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Salvatore had a family too. He understood. He understood loyalty just like he understood that Grand Avenue Social Club didnít necessarily have to be located on Grand Avenue.
Wolfowitz hits button again. Harder this time. More annoyed at that damn country song. Some kind of hillbilly thing keeps wafting up through his window. Wolfowitz and Joey Clown hear:
When I was just a baby. My Mama told me son Always be a good boy Donít ever play with guns But I shot a man in Reno Just to watch him die, When I hear that whistle blowingí I hang my head and cry.
Wolfowitz decides to clean mess up himself. Reaches down to scoop up a handful of desk drawer junk and cuts himself on business end of a staple remover at exact same moment that Joey Clown draws blood on concrete reaching for his coffee. Both men bring middle fingers of their right hand up to their faces. Two middle fingers raised proudly at world. Tiny pricks of blood at tip of each. From behind those two fingers, one in carpeted office of World Bank in Chicago, one on a stoop on west side of Chicago; Johnny Cash sings:
I bet thereís rich folks eatin In a fancy dining car Theyíre probably drinkin coffee And smoking big cigars, But I know I had it comin, I know I canít be free, But those people keep a moving And thatís what tortures me.
Wolfowitz and Joey Clown both think. ďAh, no big deal.Ē Joey wipes blood on his pants. Wolfowitz takes out an embroidered handkerchief, then throws it in leather trash basket when heís done.
Wolfowitz has a busy day. Calendar is jammed. Somebody wants to get in to see him? They got to wait at least a month. Unless itís Mr. Rove or Don or one of boys. Joey? He might play some cards later on. Not so busy. Busy hiding in plain sight maybe. Wolfowitz knows he canít be holding meetings in this place with some damn country rock and roll song coming in through window. Wolfowitz gets up to shut his window at exact same time Joey finishes thumbing thru his Sun Times looking for stories about himself. Joey now up on his feet too. He goes inside just as Wolfowitz shuts tight his window.
And what do you know? Both men now shut up inside. And they can STILL hear Johnny Cash sing:
Well if they freed me from this prison If this railroad car was mine Iíd guess Iíd move out over Farther down line Far from Folsom Prison Thatís where I want to stay, And Iíd let that lonesome whistle Blow my blues away.
Blow my blues away.
Roger Wright's Blog is "Church Food Connections"