WATER WORKS: 24) MADNESS AT MORTON'S

Sunday Funnies: A Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

32.

Next morning, a phone message from Armand Sieff in Monaco.

Madame Legs answers my return call, connects me.

"Hey, buddy," I say. "If you have those balance sheets ready, fax them to me."

"Uh, my chairmen would like to present them in person."

"Even better."

"To Mister Levi," adds Sieff. "On their island."

"Good work, buddy. You're a champ." I meant chump. I disconnect Sieff and connect to Mortonland.

"Morton Levi Investments," says a female voice.

"I need to speak with Morton urgently," I say.

"I'll connect you to his secretary."

"Hello, Mr. Sandak," says Morton's secretary. "Morton can't speak to you now. He's in a meeting. I can transfer you to the phone person if you..."

"Wait. Can you give him an important message instead?"

"Of course."

"Tell him we need to fly to the Caribbean later this week on water business."

"This week?" says the secretary. "Let me check with his scheduling person." She clicks off, returns a minute later. "Morton has appointments booked through the week."

"How about next week?"

"Fully booked also."

"I'm sure when you give him my message he'll want to reschedule," I say.

"Mr. Sandak," the secretary says irritably. "All we do here is juggle. Most people ask for fifteen minutes. You're suggesting a whole day in the Caribbean...?"

"Excuse me," I say, "but Morton's motto is Nihil Non Potest. Do you have any idea what that means? It means nothing's impossible. It is the creed Morton lives by."

"Fine," says his secretary. "It's not impossible. But it's not going to happen." She clicks me into a dial tone.

"Sonofabitch.” I reconnect to Mortonland, ask for Tracy, the appointments person. "What's the earliest??

"One week from today," says Tracy. "Four o'clock?"

"Anything sooner?"

"I can give you half-an-hour on Monday, ten a.m."

"Uh, sooner than that?"

"No, there's nothing."

"I only need five minutes."

"I don't have any five-minute slots."

"Can't you squeeze me in between two 30 minute slots?"

"Morton doesn't do squeeze-ins." Her disdain for this concept is clear. "Monday at ten is the earliest. You want it or not?"

33.

I grab my coat, cab to Reagan-National, shuttle to LaGuardia, taxi to the General Motors Building, elevate to the 38th floor—and enter Mortonland.

"I have an appointment with Morton," I tell the receptionist. "I'm a little early," I add.

"What time is your appointment?"

"Monday at ten."

This is Wednesday at 1:45.

"I don't think..."

"If you check with Morton, I'm sure he'll..."

"Mr. Levi never deviates from his arranged schedule," says the receptionist. "I'll buzz his secretary." She picks up the phone.

Billionaires possess presence. As such, I suddenly detect Morton behind me, on the rebound from lunch.

"Jay?" he says.

"I'm early for next week's appointment," I say. "I need to see you urgently."

Morton shrugs. "So come on in."

Morton either has no idea about the shield around him, or he knows about it and loves busting the balls of those entrusted to shield him.

Inside his inner sanctuary, he thrones himself upon saddle leather and motions me to do the same.

I say, "The Scrogg twins are ready to see us."

Morton says, "The Scrogg twins?"

I say, "The English multi-millionaires behind Dulci Acqua."

Morton says, "Dulci Acqua?"

"The water business. I'd fly down to the Antilles and see them myself," I say, "but they specifically asked for you."

Morton shrugs. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

Morton plucks his phone and taps a digit. "What am I doing tomorrow?" He listens expressionless. "Reschedule everything," he says. "And organize my jet. I'm flying to the Antilles." He puts the phone down. "Okay?"

I grin. "Perfect."

"See Priscilla for logistics." He rises to signal an end to my squeeze-in.

Two doors down the gauntlet of madness, I find Priscilla, whose day and dinner plans I just ruined. Tight-lipped, eyes ablaze, Priscilla curtly instructs me to appear at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey at 7:10 the following morning.