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Lev turned to Brekhunov. "Did you know about these men from headquarters?" he said angrily.
Brekhunov looked nervous. "I'll get on it right away, boss."
"Find out who they are and where they're staying."
"Won't be difficult."
"Then send them back to New York in a fucking ambulance."
"Leave it to me, boss."
Lev turned away, and Greg followed him. Now that was power, Greg thought with a touch of awe. His father gave the word, and union officials would be beaten up.
They walked outside and got into Lev's car, a Cadillac five-passenger sedan in the new streamlined style. Its long curving fenders made Greg think of a girl's hips.
Lev drove along Porter Avenue to the waterfront and parked at the Buffalo Yacht Club. Sunlight played prettily on the boats in the marina. Greg was pretty sure his father did not belong to this elite club. Gus Dewar must have been a member.
They walked onto the pier. The clubhouse was built on pilings over the water. Lev and Greg went inside and checked their hats. Greg immediately felt uneasy, knowing he was a guest in a club that would not have him as a member. The people here probably thought he must feel privileged to be allowed in. He put his hands in his pockets and slouched, so they would know he was not impressed.
"I used to belong to this club," Lev said. "But in 1921 the chairman told me I had to resign because I was a bootlegger. Then he asked me to sell him a case of Scotch."
"Why does Senator Dewar want to have lunch with you?" Greg asked.
"We're about to find out."
"Would you mind if I asked him a favor?"
Lev frowned. "I guess not. What are you after?"
But before Greg could answer, Lev greeted a man of about sixty. "This is Dave Rouzrokh," he said to Greg. "He's my main rival."
"You flatter me," the man said.
Roseroque Theatres was a chain of dilapidated movie houses in New York State. The owner was anything but decrepit. He had a patrician air: he was tall and white-haired, with a nose like a curved blade. He wore a blue cashmere blazer with the badge of the club on the breast pocket. Greg said: "I had the pleasure of watching your daughter, Joanne, play tennis on Saturday."
Dave was pleased. "Pretty good, isn't she?"
"Very."
Lev said: "I'm glad I ran into you, Dave--I was planning to call you."
"Why?"
"Your theaters need remodeling. They're very old-fashioned."
Dave looked amused. "You were planning to call me to give me this news?"
"Why don't you do something about it?"
He shrugged elegantly. "Why bother? I'm making enough money. At my age I don't want the strain."
"You could double your profits."
"By raising ticket prices. No, thanks."
"You're crazy."
"Not everyone is obsessed with money," Dave said with a touch of disdain.
