The Road to Omaha (67 page)

“That’s
it
, boys, you’ve got it!” cried the Hawk approvingly. “Remember, this is the image you want to give ’em when they first take a look at you. Tough but smart, battle-scarred but human, above the crowd but with the common touch.
God
, I love it when men look like you! Damn it to hell, we
need
heroes! We crave brave souls who’ll ride into the mouth of death, into the jaws of
hell
—”

“You’ve got it backwards, General, it’s the other way around.”

“Same damn
thing.
”

“Not really.”

“He wants William Holden in the last scenes of
Kwai.
”

“Or John Ireland in
O.K. Corral.
”

“How about Dick Burton and Big Clint in
Eagles Dare
?”

“Or Eroll Flynn in anything.”

“Don’t forget Connery in
The Untouchables.
”

“Hey, fellas, what about Sir Henry Sutton as the knight in
Becket
?”

“Absolutely!”

“Hey, what
about
Sir Henry, General? We’re here, but where is
he
? We consider him a part of us now, especially where our movie’s concerned.”

“On another assignment, men. A very vital assignment; he’ll meet up with you later.… Now, back to the engagement facing us.”

“Can we relax, sir?”

“Yes, yes, of course, but don’t lose that, that …”

“
Collective
image, General?” asked Telly gently.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean—I think.”

“And you’d be quite right, sir,” added the Yale-trained Sly. “You see, we’re basically ensemble players. It’s largely improv and goes with the interacting totality, as it were.”

“
Totality
…? Yeah, sure.… Now, listen up. The Hollywood types and the London film types you’re going to meet don’t know what to expect, but when they see six military
hunks
—as a dear friend of mine who understands their mentalities put it—they’ll see bucketfuls of bucks. Especially because you’re the real thing, and that’s where you’re different. You don’t have to sell yourselves, they’ve got to sell
themsleves
. You’re the choosers, not the choosees; they may want to buy, but you may not want to sell. You’ve got certain standards.”

“Isn’t that a dangerous position?” asked The Duke. “Producers hold the purse strings, not actors, especially not actors like us who haven’t exactly set Broadway on fire, to say nothing of Hollywood.”

“
Gentlemen
,” said the Hawk. “Forget your previous lives and whatever marks you made or didn’t make. As of
now, who and what you are is setting the
world
on fire! That’s what these people will see flowing into their cash registers. You’re not only professional actors, you’re soldiers,
commandos
in various disguises to achieve your missions!”

“Oh, hell,” said Dustin, shrugging. “Anyone with advanced acting techniques under his belt could do it—”

“Don’t
ever
say that!” shouted MacKenzie.

“Sorry, General, but I think it’s the truth.”

“Then keep it a secret, son!” said the Hawk. “We’re dealing with ‘high concept’ here. We keep it big, not small.”

“What does that mean?” asked Sly.

“Don’t bring in details; their attention spans can’t handle it.” MacKenzie walked to the desk and picked up the clipped pages of his third wife’s literary labors; he turned back to the unit. “This is what’s known as an outline, or a ‘treatment,’ or something just as dumb-sounding, and there’s only one copy—that’s to keep its security at a maximum. It’s a high-powered summary of your activities over the past few years, and let me tell you, it’s a nuclear missile. When each of these vultures arrives, I’ll give him this single copy and tell him he’s got fifteen minutes to read it and then ask whatever questions he likes, the answers to which will be subject to national security. I want you to sit in those chairs over there that I’ve placed in a semicircle maintaining that collective—whatever you call it.”

“Collective image of silent strength with an admixture of intelligence and perception?” suggested Telly the professor.

“Yeah, that one. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt if a couple of you slap the holsters of your forty-fives whenever I say ‘national security.’ ”

“You, Sly; then you, Marlon,” ordered The Duke.

“Got it.”

“Got it.”

“Now, here’s the kicker,” continued the Hawk quickly. “At first, you answer the clowns’ questions in your normal, regular voices, then when I nod at each of you, you switch to the impersonations of the people—the
actors
—you imitated for me and Colonel Cyrus.”

“We’ve got lots of others,” said Dustin.

“Those will do,” replied Hawkins. “They were damned convincing.”

“What’s the point?” asked the skeptical Marlon.

“I’d think you’d see that right off. We
prove
that you’re real talented professionals, that you’ve done what you’ve done because you
are
actors.”

“That can’t hurt us, pilgrims,” said The Duke, reverting to his histrionic persona. “What the hell, not too many other honchos in the business ever listened to us.”

“
Confidence
, men. You’ve got it
all
!” The telephone rang again. “Chow down, gentlemen,” MacKenzie went on, reaching for the phone as the Suicidal Six rushed to the room-service tables. “Yes, who’s this?”

“The twelfth son of the sheik of Tizi Ouzou by his twenty-second wife,” said the soft voice over the line. “Thirty thousand camels may be yours if our talk bears fruit, otherwise a hundred thousand Western dogs may die if the fruits are barren.”

“Ream it! Come back in six hours or go bury your balls in the desert sand!”

Seven hours later, the good ship,
Hawk’s Assault
, had made its initial foray into the turbulent waters of the motion picture industry. In its treacherous wake and struggling to keep from drowning were a former British Grenadier named Ogilvie, who blustered about thankless
wog
colonials; one Emmanuel Greenberg, whose copious weeping touched all but one MacKenzie Hawkins; a certain exhausted head of Holly Rock’s development named Scrimshaw, who finally said he’d temporarily settle for a bed he didn’t have to pay for; a shrieking “Cruiser” Motoboto, who made it abundantly clear that prison camps in “Horrywood” were not entirely out of the question; and lastly, a snarling Sheik Mustacha Hafaiyabeaka, in flowing robes, who made constant and odious comparisons between camel droppings and the American dollar. Nevertheless, to a man and his corporate entity, each profoundly hoped to be chosen as the producing force behind the most spectacular motion picture to be made in modern times, and each, stunned speechless by the six extraordinary actor-commandos, agreed without reservation that they
would portray themselves in the film of their exploits. Only Greenberg offered the suggestion: “Maybe a little skin, fellas? Y’know, a few girlies so there shouldn’t be any questions, y’know?” The Suicidal Six agreed enthusiastically, especially Marlon, Sly, and Dustin. “Thirty-six-carat
gelt
!” whispered Manny, even more enthusiastically.

Business cards were proffered, but Hawkins was clear: no decision would be made until early the following week. When the last of the supplicants left, namely the growling twelfth son of the sheik of Tizi Ouzou by his twenty-second wife, MacKenzie turned to his elite Delta Force by way of the theater and rendered his judgment. “You were
great
, every one of you. They were hypnotized, blown out of their foxholes—you
did
it!”

“Outside of putting on a pretty good show,” said the erudite Telly, “I’m not exactly sure what we did.”

“Did you just lose your flak jacket, son?” broke in the startled Hawkins. “Didn’t you hear what they
said
? To a sweaty palm, they want this project so bad they drooled!”

“Well,” observed Dustin, “I heard a lot of noise, a lot of shouting and pleading, especially Mr. Greenberg’s crying—he was especially effective, very much like a Greek chorus—but I’m not sure what it all meant.”

“We didn’t see anyone pulling out a contract,” said Marlon.

“We don’t
want
any contracts. Not yet.”

“When’s ‘yet,’ General?” asked Sir Larry. “You see, we’ve been through all this before. There’s always a great deal of talk but very few pieces of paper. Paper is a commitment, sir, the rest is just… well, talk.”

“If I remember correctly, gentlemen, negotiations are left to the negotiators. We’re the
creative
side; we do and they haggle.”

“Who negotiates for us, if anybody really wants us… pilgrim?”

“Good point, Duke. Maybe I’d better make a phone call.”

“I’ll pay for it,” said Sly.

Instead, the Waldorf-Astoria’s telephone rang. The Hawk crossed to the desk. “Yes, who the hell is
this
?”

“Sweetie, I couldn’t wait any longer! How’s everything going?”

“Oh, hi, Ginny, everything went fine, but as the boys explained to me, we may have a problem.”

“
Manny
?… You didn’t
kill
him, did you, Mac?”

“Hell, no. As a fact, the boys were kinda taken by him.”

“The crying bit, huh?”

“You got it.”

“He’s very good at that, the
bastard
.… Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, as the men say, it’s real splendid that these vultures liked us, or pretended to like us, but how do we get anything on paper—”

“It’s all arranged, Mac. The William Morris Agency is handling everything—right up at the top. Robbins and Martin themselves.”

“Robbins and Martin? Sounds like a classy men’s shop.”

“Class they are, and we should all have their brains, sweetie. Not only brains, they speak English you can understand, not Hollywood crapola. That’s why they confuse everybody and take home the bread. They’ll go to work when I tell them.”

“Make it early next week, okay, Ginny?”

“Sure. Where can I reach you, and who exactly besides Manny showed up?”

“Here, I’ve got their cards.” The Hawk picked up the business cards on the desk and read each off to his former wife.

“Wasn’t there a nut studio in Georgia or Florida? Of course, no legitimate company in the South will deal with them, but they’ve got several cathedrals full of money and can push up the bids.”

“I have an idea they may run into a bit of trouble tonight in Washington.”

“
What
?”

“Let it pass, Ginny.”

“I know that tone; it’s passed. Now how about you? Where will you be?”

“Call a Johnny Calfnose at the Wopotami reservation
outside of Omaha, he’ll know where to find me. Here’s his private number.” Hawkins gave it to her. “Got it?”

“Sure, but what’s a Calfnose, and what the
hell
is a Wopotami?”

“He’s a disenfranchised member of that downtrodden people.”

“Your windmills, Mac?”

“We do what we can, little lady.”

“Who to this time, sweetie?”

“Bad protectors of the republic with very bad attitudes.”

“Oh, the D.C. pricky-shits?”

“And their forebears, Ginny, going back over a hundred years.”

“How delicious!… But how did you ever get Sam involved?”

“He’s a very principled man—far more mature than he was and with seven children—but he knows right from wrong.”

“That’s what I
mean
! How did you get him back? That beautiful boy thinks you’re Ali Baba’s forty thieves all walking around on one pair of legs.”

“Well, as I say, he’s changed, mellowed over the years. Probably goes with his haggard looks and the arthritis that kinda makes him stoop… I guess nine kids would do that to anybody.”

“
Nine
? I thought you said seven?”

“I get mixed up, but then so does he. I’ll say this, though, he’s become a far more tolerant man.”

“Thank heavens he got over Annie. We were all worried about him.…
Wait
a minute! Seven kids … 
nine
? What did his wife do, drop two and three at a time?”

“Well, we haven’t really—” Fortunately for MacKenzie Hawkins, there were several clicks on the line followed by the excited voice of an interrupting operator.

“Suite Twelve A, you have an emergency call! Please terminate your current conversation so I can connect you.”

“Bye, Ginny girl, we’ll make contact later.” MacKenzie slammed down the phone and held it in place; it rang three seconds later and he yanked it up. “This is Suite Twelve A. Who’s this?”

“
Redwing
, you prehistoric monster!” roared Jennifer from Swampscott, Massachusetts. “Sam heard the Brokemichael tape last night, and it was all Cyrus, Roman, and our two Desis could do to hold him down! Finally, Cyrus managed to get practically a whole bottle of whisky into him—”

“When he sobers up, he’ll come to his senses,” interrupted the Hawk. “He usually does.”

“Nice of you to say so, but, of course, we’ll never know.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s
gone
!”

“That’s impossible! With my adjutants and Roman Z and the colonel all
there
?”

“He’s one sneaky son of a bitch, Thunder Ass. His door was closed and we figured he was still sleeping it off, then five minutes ago Roman was patrolling the beach when he saw a speedboat pull close to the shore about a quarter of a mile away and a figure run from the dunes into the water and get on board!”

“
Sam
?”

“Binoculars don’t lie, and Roman Z’s eyesight’s got to be damn sharp or he’d have a much longer record than he has.”

“Goddamn, there he goes again! It’s Switzerland all
over
again!”

“You mean when Sam tried to stop you—”

“Damn near did,” broke in MacKenzie, furiously checking his pockets with his free hand for his pacifier—namely, a mutilated cigar. “He must have used a phone and called somebody.”

“Obviously, but who?”

“How would
I
know? I haven’t seen him in years … still, what can he do?”

“Last night he kept shouting about the manipulators in high places, how the corruptors were selling out the country and should be exposed and he was going to expose them—”