Singapore Wink by Ross Thomas Page B

‘they,’ the outfit, the organization, the mob, the Mafia, the Cosa Nostra? Is there a name for them and they?”
    Cole smiled again, even more slightly than before. “It’s a peculiarly American trait, I suppose, this insistence upon a descriptive noun. It was poor old Joe Valachi who called it the Cosa Nostra because the Government was pressing him to give them a title. So one Narcotics Bureau Agent said ‘cosa’ and Valachi came back with ‘nostra,’ and they ran with it from there. Of course, if two persons of Italian descent were speaking about a mutual project, they might say, ‘Questa è una cosa nostra,’ but they would really be saying, “This is an affair of ours.’ They certainly wouldn’t be saying ‘I am a member of “our thing” or “our affair.”’”
    â€œWhat about the Mafia?” I said. “Or is that old hat?”
    â€œIt implies a Sicilian organization, and although there are certain ties with it in Sicily—Luciano during World War II, for example—there is no Mafia as such in the United States.”
    â€œWhat is there then?”
    â€œA group of totally amoral businessmen of Italian and Sicilian descent who control the vast majority of organized illegal activities that go on in this nation. They don’t call themselves anything.”
    â€œAnd they are the ones you turned to in 1936 when you needed your mentor or guide?”
    Cole tapped his cigar ash into a tray. “Yes. They were the ones who sent me through college and law school. When I told them that I needed a guide, they promptly secured me a full partnership in a most respectable Washington law firm, the same one in which I’m now senior partner, Harrington, Mecklin, and Cole.”
    â€œMecklin I’ve heard of,” I said.
    â€œHe almost became a Supreme Court judge.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œHarrington had died by the time I came along in 1936. Mecklin, unfortunately for him, was a compulsive gambler. Everything. Horses, poker and bridge, but especially poker. So one evening at a most respectable club here in Washington my sponsors, shall we call them, slipped a mechanic into the game and he took Mr. Mecklin for around fifty thousand dollars that night. Another game was arranged later in the same week, and Mecklin dropped seventy-five thousand dollars. The mechanic, who was also a consummate confidence man, as most of them are, agreed to yet another game to give Mecklin a chance to win. This time he dropped ninety thousand dollars and, of course, he couldn’t pay. The confidence man grew impatient, threatened exposure, and my sponsors hurriedly came to the rescue with a loan which enabled Mecklin to pay off the debt in full. However, my sponsors grew just as impatient for full repayment and when Mecklin was unable to meet their, shall we say, rather importunate demands, they suggested that the firm take me in as a full partner.”
    â€œThen it cost them around $215,000 to get you a partnership,” I said.
    Cole chuckled his pleasant sound. “Not at all. It cost them only a thousand or so for the con man’s services. The money that they lent Mecklin to pay off his debts was promptly returned to them by the con man.”
    â€œThen what happened?”
    â€œWord got around, as it always does, and Roosevelt changed his mind about Mecklin. The man grew absolutely bitter. He began to take an almost perverse delight in plunging into legal tangles whose outcome could only embarrass the administration. More often than not, he was successful, and he took me along with him. He taught me the art of accommodation and compromise and believe me, Mr. Cauthorne, they are most valuable skills.”
    â€œI don’t quite follow you,” I said.
    â€œEvery so often, a crusader dons his sword and buckler and journeys forth against the infidel who goes by the name of organized crime. In the