Mario Puzo - Fools die

He ordered breakfast in the suite, which disappointed me. I began to get the idea that I wasn’t going to see much of Japan. We had eggs and bacon, coffee and orange juice and even some English muffins. The only thing Oriental were some pancakes. The pancakes were huge and twice as thick as a pancake should be. They were more like huge slabs of bread, and they were a very funny sickly yellow color rather than brown. I tasted one and I could swear that it tasted like fish.

I said to Cully, “What the hell are these?”

He said, “They’re pancakes but cooked in fish oil.”

“I’ll pass,” I said, and I pushed the dish over to him.

Cully finished them off with gusto. “All you have to do is get used to it,” he said.

Over our coffee I asked him, “What’s the program?”

“It’s a beautiful day out,” Cully said. “We’ll take a walk and I’ll lay it out for you.”

I understood that he didn’t want to talk in the room. That he was afraid it might be bugged.

We left the hotel. It was still very early in the morning, the sun just coming up. We turned down a side street and suddenly I was in the Orient. As far as the eye could see there were little ramshackle houses, small buildings and along the curb stretched huge piles of green-colored garbage so high that it formed a wall.

There were a few people out in the streets, and a man went by us riding a bicycle, his black kimono floating behind him. Two wiry men in khaki work pants and khaki shirts, white gauze masks covering their faces, suddenly appeared before us. I gave a little jump and Cully laughed as the two men turned into another side street.

“Jesus,” I said, “those masks are spooky.”

“You’ll get used to them,” Cully said. “Now listen close. I want you to know everything that’s going on, so you don’t make any mistakes.”

As we walked along the wall of gray-green garbage, Cully explained to me that he was smuggling out two million dollars in Japanese yen and that the government had very strict laws about exporting the national currency.

“If I get caught, I go to jail,” Cully said. “Unless Fummiro can put the fix in. Or unless Fummiro goes to jail with me.”

“How about me?” I said. “If you get caught, don’t I get caught?”

“You’re an eminent writer,” Cully said. “The Japanese have a great respect for culture. You’ll just get thrown out of the country. Just keep your mouth shut.”

“So I'm just here to have a good time,” I said. I knew he was full of shit and I wanted him to know I knew it.

Then another thing occurred to me. “How the hell do we get through customs in the States?” I said.

“We don’t,” Cully said. “We dump the money in Hong Kong. It’s a free port. The only people who have to go through customs there are the ones traveling on Hong Kong passports.”

“Jesus,” I said. “Now you tell me we’re going to Hong Kong. Where the fuck do we go after that, Tibet?”

“Be serious,” Cully said. “Don’t panic. I did this a year ago with a little money, just for a trial run.”

“Get a gun for me,” I said. “I got a wife and three kids, you son of a bitch. Give me a fighting chance.” But I was laughing. Cully had really roped me in.

But Cully didn’t know I was kidding. “You can’t carry a gun,” he said. “Every Japanese airline has their electronic security check of your person and your hand luggage. And most of them X-ray any baggage you check in.” He paused for a moment and then said, “The only airline that doesn’t X-ray checked baggage is the Cathay. So if something happens to me, you know what to do.”

“I can just picture myself alone in Hong Kong with two million bucks,” I said. “I’d have a million fucking hatchets in my neck,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” Cully said soothingly. “Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll have a ball.”

I was laughing, but I was also worried. “But if something does happen,” I said, “what do I do in Hong Kong?”

Cully said, “Go to the Futaba Bank and ask for the vice-president. He’ll take the money and change it into Hong Kong dollars. He’ll give you a receipt and charge you may be twenty grand. Then he’ll change the Hong Kong dollars into American dollars and charge you another fifty thousand dollars. The American dollars will be sent to Switzerland and you’ll get another receipt. A week from now the Hotel Xanadu will receive a draft from the Swiss bank for two million minus the Hong Kong bank charges. See how simple it is?”

I thought this over as we walked back to the hotel. Finally I came back to my original question. “Why the hell do you need me?”

“Don’t ask me any more questions, just do what I tell you,” Cully said. “You owe me a favor, right?”

“Right,” I said. And I didn’t ask any more questions.

When we got back to the hotel, Cully made some phone calls, talking Japanese, and then told me he was going out. “I should be back around five P.M.,” he said. “But I may be a little late. Just wait in this room for me. If I’m not back tonight, you hop the morning plane for home. OK?”

“OK,” I said.

I tried reading in the bedroom of the suite and then imagined noises in the living room, so I went there to read. I ordered lunch in the suite, and after I had finished eating, I called the States. The connection went through in only a few minutes, which surprised me. I thought it would take at least a half hour.

Vallie picked up the phone right away, and I could tell from her voice that she was pleased that I’d called.

“How is the mysterious Orient?” she asked. “Are you having a good time? Have you gone to a geisha house yet?”

“Not yet,” I said. “So far all I’ve seen is the morning Tokyo garbage. Since then I’ve been waiting for Cully. He’s out doing business. At least I’ve got him beat for six grand in gin.”

“Good,” Valerie said. “You can buy me and the kids some of those fabulous kimonos. Oh, by the way, you got a call yesterday from some man who claimed he was a friend of yours in Vegas. He said he expected to see you out there. I told him you were in Tokyo.”

My heart stopped a little. Then I said casually, “Did he give his name?”

“No,” Valerie said. “Don’t forget our presents.”

“I won’t,” I said.

I spent the rest of the afternoon worrying. I called the airline for a reservation back to the States for the next morning. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure that Cully would be back. I checked his bedroom. The big brassbound suitcase was gone.

Darkness was beginning to fall when Cully came into the suite. He was rubbing his hands, excited and happy. “Everything is all set,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Tonight we have fun and tomorrow we wind things up. The day after that we’ll be in Hong Kong.”

“I called my wife,” I said. “We had a nice little chat. She told me some guy called from Vegas and asked where I was. She told him Tokyo.”

That cooled him off. He thought about it. Then shrugged.

“That sounds like Gronevelt,” Cully said. “Just making sure his hunch was right. He’s the only one who has your phone number.”

“Do you trust Gronevelt on a deal like this?” I asked Cully. And right away I knew I had stepped over the line.

“What the hell do you mean?” Cully said. “That man has been like a father to me all these years. He made me. Shit, I’d trust him over anybody, even you.”

“OK,” I said. “Then why didn’t you let him know we were leaving? Why did you give him that bullshit about buying antiques in Los Angeles?”

“Because that’s the way he taught me to operate,” Cully said. “Never tell anybody anything he doesn’t have to know. He’ll be proud of me for that, even though he found out. I did it the right way.” Then he eased up. “Come on,” he said. “Get dressed. Tonight I’m going to show you the best time of your life.” For some reason that reminded me of Eli Hemsi.