Straits of Fortune - Anthony Gagliano [4]
“Nothing ever changes, does it, Jack? The greed, the corruption—the inflated egos of the politicians, almost all of them afflicted with third-rate minds. Have you ever noticed how rarely it is that ambition and ability are proportionate to one another? Take Caligula, for example: stone cold mad, and there wasn’t a thing to do about it. Of course, they killed him in the end, but by then Rome was ruined—at least from a moral standpoint. Ambition and madness make for disaster.”
“That’s no doubt true, especially for emperors, but then there are different kinds of ambition, aren’t there, Colonel? Take yours, for instance. You don’t really care that much about money. It came your way as a kind of by-product. Now you’re rich and bored. That leaves politics or suicide. Why don’t you run for mayor, or maybe even city commissioner? That way you would get to go to all those fun meetings they have every week.”
“Do you honestly think I have the tact for that? For listening to a bunch of cretins argue for hours on end about whether or not to put up another one of those dreadful condominiums on Collins Avenue? Or about how best to suck the dollars out of the tourists each winter? You know me better than that.”
“That’s just the point, Colonel,” I told him. “You don’t have any tact at all. You never developed it. It’s like a muscle that never got used.”
“My children often tell me that very same thing, especially Nick. They think I lack warmth. Perhaps they’re right.”
At that moment two kids on Jet Skis came out of the sun’s glare as though they’d been born from it and roared toward the yacht at full speed, their bright orange life vests lifting behind them like capes as they rode. The Colonel stood up and watched them through the binoculars. The riders circled the yacht a few times, then went back the way they’d come. The Colonel seemed to relax after they were gone. He sat back down, but there was a frown on his face. He rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and index finger. His eyes looked tired, his face drawn.
“I’ve never been good at maintaining relationships, Jack,” he said, again staring out to sea. “I’m sure my daughter informed you of that. The military is poor preparation for the demands of family life, and there are times, quite frankly, when even my own children seem like strangers to me. I can easily imagine not knowing them. Isn’t that a horrible thing for a father to say? But at least I’m being honest about it. I’m cursed with the mercenary’s mind, Jack. I tend to think of people in terms of their utility, and my children—Nick especially—seem to have damned little of it.”
“Don’t give up on him,” I replied. “He may come around yet.”
“Not as long as there’s a dollar left in his trust fund, he won’t.”
He looked out at the yacht again and shook his head again.
“I wish I had kept in touch with you, Jack,” he said after a moment. “I flatter myself to think that you and I were friends.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t send out too many Christmas cards either.”
“Still, if we had kept in touch, what I’m about to ask of you might be easier, or at least more appropriate.”
“That’s a mercenary’s expression of regret, Colonel,” I told him.
“Yes. Yes it is. I suppose it comes through no matter what.” He studied my face for a moment. I had no idea what he was looking for. “Well, Jack, what do you say? Are you up for a bit of adventure?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Despite what you said a moment ago, I understand that your business is rather slow in the summer.”
I didn’t say anything to that. I took a swallow of orange juice and put the glass down on an orange coaster with a black dragon printed on it.
“I thought that as a fellow mercenary you might be of a mind to make a lot of money in very little time.”
I took another sip of orange juice. It was freshly squeezed, with an inch of pulp floating on top, but it was a bit too sweet for my taste.
“That’s a reasonable thought,” I said. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why do you keep staring at that yacht?”
The Colonel turned and