The crew I had to work for me drove me nuts. They had an I.Q. a child of four would be ashamed of. I had around a thousand of them and they did as much work in a day as twenty good Irishmen would do. Six of the jerks during the nine months got themselves killed either by snakes or walking into blasting or a tree falling on them.”
“But you built it.”
He nodded, leaning back in big chair, a look of pride on his face.
“That’s what I did.”
“I remember in Vietnam we had to build a runway fast with coolie labour,” I lied. “The first bomber to touch down smashed it up and the kite was a write-off.”
“That’s not going to happen to my runway. I guarantee a 747 could land on it and when I guarantee something, it stays guaranteed . . .”
Then came the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
Casually, I said, “Who the hell wants a runway slap in the middle of a jungle?”
“You get these nuts.” O’Cassidy shrugged. “The one thing I’ve learned in my racket is not to ask questions. I get propositioned: I get paid. I do the job and then I move on. I’m going to Rio tomorrow to extend a runway for a Flying Club: that’ll be an easy one. How about a brandy and coffee?”
“Why not?”
He gave the order then we lit cigarettes.
After a moment of hesitation, I said, “It’s important to me Bill, to know who financed your runway.”
He stared at me, his green eyes probing.
“Important? Why?”
I flicked ash on the floor.
“I’ve got myself mixed up in something I can’t talk about,” I said. “It’s to do with your runway. I smell trouble and I need as much information as I can get.”
The coffee and two brandies arrived.
He put sugar in his coffee, stirred and I could see he was thinking. I didn’t hurry him. Suddenly, as if he had made up his mind, be shrugged his heavy shoulders.
“Okay Jack, because you’re a friend of Tim’s and you’ve met my kid brother and because I’m pulling out of here and frankly, I don’t give a damn now I’ve got my money. I’ll give you my ideas about this runway, but they’re ideas not facts . . .understand?”
I nodded.
He paused to look around as if to make certain no one was paying us any attention, then leaning forward and lowering his voice, he went on, “It’s on the cards there is going to be a revolution here. Listening to the jerks who work for me I get the idea something’s on the boil. That’s my guess. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so, that’s why I’m damned glad to be getting out tomorrow.” He sipped his brandy, then went on, “The man financing the runway is Benito Orzoco. He’s a nutter Jack. A real nutter but he is a big shot around here. He leads the left wing extremists and so I hear is a blood brother of Castro of Cuba. Orzoco considers himself a second Juan Alvarez who was the first President of the Republic way back in 1855. Orzoco is stinking rich. Anything he wants he has and I mean anything. With this runway, plus a big kite, he could fly men and arms in and keep them hidden in the jungle until the green light goes up.” He finished his coffee. “Look, Jack, I don’t know a thing for certain. I’m telling you what I think could be the reason for building the runway. Maybe it’s something else, but I don’t think so. I’m of tomorrow and couldn’t care less . . . that help you?”
“Sure does. Did you ever meet Orzoco?”
“I’ll say. He came to inspect the runway every month.”
O’Cassidy’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather touch a black mamba than him.”
“Give me a better idea than that.”
O’Cassidy blew out his cheeks.
“He’s a nutter. I’m sure of that. He’s short, powerfully built and a dresser. He has snake’s eyes. First glance he’s like any other rich dago, but he has something plus. He’s crazy in the head. Every now and then, it shows. He is rich and has power but wants more power. He’s as deadly as generalised cancer.”
“Sounds nice,” I said
“But you built it.”
He nodded, leaning back in big chair, a look of pride on his face.
“That’s what I did.”
“I remember in Vietnam we had to build a runway fast with coolie labour,” I lied. “The first bomber to touch down smashed it up and the kite was a write-off.”
“That’s not going to happen to my runway. I guarantee a 747 could land on it and when I guarantee something, it stays guaranteed . . .”
Then came the sixty-four thousand dollar question.
Casually, I said, “Who the hell wants a runway slap in the middle of a jungle?”
“You get these nuts.” O’Cassidy shrugged. “The one thing I’ve learned in my racket is not to ask questions. I get propositioned: I get paid. I do the job and then I move on. I’m going to Rio tomorrow to extend a runway for a Flying Club: that’ll be an easy one. How about a brandy and coffee?”
“Why not?”
He gave the order then we lit cigarettes.
After a moment of hesitation, I said, “It’s important to me Bill, to know who financed your runway.”
He stared at me, his green eyes probing.
“Important? Why?”
I flicked ash on the floor.
“I’ve got myself mixed up in something I can’t talk about,” I said. “It’s to do with your runway. I smell trouble and I need as much information as I can get.”
The coffee and two brandies arrived.
He put sugar in his coffee, stirred and I could see he was thinking. I didn’t hurry him. Suddenly, as if he had made up his mind, be shrugged his heavy shoulders.
“Okay Jack, because you’re a friend of Tim’s and you’ve met my kid brother and because I’m pulling out of here and frankly, I don’t give a damn now I’ve got my money. I’ll give you my ideas about this runway, but they’re ideas not facts . . .understand?”
I nodded.
He paused to look around as if to make certain no one was paying us any attention, then leaning forward and lowering his voice, he went on, “It’s on the cards there is going to be a revolution here. Listening to the jerks who work for me I get the idea something’s on the boil. That’s my guess. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so, that’s why I’m damned glad to be getting out tomorrow.” He sipped his brandy, then went on, “The man financing the runway is Benito Orzoco. He’s a nutter Jack. A real nutter but he is a big shot around here. He leads the left wing extremists and so I hear is a blood brother of Castro of Cuba. Orzoco considers himself a second Juan Alvarez who was the first President of the Republic way back in 1855. Orzoco is stinking rich. Anything he wants he has and I mean anything. With this runway, plus a big kite, he could fly men and arms in and keep them hidden in the jungle until the green light goes up.” He finished his coffee. “Look, Jack, I don’t know a thing for certain. I’m telling you what I think could be the reason for building the runway. Maybe it’s something else, but I don’t think so. I’m of tomorrow and couldn’t care less . . . that help you?”
“Sure does. Did you ever meet Orzoco?”
“I’ll say. He came to inspect the runway every month.”
O’Cassidy’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather touch a black mamba than him.”
“Give me a better idea than that.”
O’Cassidy blew out his cheeks.
“He’s a nutter. I’m sure of that. He’s short, powerfully built and a dresser. He has snake’s eyes. First glance he’s like any other rich dago, but he has something plus. He’s crazy in the head. Every now and then, it shows. He is rich and has power but wants more power. He’s as deadly as generalised cancer.”
“Sounds nice,” I said
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