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“Okay,” Canidy then said, “you asked why I need to find Frank Nola. . . .”

* * *

“. . . and,” he finished ten minutes later, “now we’ve come back to find Frank and Tubes and get them the hell out of here before the invasion begins. I don’t have a hard date for that—I’ve only heard soon—but be aware that the Allies started early bombing of Pantelleria and some other small islands a couple weeks ago.”

“May eighteenth,” Palasota said.

How the hell did he know that?

Palasota then grinned.

“You should have seen the Krauts, especially the local head SS guy, scared shitless, running around Palermo. You would’ve thought the bombs had hit here. We actually did a lot more business than usual for a few days after that. The Krauts didn’t want to go meet their maker without a last couple good romps in the sack.”

Canidy grunted.

“After they calmed down,” Palasota said, “nothing much happened. Life went back to normal.” He paused in thought, then went on: “I don’t know about any more of the nerve gas, but we can quietly get word out. The information on military strength is easy enough. We know what’s here—which the Germans are complaining is not much, and mostly just a bunch of Italian soldiers. I bet that explains why the news of Pantelleria and all its heavy defenses being bombed made

them panic. And we have ways to find out about what may be coming.”

Canidy grinned.

“What?” Palasota said.

“Sorry. That just made me think about Mussolini’s bold declaration. He said that the heavily fortified Pantelleria meant that Italy unequivocally owned the Mediterranean. And then I thought of the Maginot Line. Some of those Germans no doubt remember it, too.”

“I don’t follow.”

“France, in the First War, built a line of fortifications along its border, very heavy ones that they were absolutely convinced would keep the Germans out. The Krauts, however, immediately flanked the line and plowed right through, taking France in a matter of days. That miserable failure gave way to: ‘What’s the literal translation of Maginot Line?’”

“What?”

“Speed Bump Head.”

Palasota laughed.

“Well,” he said, and shrugged, “that looks like what’s going to happen here, too.”

“You don’t seem to be too concerned about that.”

“Look,” Palasota said, “I learned a long time ago that I am nowhere near the sharpest knife in the drawer. But I am a survivor.”

Yeah. A survivor just like your tough old boss.

But don’t think you’re conning me into thinking you’re not bright.

You were damn quick and smooth with your little test to see if I really knew Joey Socks.

Jimmy Skinny went on: “I am biding my time until the Americans come. I can put together two and two and get, not four, but twenty-two, capiche? These Nazi officers are arrogant and love to brag. And I have ears everywhere.” He waved his right hand above his head. “The girls, the waiters, the bartenders, everyone is listening. And of course certain rooms have been bugged.”

You did learn more than a thing or two working for Charley Lucky.

The most important being: knowledge is indeed power.

Are you recording our conversation?

“I understand,” Canidy said, then after a moment added, “This is none of my business, but that girl in here earlier . . . Maria?”

Palasota nodded. “A very nice girl. She is not available, but there are many others just as nice.”