The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: John R. Maxim
he asked. "You all ask questions whose answers you already know in order to get the guy to answer out loud just so you can stomp all over him."
"It's because of the trouble you were in. All the newspaper stories. You didn't want it rubbing off, on me."
Basically, yeah."
"Well, that's ridiculous."
"I rest my case."
She ignored the sarcasm. "Daddy, I work for a news paper, remember? When you work for a newspaper, none of the other media try to hound you for inter views. And the Post has been very good about not press ing me for information about you. I get all the protec ti on I need."
Lesko said nothing.
"Secondly, you don't say to your daughter, 'I might be in trouble. Pretend you don't know me until I tell you differently,' and expect me to go merrily on with my life as if you don't exist. Or worse, as if I'm ashamed of you."
"Look, I give up." He raised his hands in surrender. "Anyway, it's old news. Nobody cares anymore."
At least not the newspapers, he thought. Not the TV reporters, not even the cops. And maybe not Elena or her crazy Bolivians, either. If they were going to have him whacked they've had almost two years to do it. They would have done it in the first few months. Proba bly Susan first, then him. Another object lesson. Not that he really thought Elena would try. In a funny way they understood each other.
But it might not be her choice if she wants to keep doing business with the greaseballs. And Lesko had never known them to let something like this pass. The other greaseballs would call them women. They'd send them ladies' underwear in the mail. Which brings u p something else. Little Elena must be one hell of a tough broad for those guys to do business with a woman. Ei ther that or she has a hell of a lot of clout behind her. Big money. New York or Swiss money, which is almost the same thing these days.
The old days were simpler. Twenty-five years ago if you were talking about drugs you were talkin g about musicians, about the niggers up in Harlem, and about the dago mob everywhere else. Then one day some dago wiseguy says what are we doing laying out our own money? What we do instead is we go see some of these Harvard and Yale guys down on Wall Street who think they're really screwing somebody if they make a lousy 40 percent on their money. We say, how would you like to make 100, maybe 200 percent with no risk? There's no risk because only one shipment out of fifty ever gets busted so all you do is spread your money over several runs and that way the only question is whether you double it or triple it.
The Harvards look at this and they say, Hey, here's a commodity trade that beats the shit out of pork bellies and th ey jump in with both feet. Million-dollar invest ments double five times over in a month. All of a sudden you see these corporate raiders. Guys with companies that hardly ever did more than break even are out gob bling up other com p anies twice their size. Whole air lines and oil companies are being taken over with co caine money. Half the new high rises going up in this country, even half the movies being made, are financed on either coke or smack.
Drugs are better than gold. Better than oil. The Arabs, who don't know from drugs and who'll cut your hand off for smoking a joint, still think it's petrodollars that make the the world go 'round. They don't know what hit them. In another fifteen years they'll be back playing in sandpiles and fucking their goats.
The other ones who don't know from drugs are econ omists. Economists look at the budget deficit and the balance of payments and the national debt and they say this is crazy, we should be in a depression. All their figures say so. But their figures don't show drug money and it's drug money that keeps this country afloat.
Besides the Arabs, the other ones who don't know what hit them are the dagos. Show me a mob guy who knows as much about skimming and laundering as a Wall Street investment banker. Show me a mob cooker who
"It's because of the trouble you were in. All the newspaper stories. You didn't want it rubbing off, on me."
Basically, yeah."
"Well, that's ridiculous."
"I rest my case."
She ignored the sarcasm. "Daddy, I work for a news paper, remember? When you work for a newspaper, none of the other media try to hound you for inter views. And the Post has been very good about not press ing me for information about you. I get all the protec ti on I need."
Lesko said nothing.
"Secondly, you don't say to your daughter, 'I might be in trouble. Pretend you don't know me until I tell you differently,' and expect me to go merrily on with my life as if you don't exist. Or worse, as if I'm ashamed of you."
"Look, I give up." He raised his hands in surrender. "Anyway, it's old news. Nobody cares anymore."
At least not the newspapers, he thought. Not the TV reporters, not even the cops. And maybe not Elena or her crazy Bolivians, either. If they were going to have him whacked they've had almost two years to do it. They would have done it in the first few months. Proba bly Susan first, then him. Another object lesson. Not that he really thought Elena would try. In a funny way they understood each other.
But it might not be her choice if she wants to keep doing business with the greaseballs. And Lesko had never known them to let something like this pass. The other greaseballs would call them women. They'd send them ladies' underwear in the mail. Which brings u p something else. Little Elena must be one hell of a tough broad for those guys to do business with a woman. Ei ther that or she has a hell of a lot of clout behind her. Big money. New York or Swiss money, which is almost the same thing these days.
The old days were simpler. Twenty-five years ago if you were talking about drugs you were talkin g about musicians, about the niggers up in Harlem, and about the dago mob everywhere else. Then one day some dago wiseguy says what are we doing laying out our own money? What we do instead is we go see some of these Harvard and Yale guys down on Wall Street who think they're really screwing somebody if they make a lousy 40 percent on their money. We say, how would you like to make 100, maybe 200 percent with no risk? There's no risk because only one shipment out of fifty ever gets busted so all you do is spread your money over several runs and that way the only question is whether you double it or triple it.
The Harvards look at this and they say, Hey, here's a commodity trade that beats the shit out of pork bellies and th ey jump in with both feet. Million-dollar invest ments double five times over in a month. All of a sudden you see these corporate raiders. Guys with companies that hardly ever did more than break even are out gob bling up other com p anies twice their size. Whole air lines and oil companies are being taken over with co caine money. Half the new high rises going up in this country, even half the movies being made, are financed on either coke or smack.
Drugs are better than gold. Better than oil. The Arabs, who don't know from drugs and who'll cut your hand off for smoking a joint, still think it's petrodollars that make the the world go 'round. They don't know what hit them. In another fifteen years they'll be back playing in sandpiles and fucking their goats.
The other ones who don't know from drugs are econ omists. Economists look at the budget deficit and the balance of payments and the national debt and they say this is crazy, we should be in a depression. All their figures say so. But their figures don't show drug money and it's drug money that keeps this country afloat.
Besides the Arabs, the other ones who don't know what hit them are the dagos. Show me a mob guy who knows as much about skimming and laundering as a Wall Street investment banker. Show me a mob cooker who
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