WATER WORKS: 28) TABLE-TURNING

Sunday Funnies: A Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

37.

"Lunatics, Pikestaff." I gulp liquid crystal. "I'm surrounded by lunatics."

Pikestaff smiles, amused, from his perch at the Cosmos Club bar as I rail.

"’Bloody right, eh, Tom? Bloody right, Ted!’" I mimic the Scrogg twins' cockney accent. "Those guys are nuts!"

Pikestaff shakes his head. "Poor people are nuts. Billionaires are eccentric."

"The Scroggs are way beyond eccentric, Pikestaff. They're way beyond nuts. Do you know what kind of sauce they put on vanilla ice cream?"

"Butterscotch?"

"No. Marinara sauce."

Pikestaff cocks a brow.

"You heard right. But at least I was able to confirm what I heard from the Brits."

"They told you they're working with the princelings?"

"I didn't have to ask. Chinese everywhere, building this huge nuthouse they live in. More important, Pikestaff"—I reach into my beat-up leather bag—“they finally opened their books to us. They're cleaning water everywhere around the globe, scooping up water rights—hell of an operation. The Chinese are using the Scroggs' as a cut-out—a cut-out behind filters. That's why they're willing to make a deal with Morton. Not for his money. They're after his name, his credibility, his New York office."

"How is Morton?"

"He's crazy, too."

"Eccentric," Pikestaff reminds me.

"Have it your way, Pikestaff. Eccentric. He doesn't want to save the Aral Sea anymore. You know why?”

Pikestaff shrugs.

“Because Uzbek food made him puke. Can you believe that?"

Pikestaff looks at me like he isn’t sure about anything rolling off my tongue.

"Maybe I should propose saving the Caspian," I add. "Any idea what Azerbaijani food is like?"

Pikestaff belches softly. Just thinking about ethnic food gives him acid reflux.

"Oh, you'll like this, Pikestaff. The Potomac River needs saving, too."

"Our Potomac river?"

"What other? The poultry farmers are fowling it up, excuse the pun. I always knew the Bog was a chicken-shit town—but 155,000 tons of chicken-shit a year?" I shake my head and check my watch. "I gotta go pack."

"Where are you going now?"

38.

I drop my bags at the Hotel Meridien in Nice, then cruise onward to Dulci Acqua's office in Fontvieille.

Mademoiselle Legs greets me with a raspberry, expressing bewilderment.

"It's a surprise visit," I explain.

She picks up a phone and converses with Armand Sieff in French, then turns back to me. "Monsieur Sieff is surprised," she confirms. "’e says 'e comes out soon. You sit?"

Ten minutes later, Sieff pokes his head into reception, a puzzled expression.

"Hey, buddy!" I say. "Sorry you didn't make it to Scrogg Island. We had a great lunch."

Sieff’s probes my eyes to see if I’m joking, maybe he knows the menu. "I couldn't leave Monaco," he mumbles. "Another engagement."

"We should talk," I say.

"Fine." Sieff gestures toward his office.

"No. Let's go get a cappuccino."

I don’t want Chinese Intelligence listening in.

Reluctantly, Sieff follows me out and into the piazza adjacent to Centre Commerciale.

Roasted Provencal chicken spices the air, courtesy of a pleasant breeze. We occupy an open-air table and order caffeine infusions.

"I’d like you to listen to something." I pull an Olympus Pearlcorder from my blazer pocket, plunk it on the table between us and press play.

"Is Armand Sieff here yet?" This is a tinny version of my voice on micro-cassette tape.

"No, mate." This is distinctively Tommy Scroggs. "'e called, 'e did—wanted to be 'ere today. I told him to leave off. The French git doesn't need to know everyfing, eh, Ted?"

Armand recoils.

"Bloody right." This is Teddy Scrogg. "Rude bastards the French."

"Between us"—Tommy Scrogg again—“we’re planning to cut 'im off once we do a deal wiv you blokes."

I press stop and study Sieff’s face.

His eyes are fixated on the Pearlcorder. Then he swallows a mouthful of espresso and locks eyeballs with me.

"You must have a reason for playing this to me," he finally says.

"I do. Apparently, there isn't much of a future for you at Dulci Acqua. I'd like you to come to work for me, for the Enki Group."

"But you will be partners with Dulci Acqua, no?" says Sieff.

I shake my head. “No.”

"Isn't that what you want?"

"It was an option." I pause. "Until I met Tommy and Teddy Scrogg." I cup my hand over my mouth for effect. "Between you and me, Armand, they're out of their fucking minds."

Armand smirks.

"And if they're nuts, and they are," I continue, "you must be the backbone of their business."

Sieff nod gently; his lips curled into a thin smile.

"It seems to me," I say, "we'd be better off using our money to fertilize the Enki Group than plunging it into Dulci Acqua and dealing with Scrogg lunacy. If," I add, "You'll join us."

"An interesting proposition," says Sieff. "What kind of equity for me do you have in mind?"

When you're talking billion-dollar potential, equity is the key ingredient, not salary and benefits.

"We'll match, dollar for dollar, whatever you're getting with Dulci Acqua."

Sieff considers this. "Where would I work?"

I motion with both arms at the sun-blessed blissfulness around us. "Right here. I could use a good reason to commute to the Riviera. Monaco is a fine base." I lean forward conspiratorially. "It'll teach those bastards to call you a French git."

Sieff stiffens. "But it could be dangerous for me," he whispers.

"Dangerous? C'mon, business is business."

"No, this is more than just business." Sieff hesitates a moment. "There's part of this you don't understand." His eyes dart in all directions.

"You mean Yao Li and Johnny Wang?" I say casually.

Sieff’s eyeballs bulge from their sockets. "You know about them?"

"Of course." I shrug. "The Scrogg twins told me."

"They told you about Yao Li and Johnny Wang?" Sieff’s face exudes incredulity.

"Sure," I lie. "The princeling connection. That's another reason Morton and I decided to blow it off."

Sieff shakes his head in disgust. "They are crazy," he mutters. "They're going to get themselves in trouble with their big mouths. And me, too."

"Not if you jump ship," I say. "We'll protect you."

"Protect me from Yao Li and Johnny Wang?" Sieff agitates from his caffeine infusion. "How?"

"Look, I'm not suggesting you blow their cover," I say. "But you could blow their cover if anything happened to you. That's the subtle message you need to convey to them." I pause. "Otherwise," I point to the micro-cassette recorder, "they're eventually going to cut you off—so says Tommy Scrogg—and you know what that means, don't you?" I allow this to sink in. "It'll start with a summons to Bishkek. And end with nobody hearing from you again. The Chinese will cut off your hands and feet just for amusement. You'll wind up just another statistic on the perils of doing business in Central Asia."

Sieff slumps in his chair.

"Here's what I'd do," I continue. "Write down everything you know about Yao Li and Johnny Wang and China's involvement in Dulci Acqua and put it in a safe place. Then let it be known that if anything happens to you, their secrets will be exposed to the media. These guys are mean, sure, but they're not stupid. If they know you're serious, they'll let it slide and lick their wounds."

Sieff nods. "I'll consider this."

"Consider fast," I say. "I need an answer before I leave Monaco. Let me clarify. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. If I don't hear from you, my offer is withdrawn."

"Where are you staying?"

I shake my head. "This Chinese connection has me spooked, too. I'll call you at six sharp, this evening. And let's be cryptic, your telephones are probably bugged."