The Sinister Pig - 15 Read Online Free PDF Page A

face.
    Winsor had said: “Well? How about Chrissy? Did it go well?”
    Budge had laughed and said: “Boss, I’m hurt that you even asked me such a question. Chrissy bothers you no more.”
    Problem solved.
    The War on Drugs problem wasn’t so easy. It had to be won over and over again as long as he stayed in the importing business. The sensitive subcommittee session dealing with that war was opening just about now. Haret should be there representing Winsor’s interests. Winsor’s interest was in keeping the War on Drugs alive, well funded, and managed with the same bungling incompetence that had filled the prison system with bottom-level dealers and users, and left the big operators untroubled and the price of cocaine and heroin profitably high. Not much in pot. Nickels and dimes. But it was on the list of “controlled substances” and had to be protected.
    His grandfather had fattened the family fortune handling whiskey shipments during prohibition. Repeal destroyed that industry, put booze in licensed liquor stores, taxed it to death, and took out the profit. If the country actually “controlled” pot, the next step would be to actually control cocaine and heroin where the money was. That would happen some day. Winsor had decided that once he got this shipment safely into the country he’d consider dropping out of the trade.
    Haret understood all that. But would Haret be working at the committee meeting? Would he be alert? Winsor [29] had seen Haret at the French Embassy party last night heavily into the champagne. Worse he’d seen Haret on the moonlit balcony outside the ballroom passing a snort of cocaine to the pretty little senatorial assistant he had brought with him. Poor place for that. Poor judgment. Winsor had known Haret since their days at Harvard Law, but he’d have to find another lobbyist. Too bad Haret wasn’t another Budge.
    Winsor sighed. Back to problem 4, now numbered 3. He reread the printout. “Your ‘cause for alarm’ is now dealt with.” Only that. Winsor remembered the argument and his anger at the obtuseness of his man in Juarez.
    “I don’t want to hear any more ‘maybe this’ and ‘maybe it’s only,’ ” Winsor had told the Mexican. “Having someone snooping around makes me uneasy. It is cause for alarm. Deal with it.” The Mexican’s answer had been a moment of telephone silence, then a chuckle, and his man had said: “This nosey fellow is causing you alarm? OK. Shame on him. We will deal with it. Mark him off.”
    Winsor hadn’t liked the sound of that nor the sarcasm. He liked this terse e-mail note even less. He thought about responding with an e-mail question. Perhaps “How?” or “Explain.” But the Mexican might be stupid enough to be overly precise and he didn’t want that “how,” if it was what he suspected, to be in print anywhere.
    Then he thought again of the erasure of his Chrissy problem. That restored some of his good spirits.
    In the limo, he had slid the panel open and asked Budge for the details. Budge had chuckled.
    “Boss, are you getting careless? I’m always [30] speech less in this car.” With that he handed a folded sheet of paper back over his shoulder through the panel.
    Budge’s attitude about not talking business in the limo was an argument Budge had won.
    It had gone like this:
    Winsor: “Why not. You keep it locked and garaged. Nobody could get to it to get a tap into it.”
    Budge, smiling at him: “Except you, Boss.”
    Winsor, frowning: “What the hell you mean by that?”
    Budge, still smiling: “Think of me at a grand jury. I’m under oath. I am facing a possible perjury indictment. The prosecutor asks me—”
    Winsor: “OK, I see what you mean.”
    Now Winsor opened the folded note.
     
    Arrived at 9a.m. Subject was ready with small suitcase and purse, smiling, giggling. Insisted on chattering.
    At airport, put subject in back of plane. Used chloroform while buckling subject in. Went on autopilot off coast at 8