Free Leon Uris by A God in Ruins Page B

build in a handsome premium for you.”
    “And it just so happens that you have some parcels between Harmony and Chepachet you’ll swap us for a song,” Darnell said as Dwight Grassley grew aggravated.
    “You selling or developing?” Thornton asked.
    “All, nothing, or part and part,” Dwight answered. “There are a variety of options….”
    “Yeah,” Darnell chipped in, “a shopping mall but too close to Pawtucket, a marina hotel but too far from Newport, a senior citizens’ development. Costs to build old folks’ condos are too far out of line of prospective receipts.”
    Dwight now underwent a different reaction, one of shock. “How did you get this information?”
    Thornton started to jibber-jabber, but Darnell held his hand up. “We got the data on the land sell off your computers.”
    Well, well, thought Dwight. Well, well, well. He cleared his throat and leaned toward Thornton, dropping his voice. “May we speak privately?” he asked.
    “’Scuse me,” Thornton said. “This is Darnell Jefferson, my vice president, sole employee, and nigra confidant. Sure you must keep a few nigra lawyers around so’s they can translate to the nigras in the low-rent district.”
    “I did it,” Dwight said, folding his arms on the desk and laying his head in them. “Even great men like me make mistakes,” he said, trying to make light. “Now that we’re past introductions, you got acold Coke?”
    “If we still have electricity,” Darnell said. “What’s your thinking, Mr. Grassley?”
    “The land will sell for enough to clear our books.”
    “Let’s see, you can then put a Woolworth’s, Jacques Penne, Sears, Filene’s Basement, and maybe a hundred-thousand-seat stadium made entirely of luxury boxes to attract an NFL franchise. Al Davis would be interested.”
    “Dwight—may I call you Dwight?” Darnell queried.
    “Certainly. And you’re Darnell and you’re Thornton.”
    “Let’s go up on the roof,” Darnell said. It afforded a view of the dump site and was rather depressing. “Mr. Grassley—Dwight—you’re from one of Rhode Island’s great families. This state is known for beads, bracelets, and costume jewelry, probably taught to the Pilgrims by the Indians. It’s no longer a growth industry or a major financial winner. This land, reclaimed, could hold a modern industrial park that could help revive the economy of Rhode Island.”
    “With your plant as our anchor,” Dwight retorted. “Look, fellows, we’ve also done our research. Nobody knows what you’re doing, including yourselves.”
    No sun would burn off the haze this morning. They returned to the office.
    “Give me a figure for your land. We’ll attach it to our parcels and get you, say, twenty percent of the total sale.”
    At that moment Darnell and Thornton looked at one another, completely locked into each other’s brain. Thornton gave a tiny, tiny nod. Darnell was on. He picked up a Growler and handed it to Dwight.
    “This little devil makes our Bulldog network totally secure.”
    Dwight burped out a laugh, excused himself, andwaved them off.
    “The computer environment is now being invaded by every con artist, cross-dressing sicko, porno pervert, thief, monster banks, stock manipulator, secret arms and trade dealer,” Darnell said.
    “And you boys must have God on your side,” Dwight mocked.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Thornton said. “The First Union Bank of Providence, your bank, dips freely into ten numbered cocaine accounts and ‘reinvests’ through your building funds. Accurate records are hard to come by. You’ve got a sweet, clean seventeen percent skim-off.”
    Dwight paled. Suddenly he was looking at a pair of young men, eager of purpose and filled with frightening information. He told himself to remain calm. After casting about for a reason, he realized there was no explanation.
    “Are you going to blow the whistle on us?” Dwight asked.
    “Of course not,” Thornton answered. “You’re