The Road to Omaha Read Online Free PDF Page A

executive. “I wanted you to stay because sometimes I don’t understand those people.”
    “Well, they certainly never went to
our
school, old roomie.”
    “Gosh, I guess they didn’t but that’s not what I mean. They all got so excited, shouting and cursing and everything.”
    “The ill-born are prone to emotional outbursts, we both know that. They have no ingrained restraint. Do you remember when the headmaster’s wife got drunk and began singing ‘One-Ball Reilly’ at the back of the chapel? Only the scholarship boys turned around.”
    “Not exactly,” said the President sheepishly. “I did, too.”
    “
No
, I can’t believe it!”
    “Well, I sort of peeked. I think I had the hots for her; it started in dancing class—the fox trot, actually.”
    “She did that to all of us, the bitch. It’s how she got her kicks.”
    “I suppose so, but back to this meeting. You don’t think anything could come of that Indian stuff, do you?”
    “Of course not! Chief Justice Reebock is just up to his old tricks, trying to get you mad because he thinks you blackballed him for our Honorary Alumni Society.”
    “Gee, I swear I didn’t!”
    “I know you didn’t, I did. His politics are quite acceptable, but he’s a very unattractive man and wears terrible clothes. He looks positively ludicrous in a tuxedo. Also, I think he drools—not for us, old roomie. You heard what that Washboard said … he said Reebock told our mole that we ‘weren’t the only half-assed ball game in town.’ What more do you need?”
    “Still, everybody got so angry, especially Vincent Manja … Manju … Mango whatever.”
    “It’s the Italian in him. It goes with the bloodlines.”
    “Maybe, Warren. Still, he bothers me. I’m sure Vincent was a fine naval officer, but he could also be a loose cannon … like you-know-who.”
    “
Please
, Mr. President, don’t give either of us nightmares!”
    “I’m just trying to prevent ’em, old roomie. Look, Warren, Vincent doesn’t get along too well with our Attorney General or the Joint Chiefs, and definitely not with the whole Defense Department, so I want you to sort of cultivate him, stay in close touch with him on this problem—be his confidential friend.”
    “With a
Mangecavallo
?”
    “Your office calls for it, Warty old boy. State’s got to be involved in something like this.”
    “But
nothing
will
come
of it!”
    “I’m sure it won’t, but think of the reactions worldwide when the Court’s arguments become public. We’re a nation of laws, not whims, and the Supreme Court doesn’tsuffer nuisance suits. You have some international spin-control in front of you, roomie.”
    “But why
me
?”
    “Golly gosh and zing darn, I just
told
you, Warty!”
    “Why not the Vice-President? He can relay all the news to me.”
    “Who?”
    “The Vice-President!”
    “What
is
his name, anyway?”

3
    It was a bright midsummer’s afternoon, and Aaron Pinkus, arguably the finest attorney in Boston, Massachusetts, and certainly one of the kindest and most gentle of powerful men, climbed out of his limousine in the fashionable suburb of Weston and smiled at the uniformed chauffeur who held the door. “I told Shirley this huge car was ostentatious enough, Paddy, but that silly cap with the shiny visor on your head comes perilously close to the sin of false pride.”
    “Not in old Southie, Mr. Pinkus, and we got more sins than they got votive candles in a wax factory,” said the large middle-aged driver, whose partially graying hair bespoke a once full crown of bright red. “Besides, you’ve been saying that for years now and it doesn’t do much good. Mrs. Pinkus is a very insistent woman.”
    “Mrs. Pinkus’s brain has been refried too often under a beauty shop hair dryer.… I never said that, Paddy.”
    “Of course not, sir.”
    “I don’t know how long I’ll be, so drive down the block, perhaps around the corner, out of sight—”
    “And stay in touch with you