30
On Saturday afternoon at 4:23 P.M. Keifetz, George F. Mallon’s chief investigator, and shadow Minister of Defense in the event that Mallon’s destiny would one day call him to the highest office in the land, brought the news that Charles Partanna had disappeared.
“He’s not in New York?” Mallon said, dismayed. “He’s got to be in New York.”
“He left La Guardia on Eastern flight twenty-one a week ago Wednesday for Miami, our investigators say.”
“They are saying that now?. Where have they been?”
“Partanna hasn’t been under surveillance, G.F. You ruled that out. Too expensive. This was just a check to have him ready for the big strike tomorrow morning.”
“Well—where is he?”
“He left the Miami hotel at about six ten that Friday morning, our people tell me, and a car took him.”
“Took him? Took him where?”
“That’s the big blank space, Chief. It was so early in the morning they couldn’t find a cab to be able to follow him.”
“Then, by God, we won’t pay them! That is gross negligence. How are we going roust him out of bed and arrest him at dawn tomorrow morning if we don’t know where he is?”
“I have people working on it at the Miami airport, and with the flight attendants.”
“What attendants? What flight?”
“Well, that’s hard to say, Chief. Miami is an international airport. He could have gone to South America, or Europe, or a couple of dozen cities in this country. But they have pictures of Partanna and if we get very lucky we might run him down.”
“He ran, then. Well, great. That’s something.”
“Pardon?”
“It could be better than nabbing him in New York, TV or no TV.”
“Better?”
“He’s a fugitive. It’s an admission of guilt. We have all night tonight and all day Sunday to fine-tune this thing. Cancel the arrest at Partanna’s apartment.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going on the air with the whole story at seven o’clock Monday night and accuse him of being the mayor’s tool in a capital murder. We’ll sensationalize the city with front-page stories. It will rock City Hall back on its heels and right out into oblivion.”
“Yessir!”
“Get Marvin in here. I want him to set up mass sermons from every pulpit in Greater New York on Sunday morning deploring the extent of corruption and vice at City Hall and throughout the police department of this city.”
“Marvin left this morning to prepare for the New Orleans convention meeting.”
“Then put his assistant on it. We’ve got them at last, Norman. I can’t believe that a seasoned hoodlum like Partanna would lose his nerve and run. He’s not only made my day—he’s made me mayor of this city! Good God—the accidents of history. A man kills two policemen, there is a confrontation, the mayor appears on the scene to take advantage of a photo opportunity, and the whole thing leads to the election of a new mayor—and who knows, Norman, that new mayor may go onward and upward—perhaps to the highest office in this land, and then we’ll see if the Commies in our government are going to be able to keep prayer out of the schools.”
“God bless you, G.F.”
“Tell my chief of staff to notify every leader of the Electronic Evangelical Church from coast to coast so that they can point the finger at the mayor of New York, castigate his police, and warn America. And Norman—”
“Yes, G.F.”
“Call my butler, and tell him we have Charles Partanna on the run. It will make him proud to be a righteous Sicilian-American. Tell him I’ll be bringing all the news home tonight.”