When the next communication request came from the Fickle Finger, it was put through to the waiting Don Chamaeleontis without delay.
If the old man was surprised that the image on his screen was not the face of the gambling commission head but that of Fortuanto, his expression revealed nothing.
“Don Chamaeleontis,” Fortunato said, inclining his head. “I am about to extend to you an offer which you would be very unwise to reject.”
The Don gestured for him to continue, saying nothing.
“The committee’s forces have confronted mine,” Fortunato said. “Things are going to be progressing very quickly from here on out. I think the commissioner will be calling you with a decision sooner than you expected.”
“As it happens, I was, uh, I had anticipated getting the call sooner than I expected,” the Lead Soprano said. “You might say I was, uh, counting on it, even.”
“Then your men are already on the way,” Fortunato said.
“You think I have a secret base an hour away? You think I would be so disrespectful to try to hide something like that from intelligent men like you and my friends on the commission? My men are, uh, they’re already there,” the Don said. “Among your people, among your guests, among your enemies. I don’t mind telling you this because I respect you, and because, uh, there isn’t a damned thing you could do about it. You’re finished, you hear? You call to tell me that things are going to be happening quickly now as though you’re doing me some big favor, but I’m the one who’s going to be doing them and I’m, uh, I’m going to be doing them to you, you son of a bitch.”
“As things stand,” Fortunato said. “You haven’t heard my offer.”
“Listen… maybe you don’t know this, but the art dealers you contracted with for your last venture? They’re mine. They work for me,” the Don said. “They brought your proposal to me and I told them I found it essentially sound and that they should, uh, extend every cooperation and courtesy to you… and now we’re on the hook with two hundred buyers for a stolen painting that was never stolen. You understand the problem? As long as nobody knew where the real Donna Stella was, we could have sold it again and again…”
“Forgive me, Lead Soprano, but I am familiar with the scheme,” Fortunato said. “It was, after all, my plan.”
“And it was a good plan, uh, a great plan,” Chamaleontis said. “We could have sold that damned Stella a hundred, two hundred times more to the sort of vain man who’d keep it locked up in his private study and never tell anybody because he’s so afraid he’d lose it… but there’s no way in space to keep that same kind of man from talking now that the deal’s fallen through. It’s ‘the one that got away’, and everybody loves telling that story. That means these sons of bitches are gonna find each other and they’re gonna realize they were about to be cheated. I’m a man of honor, Fortunato… I can’t be guilty in this, and if I’m supposed to be innocent, that makes me your victim, too, and if I’m your victim then there must be restitution.”
“Oh, good,” Fortunato remarked dryly. “And here I was worried that you were only put out because of the amount of money you lost on the deal.”
“I’m talking about credibility and respect,” the Don said. “These things are, uh, the tools of my trade. They’re my bread and butter. I am nothing if I lose them.”
“I find that nothing restores credibility and respect like a respectable amount of credits,” Fortunato said. “Let me tell you my offer and then you tell me if that’s not enough restitution for you: it’s the same deal you asked the commissioner for, only you get seventy-five percent instead of fifty.”
“You expect me to believe that you’d accept my partnership?” the Don asked. “When you are biting at your own skin to rid yourself of the attachments of the commission?”
“Maybe I would find being attached to a man of honor less odious than being attached to a collection of soulless, artless bureaucrats,” Fortunato said. “The Fickle Finger is my domain… I run it as I see fit. You get a lucrative new income stream and a story you can use to quietly assuage bruised egos and wash away the bad taste left behind by my failed foray into the world of art. After all, you must have really had me over a barrel to leverage this kind of deal out of me, right? Meanwhile, we both get a larger share than the commission would be willing to grant us.”
“And for that, you, uh, you expect me to double-cross the commission.”
“What double-cross? They haven’t agreed to anything yet, so there’s no deal to break,” Fortunato said. “And when you presented your generous offer to them, how did they react? Respectfully?”
“Most men don’t like to feel, uh, manipulated,” the Don said. “And what you are doing now is very clumsy and, uh, not at all respectful. It makes me wonder how much of this was engineered in advance. Was this your plan from the beginning?”
“My plan from the beginning was to have the Donna Stella stolen, arrange for the original to be lost forever, and then make a fortune… for myself and my accomplices… by selling phonies to discreet buyers who would never dare show them,” Fortunato said. “That fell through. But someone who only wins when he’s dealt a great hand of cards is a fool, not a gambler.”
“You make a, uh, a surprisingly persuasive argument,” the Don said.
“And your answer?”
“I’ll be in touch,” the Don said, and he disconnected the call.
« « 67: Bar None 69: Emission Control » »
Note: I'm trying out a new comment system. It's new and subject to jiggerypokery. It's moderated. Detailed guidelines to come but follow the general rule: be excellent to each other.
If you enjoy reading, please consider a financial contribution.
« « 67: Bar None 69: Emission Control » »