Bahama Crisis

I was met by a pretty girl dressed in a yellow uniform trimmed with black and with a badge on her lapel, two letters "C' intertwined in a monogram. The outfit made her look waspish, about as waspish as I was feeling.

"Mr. Mangan?"

"Yes," I said shortly.

"This way, sir." She led the way from the concourse and through a side door. Standing on the apron not very far away was a Lockheed Jet Star in gold with black trim; on the tailfin was the Cunningham monogram. Around it was a collection of airport vehicles like workers around a queen bee. I followed her up the gangway and paused as she stopped inside the door to take my bag.

"Glad to have you with us, Mr. Mangan."

I could not reciprocate her feelings, but I murmured, "Thank you," and passed on into the main cabin.

Billy Cunningham said explosively, "Now, will you, for Christ's sweet sake, tell me what's going on?"

From Freeport to Houston is about i ooo miles across the Gulf of Mexico. We droned across the Gulf at 500 miles an hour and Billy was morose sore because he had been yanked out of Miami as unceremoniously as I had from Freeport – and he was irritated when he found I could tell him nothing.

"What bugs me," he said, 'is that for the first time in my life I'm going somewhere in an airplane and I don't know why. What the hell's got into Jack? "

"I don't know," I said slowly.

"I think it's something to do with Debbie."

"Debbie! How come?"

"The first thing Jack asked was if she was with me in Freeport."

"He knew she wasn't," said Billy.

"She was in Houston."

I shrugged.

"Air travel is wonderful. A girl can get around fast."

"You think she's taken off again?" He snorted.

"That girl wants her ass spanked and if you won't do it, then I will. It's time she settled down and learned how to behave."

There was nothing more to say so we did not say it.

There was a car waiting at Houston airport and an hour later I was at the start of a Cunningham conference. At least it was the start for me; the others had evidently been arguing the toss for a long time and it showed. Jack Cunningham was at the head of the table, his silver hair making him look senatorially handsome as usual, and Billy One sat next to him. Debbie's brother, Frank, eyed me with arrogant and illconcealed hostility. As background there were half a dozen other collateral Cunninghams, most of whom I did not know, ready to take their cue from the powerful tribal bosses. This was the Cunningham clan in full deliberation and, predictably, there was not a woman in sight.

Our arrival brought instant silence which did not last long. Billy flipped a hand at his father, surveyed the gathering, and drawled, "Morning, y'all." Uproar broke out, everybody talking at once and I could not distinguish a word until Jack hammered the long table with a whisky bottle and yelled, "Quiet!"

It could have been the traditional smoke-filled room but for the air-conditioning and, indeed, they did look like a crowd of old-time political bosses carving up next year's taxes. Most had their jackets off and had loosened their neckties and the room smelled of good cigars. Only Jack had kept on his coat, and his tie was securely knotted at his neck. Even so he looked decidedly frayed around the edges, and there was a persistent twitch in his left cheek.

He said, "Tom, do you know what's happened to Debbie?"

The question could have had two meanings he really wanted to know if I knew, or it was rhetorical and there was no way of knowing from the inflection of his voice. I said, "How would I know? She left me."

12^ "He admits it," said Frank.

"Admit! I admit nothing I'm telling you, if she hasn't told you already. She's her own woman and she ran away."

"Ran away from what? That'S'what I'd like to know."

Billy casually walked up to the table and picked up a whisky bottle.

"Any clean glasses around?" Then he swung on Frank.

"Button up your mouth."

"You can't…"

"Shut it," said Billy quietly, but there was a cutting edge to his voice.

"Your sister's a brat. Everything she ever wanted she got, but she wouldn't know a man when she saw one, not a real man. When she found she couldn't handle him she picked up her marbles and wouldn't play any more." He looked at Jack.

"Nobody's going to hold a kangaroo court on Tom. Hear?"

Billy One stirred.

"Quiet, boy."

"Sure," said Billy easily.

"I've said the core of it, y'all know that." He dropped into a chair.

"Come sit here, Tom; you look as though you need a drink."

I suppose I did; we both did. And it was half past three in the morning. I took the chair he offered and accepted the drink, then I said, "If you want to know what happened to Debbie why don't you ask her?"

I was now facing Billy One across the table. He laid his hands flat.

"That's just it, son. She's not around to be asked."

"Jesus!" said Billy, and stared at Jack.

"Your little girl runs away again, and you jerk me from making the sweetest deal you ever saw?"

The tic convulsed Jack's cheek; he looked defeated.

"Tell him. Billy One," he said in an old man's voice.