Elsinore by Jerome Charyn Page B

a name. That was the whole point of it. The clientele wasn’t interested in publicity. It was a house in the woods.”
    â€œWell, she called it Elsinore.”
    â€œThat’s not pertinent to this conversation. Judith has an inventive mind. What else did she say?” Holden was silent. “What else?”
    â€œShe asked if I went into the toilet with you every time you had to pee.”
    Phipps started to laugh. But the sound was very shallow. And Holden was sorry he’d ever talked about toilets. “She was joking, Phippsy.”
    â€œJudith doesn’t joke. She wanted to eat my heart out.… Come on, Sid. We have to go to Spain. I already booked the seats.”
    â€œI thought I was fired.”
    â€œCan’t fire a president, just like that. You have certain privileges.”
    The old man got up from the table. And that one gesture brought a fury to the restaurant. Waiters ran to him from every side.
    â€œStop it,” Phipps shouted. “I have my man.”
    And Holden walked him out of the restaurant.

8
    Holden loved the airport at Bilbao. He didn’t have any steps to climb. The Aeropuerto de Bilbao was a bright little box on a simple plain. The hills outside were summer green, and Holden saw a cemetery surrounded by poplar trees. The stones in the cemetery looked like gray teeth. The Guardia Civil didn’t bother him. Holden had never bumped in Bilbao. It was neutral territory. He’d bumped in Madrid, which had its own street of furriers, furriers who’d tried to steal patterns from his old senior partner, Bruno Schatz. Schatz had arranged Holden’s calendar of hits. But now Holden was president of Aladdin, and he didn’t have to take calls from Schatz in the middle of the night. Schatz had married Holden’s bride, Andrushka the twig.
    A red Jaguar was waiting for them in front of the airport. Holden didn’t see any driver. “I warned you, Phippsy. I’m not your chauffeur.”
    â€œWill you get in? I can’t have a third party involved in our affairs. One of us has to drive. Me or you.”
    â€œBut you’re making a habit of it.”
    â€œThen give me a better solution. Get in.”
    The keys were in the dash. Holden stared at the silver emblem of a very long cat. He’d never driven a Jaguar before. Phipps spread out his map of the Spanish coast like some commandant. The map had a leather cover and a magnifying glass. Phipps searched the coast with that glass. “This is Basque country,” he said. “The Basques would tear our heads off if they could. The Basques hate everybody except the Basques. They’re the only people in the world who never wanted to get rich. That makes them honorable.”
    â€œAnd dumb.”
    â€œNo. Not dumb. There’s a difference. The Basques wouldn’t have wanted my Supper Club. They’re crazy about bingo. They build palaces for their bingo games.”
    â€œI thought they despise money,” Holden said.
    â€œThey do. But they still love to gamble.”
    â€œWhere did you learn so much about the Basques?”
    â€œI lived near those motherless sons. A long time ago. I bartered with them. The Basques made me rich.”
    â€œWhere haven’t you lived?” Holden asked. “You’re like Marco Polo with your maps.”
    â€œJust drive the car, Sid. Just drive the car.”
    They traveled down the coast, passing tiny villages with beauty parlors and cider houses off the highway. There was odd writing engraved on the mountain walls: HERRIBATASUNA . Frog had never encountered such a word. “Phippsy, what does it mean?”
    â€œPay no mind to it. It’s Basque.”
    They passed a beach that looked like Copacabana. And Holden was reminded of Brazil. He’d followed a furrier there, hunted him down in Rio, a rival of the Swisser’s who’d stolen designs from Aladdin. Holden had to retrieve the designs and bump the