Tongue tied

Chapter 9

"Jesus freakin' Christ," the J-Bird bellowed, "they could be torturing Leo right this very minute! They could have him tied down, like Lawrence of Arabia, with some big Turk fucking him in the butt, giving him AIDS!"

"I wouldn't go that far," Jerry Jeris said reassuringly. "I mean, what self-respecting homosexual would want to fuck Leo?" Jeris glanced at me, apparently hoping I would note with approval his use of the word 'homosexual' instead of ‘fag’.

After Diefendorfer had left for his farm, I returned to the radio station where I planned on placing phone calls to old FFFers on Diefendorfer's list. I hoped, too, through these contacts to expand the list to include all of the thirty or so men and women Diefendorfer thought had been members of the group over the nine years of the FFF's existence. Also, Barner had put in a request for the FBI file on the old FFF and hoped to have it later in the day.

My phone calls, of course, risked tipping off the kidnappers that someone was on their trail. But surveillance of all thirty of the old gang was impractical, and eliciting old FFFers' suspicions of former comrades they had reason to believe might have gone around the bend would be helpful, as would information on younger, perhaps admiring acquaintances believed capable of radical political mischief in the FFF's name. Absent any of us coming up with some original-FFF connections, the investigation would have to depend entirely on forensic evidence, of which there was not much so far.

"Do you think we should up the reward?" Plankton asked Jeris. "Leo is going to be pissed as hell if there are people out there ripping out his fingernails in a rage because we're only putting up five K."

Jeris drew on his cigar-the two of them were producing flame and noxious soot like a Slovakian steel mill-and he appeared to mull over the cost-benefit ratios involved.

He said, "I don't think the station will raise the amount at this point in time. Anyway, it's not a ransom, it's a reward. Rewards traditionally are much lower, aren't they?"

"Yeah, aren't ransoms usually in the millions?"

"I think so. Like the Getty kid, or some CEO in South America."

Plankton said, "The Lindbergh baby was cheaper, but that was a long time ago."

"Right, you've gotta factor in inflation."

"What do you think, Strachey?" the J-Bird asked. "How about earning your keep here and advising us? NYPD said start with the five-grand reward and see what it shakes loose. But if Leo is out there somewhere hanging by his balls, he's probably not too interested in an incrementalist approach."

I said, "I think your instincts are sound. Fd offer a hundred K at least."

Jeris rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Glodt would love that."

"Who's Glodt?" I said.

Now they both rolled their eyes. Jeris said, "Steve Glodt owns the station and the syndicate that sells the show. Steve still has the first dollar he ever made."

"He keeps it rolled up inside the gold-plated anal suppository he walks around with stuck up his ass," Plankton said.

"That's so it's out of reach of that blond nail-parlor operator Steve keeps on the side in Oyster Bay."

"But just barely out of reach," the J-Bird said, cracking up.

I said, "But doesn't Steve Glodt make millions from the show? A hundred thousand sounds manageable for an entrepreneur as rich as Glodt must be."

"Glodt is richer than God, and he'll be even richer if he can pull off the deal he's negotiating to get the show simulcast on one of the cable sports networks," Plankton said. "A hundred K is basically pocket change for that miserable prick."

"And he could probably write the reward off," Jeris said. "I could check on that and mention it."

"What about Leo's agent?" Plankton asked. "Would Irene have to be brought in?"

"What? You mean to agree on a figure?"

"Sure, and would she take her fifteen percent off the cop?" Plankton said, laughing, and Jeris laughed, too.

"Glodt'd better get it right, or be prepared to take heat from Irene," Jeris said.

I asked, "Does Leo actually have a talent agent? The man has no talent."

Neither Plankton nor Jeris leapt to Moyle's defense. They just stared at me as if I were the dumbest thing they'd seen open its mouth in months.

"Strachey, do you have any idea what my show netted last year?" Plankton said.

"No."

"Try three-point-seven."

"Okay. Three-point-seven."

"The show's seven million listeners tune in for my refreshing iconoclastic wisdom predominantly, but they also tune in for Leo's fag and nigger jokes. Leo doesn't need talent. He's part of the rich chemistry of the show."

I said, "Maybe his agent shouldn't be called a talent agent. Maybe she should be called an asshole agent."

This got them haw-hawing again. There was no way you could insult these people.

They knew how vile they were, and they adored themselves for it.

Plankton said, "There are TV news crews downstairs waiting to jump me when I leave the building. What if some bimbette from Channel 7 asks me how come we're nickel-and-diming Leo's emotional well-being, maybe even his cherry? I'll look hard-hearted and cheap."

"Refer them to Steve," Jeris said.

Plankton blew more smoke. "I don't suppose," he said, "that we could get one of Leo's ex-wives to go on camera and make a tearful plea to the kidnappers. They all hate him, don't they?"

"Yeah, but what about economic considerations?"

"I don't know what kind of deal he got from either Edie or Pam," Plankton said. "What about this gal he was hoping for a nooner with?"

"Jan something."

"How would she be on camera? The cops talked to her earlier."

"They didn't mention putting her out there," Jeris said.

Plankton grew reflective again. He said, "What about the mayor? Will he make a statement?"

"I doubt it'd help. Giuliani and these FFFers? No way."

"It'd be good for him politically to put in a nice word for Leo's virginity."

"Good and bad," Jeris said.

"Now that he's not running, he could give a fuck anyway."

Jeris brightened, and said, "What about Hillary?"

"What about her?"

"She's in bed with the gays. They think she's Shirley Bassey. Get her to plead for humane treatment of Leo and his release as soon as humanly possible."

Plankton looked doubtful. "Christ, after the vicious crap I've said about her and her husband? She'd go on Gabe Pressman and say too bad it wasn't me on the receiving end of the FFF's hot poker."

Jeris drew on his cigar. "And Lazio won't be any help."

"That dork, of course not."

"What about Archbishop Egan? The FFF knows he's just another antigay putz, but if he's out there pleading with the entire archdiocese to pray for Leo's safe return to his loved ones, it might rattle somebody's conscience who knows something."

The J-Bird shook his head. "O'Connor could have pulled it off, but Egan's too new.

He's boxed in. Egan starts hotdogging and crashes, and it's back to the minors for him."

"Do they do that?"

"Not for tongue-kissing altar boys, but for political boo-boos, sure."

"Hey, wait a minute," Jeris said. "Doesn't Leo have a mother?"

"Yeah, but she won't be any help."

"Why?" Jeris said. "Is she black?"

The hilarity set off by that one went on for a good minute. After the laughter subsided, Plankton said, "Leo's ma's in a nursing home up near Boston, and she's down to her last marble. She's out of the equation."

The smoky silence in the room went on for a long moment. Then Plankton said,

"I'd put up cash myself for more reward money, but, God, I'm paying off the boat, and-you know the rest of it."

Jeris snorted sympathetically. "I'm in a similar bind."

More rumination. Finally, Plankton said, "Either we call Steve in Center Island and put in a request for more reward money from the company, and by doing so incur Steve's wrath. Or, we count on the NYPD and our overpaid and so-far underutilized shamus here to save Leo's ass employing the meager resources at their disposal."

"I'm really sorry for you guys," I said. "What can you do? It's like Sophie's Choicer At that, they har-de-hared, but a little tentatively, and then watched as I headed down the corridor to place my telephone calls.