly. He caressed the back of her neck.

  "I'll come to the ranch with you for Christmas," she said. "But I've got to go to Florida before or after and spend some time there. Morgana insists I must come."

  "Problem?" he asked.

  "You know Morgana. She's always thought it was her business to arrange my life."

  "So what's she arranging now?"

  "She's been talking to some people at the Miami Herald. There's a possibility I'll be the Washington correspondent for the Herald. There's even a possibility I'll be political editor."

  "Meaning live in Florida," he said.

  She had slipped his penis inside her mouth, so she answered, "Mmm-hmm."

  "Toni."

  "Hmm?"

  "Do I have to remind you I love you?"

  She pulled her face back. "I love you, too," she said. "I always have. I actually tried to stop loving you. You're not the ideal man to be in love with, you know."

  "I am capable of being more than one kind of idiot," he said.

  She ran the tip of her tongue from his scrotum to his foreskin. "This conversation is getting very serious, Bat," she said softly.

  "I want to marry you. I want us to have a home and children."

  "It can be arranged," she said. "You could take the Florida bar exam. You could do worse than live in a home on a Fort Lauderdale canal. We can work together, work it out. You don't need Jonas."

  "He needs me," said Bat.

  "Right," Toni sighed. "A thought like that can ruin everything."

  28

  1

  JONAS CORD AND ANGELA WYATT WERE MARRIED WITH simple formalities at the ranch house on Christmas eve. A justice of the peace arrived about seven o'clock and performed the short ceremony in the presence of Bat and Toni, Jo-Ann and Ben, Sonja and Virgilio, Monica and Bill. Angie cut a wedding cake and fed the first slice to Jonas as was traditional. Afterward, the company did not sit down to a dinner but nibbled from a buffet. They mixed and talked.

  Toni was touched to see how proud Jonas was of Angie — and how protective of her. He had changed still more. He was the picture of a man who had recovered from a heart attack but was alert for the signs of another one. He was thin. He was more economical in his movements, even with his words. But nothing diminished his force. He was, as always, the focus of the assembled group — no longer as the lion in winter; no, as the lion scarred but recovered from his wounds, fit and ready to do battle.

  This was Angie's and Jonas's happy occasion, and Toni and Bat had agreed not to distract any attention from it by announcing their own plans to marry. They would keep that word for later. Bat had told his mother, and Toni had told her parents, but no one else knew.

  Jonas saw Toni standing alone by the Christmas tree studying the ornaments — probably comparing them to the strings of popcorn Robair and Nevada used to put on a tree. He walked over, took her hand, and squeezed it warmly. "You're more beautiful every time I see you," he said.

  "Why, thank you, Mr. Cord. You are more distinctively handsome every time I see you," she said.

  Jonas grinned. "One of the things I most like about you," he said, "is that you're a first-rate bullshit artist. I wish Bat would learn something of that art from you. But I'm serious. You are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. And, for God's sake, quit calling me Mr. Cord. To be called that by the most beautiful woman in a party — with the possible exception of my Angie — is a complete put-down."

  "Jonas ... Do you really think so? Most beautiful— "

  "Absolutely. The dress is exquisite."

  "Bat bought it for me, for tonight."

  "The boy learns ... gradually."

  In their bedroom before they came out for the ceremony, Bat had unpacked a peach-colored cocktail dress embroidered with silver thread. She was not so obsessed with modesty as to deny it was beautiful and she was beautiful in it.

  Bat was as protective of Toni tonight as his father was of Angie, and seeing her in earnest conversation with Jonas, he broke away from Jo-Ann, Monica, and her friend Bill Toller, picked up two fresh Scotches, and crossed the room toward his father.

  "I know where Chandler is," he said to Jonas, adding to Toni, "Sorry. A word about business."

  "What about Chandler?" Jonas asked, not disguising that he didn't want to know this evening but was compelled to now, since his son had so insensitively mentioned it.

  "He's in Rhode Island," said Bat. "Since gambling is not legal in Rhode Island, there's no such thing as a gaming license, and his felony record is no impediment to his managing a joint some people have there. It's quite a place. People come from Boston, even from as far away as Hartford to gamble and consort with the hookers."

  "He landed on his feet," said Jonas.

  "If you want to call becoming a big duck in a very little pond landing on your feet, I suppose he did."

  Monica joined them. Toni renewed her judgment that Monica was a brittle bitch. "I love your dress," she said to Toni with the same condescending edge in her voice she had used when she said the same thing to Angie. She herself wore a black dress of undistinguished style — unless showing extraordinary cleavage was style. "Where's your bride, Jonas?"

  Angie was at the bar pouring a small new drink of bourbon for Jonas. She came to Jonas and handed him the glass. She wore pink brocade and was easily the most beautiful woman in the house, Jonas's compliment to Toni notwithstanding. "I appreciate your all being here this evening," she said, directing the comment particularly toward Monica.

  "I wouldn't have missed it for the world," said Monica.

  "I'm taking Angie to London and Paris for a wedding trip," said Jonas.

  "I haven't been to Paris in ages," said Monica.

  Bat had noticed his mother standing near the buffet table, glancing around, apparently briefly at a loss to know who to talk to, though she had already clearly demonstrated she was not in the least discomfited by the company. He broke away from the group around his father and led Toni toward his mother. "Madre," he said opening his arms. She smiled and entered between his outstretched arms for a warm embrace.

  "Boston," Sonja said to Toni.

  "Yes, it's been a long time since we've seen each other," said Toni. "Too long."

  "I'm very happy about your news," she said quietly. "You haven't told Jonas, though, have you?"

  Toni shook her head. "Not yet."

  Toni had met Sonja when she came to the States to visit Bat when he was at Harvard. She'd been in her forties then and was in her fifties now: a woman of presence and poise and possessed of a rare, almost unique beauty. With her form-fitting silver lamé cocktail dress she wore a massive turquoise-and-silver squash-blossom necklace. Toni had watched her talking with Jonas earlier. She yielded nothing to him but treated him as an old friend.

  Jonas walked away from Monica and brought Angie to the buffet table. "I'm about to be made a grandfather," he said to Sonja. He nodded toward Jo-Ann.

  "Congratulations to both of you," said Sonja.

&nb
sp; During the flight to Nevada, Bat had told Toni that Jo-Ann was a defeated woman. She had married as an act of defiance, only to see her husband captured by the gravity of Jonas and now dutifully circling him like a satellite. He had said he wasn't sure she wanted to be pregnant, either. "The name is cursed," Bat had said bitterly.

  2

  Monica said something similar to Jo-Ann a little later, when they stood apart by the window, looking out over a bleak landscape where no snow lay.

  The next thing she said was "He dotes on his bastard."

  Jo-Ann shrugged. "A blessing from heaven."

  "Remember something," said Monica. "More bastards may show up, especially when he dies. But you're the only legitimate child he has. He can't shut you out of your inheritance."

  "Yes, he can," said Jo-Ann. "I've talked with lawyers about it. By will. If it's drafted right, and executed right, he can leave everything he's got to Angie, or to Bat, or to whoever he wants."

  "You mean he can leave you to the tender mercies of his bastard?"

  "You're not very observant," said Jo-Ann.

  "Meaning what?"

  "He doesn't like Bat as well as you think he does. Can't you see the tension between them? If it weren't for this wedding, this joyous occasion, they'd be at each other's throats. They may be heading toward a complete breakup."

  Monica laughed. "We can always hope so."

  Jo-Ann shook her head. "I'm not sure I hope so."

  3

  "A few minutes," Jonas said to Bat. "I want to talk to you alone for a few minutes."

  Jonas ushered Bat into the little office he kept in the ranch house. He closed and latched the door. "This ought to be a happy day for me," he said as he sat down in a chair covered with cracked black leather. "I don't want anybody out there to see it isn't."