"Yes?", she said.
"What are your views on non-violence, Condolezza?"
"But of course, non-violence is everything! It is the air we breathe, that comes as a gift from these flowers, it is how we relate, one to one, and even sometimes in larger groups, and I wrote a powerful song about it that --"
"Not just now, Condolezza." I interrupted. "The truth is that in the last 24 hours, just scratching the not very interesting surface of this folkie crowd you hang out with, one person is dead, I have been knocked out, followed, tied up, had a nice physical chat with your Arab pal, and there is a wandering knife with Theets Logos' logos on it, if not his fingerprints."
"Theets?!!! Oh, no. He had such a beautiful soul, once. Is he here among us?"
I was beginning to get the knack of having a conversation with Condolezza. It was like ice skating on skates from which all the laces had been removed.
"And then there is Cosmo, who is a refugee from Altamont, and, to paraphrase Dame Edith Evans, we all know what that unfortunate movement led to."
She huffed: "I don't know what you are talking about. He was never near Altamont. He has a Masters from Columbia. He is a genius."
"Not to attack the hallowed halls of Columbia, but their standards seem to have degenerated. This guy has a doctorate in bumpatting, and got less than 390 on the W.N.S.S. exams."
"W.N.S.S.?"
"Writing your name on the sand with a stick."
"I can't say that he is promoting my career as strongly as I would hope, but his name has certainly appeared on my checks recently. And on my new CD!!" And she handed it to me, and pointed to a name:
Cosmo Tepperman, Executive Producer and Chair, Sadista Records.
"And" she said, "Here he is now."
A chubby short man in an impeccably tailored Savile Row suit, his remnant hair sprawled over his bald head like the bottom of your spaghetti strainer when you forget to put the salt in the boiling water, and smoking a large fat cigar, was picking his way over the daisies towards us. All I could think of was not that we had been up the down staircase, but that Condolezza seemed to have a Snow White complex, since here was the second dwarf of my acquaintance.
"Lezza, Baby, how are ya? Saving the pipes? What are you doing out here, you aren't singing to this guy for free, are you -- hey, just a joke!" He bore an astonishing resemblance to Big Ears the Elf, except for the lack of beard. He kissed Condolezza on both cheeks, and sat down, rolling side to side for a second, and then settled in.
"Cosmo, this is Blake Madison, who has been saying strange things about you."
I apologised as best I could, without saying anything much.
"Hey no problem, Blakey baby. We both have Lezza's best interests at heart. You really think this threat is real, not just the usual kooks?"
I decided to prod the elf, which never works out well in fairy tales.
"I'll tell you what I think, Mr. Tepperman. I think that what is happening is that there is a quid-pro-quo agreement to which someone in your organization is a party, which is using your company to shuffle oil out of Iraq illegally, and import CDs into the Ukraine, which will pirate them out to Kazakhstan, which will trade them for peaches to Iran, and then the peaches will be traded for Malaysian computer chips, which will show up in your cellphone next year." I am sure some of it was wrong, but I was flying a gaudy kite.
I give him immense credit. He sat there and looked at me as if I were nuts, and then he broke out laughing.
"What are you laughing about, Cosmo, what is he talking about? Oil?" Condolezza asked, an even more bewildered look than normal crossing her face, and looking both ways for traffic.
"I think you should fire this guy, Lezza, he is kookier than the guys trying to kill you."
I stood up. "Well, that's my current theory. Fire me or not, there is a dead man unaccounted for. But you might want to check this out before you do. This was found on the dead man." And I flashed them the matchbox cover. "See you around." I turned to walk away, and turned back. "Oh, and one more thing. I see that Sadista Records is owned by Sherman Oil, and you just went public three days ago. How much did you make on that?"
Cosmo smiled. "You mean me, personally?"
"Oh, why not."
"$12 million. They're playing our song in Washington, or haven't you heard."
I had heard. I walked away towards the Keg, idly wondering if my long awaited tax rebate had showed up in the mail yet, so I could buy that farm I had always wanted.