Paulie and Osama

Paulie ain’t bin laudin’ the FBI

© Bryan Zepp Jamieson
10/2/06
http://www.zeppscommentaries.com/Humor/paulieobl.htm

Paulie was sitting at my main desk, hands folded neatly in front of him. He glanced at the clock on my computer monitor. “It is about time you got home,” he complained.

I gave Paulie an exasperated look. “I have a lock on the front door for a reason, Paulie. It means I am not here and do not wish other people to enter.”

“Perhaps you need a more adamant lock.”

“Perhaps I need less adamant friends. Seriously, Paulie, would you quit doing this? This is my space.”

Paulie gave me a serene look. “You need to consider, Zepp, that you have several hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment here protected by a fifteen dollar lock. I’m doing you a favor every time I come in, reminding you of how vulnerable you are.”

“I have an alarm system too.”

“That took less time to defeat than did the lock. Seriously, Zepp, you are taking an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s enough to satisfy my insurance company.”

“Do you think they would feel as . . . satisfied . . . if they knew I was breaking and entering at will?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Paulie went on. “You think you need only worry about theft. But you need to reflect that you are a political writer who is in the unenviable position of having been long opposed to the present regime. And these days, that regime has very few checks on its power and seems intent on rounding up political enemies, real and imagined.” Paulie pointed at my monitor. “Is there anything on your system you would not care to share with the nice federal agents?”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Even if I believed you, I didn’t ask what you wanted to hide. I asked what you wanted to share. I am your close friend, and you know me well enough to know that I did not spend my time here rummaging through your personal effects or peeking on your hard drive. Nonetheless, you felt frustrated and annoyed, and felt that what you call your ‘space’ had been violated. Now imagine it is malevolent men with vicious intent doing a thorough search with the goal of finding something they can use to justify the expense of shipping you off to the Gulag for an indefinite stay.”

“If they really want in, an expensive lock isn’t going to stop them.”

“A formal search, no. But a quick and dirty sneak and peek requires stealth and a minimum amount of exposure. A good lock would dissuade that.”

I shrugged. “OK, I’ll get a better lock. Will you at least pay for the one you just defeated?”

“Why should I do that? If you examine it, you will find it is in perfect operating order.”

“Well, at least let me have my desk back.” Paulie stood up, and with a wide bow and a sweeping grin, ushered my into my chair.

Unmollified, I slumped in my chair and glared up at him. “So, what can I do for you today, Paulie?” I ground out.

“I have come to solicit your help in writing an editorial piece that I wish to submit to newspapers around the country.”

“And you thought you would grease the wheels a bit by breaking into my office.”

“Have you heard of a gentleman named Joseph Billy, Junior?”

“Um, shortstop for the Padres? Hell, I don’t know.” I splayed my fingers at Paulie. “Who is Joseph Billy Junior?”

“He is head of the counterterrorism unit for the Effa Bee Eye. And he has incurred my displeasure by stating that it is his belief that the Mafia is operating in conjunction with al Qaida.”

“What the hell do you care? You’re just a legitimate businessman. You’ve told me so dozens of times.” He has, too, but it never hurts to repeat it on the grounds that the walls have ears and the skies have eyes.

“Indeed I am, but I am also of Italian heritage, and rightly or wrongly, the so-called Mafia has been inextricably linked to people of Italian descent. By alleging that the Mafia would cooperate with enemies of America who were involved in the deaths of nearly 3,000 Americans, he is impugning the patriotism and decency of every American of Italian descent.”

OK, I could see that. But I was still feeling pissy. “Hold up. Didn’t you tell me that you have interests in Saudi Arabia?” Paulie nodded. “And Qatar? And the Emirates?” Paulie nodded twice, a frown growing. Clearly he didn’t like where I was going with this.

“Well, look, you can’t really do business in Saudi Arabia without dealing with the bin Ladens. They are the biggest private concern in the whole country, and have their fingers in nearly every pie there is over there.”

“They disowned Osama bin Laden.”

“So they say. In any event, let’s say you write an editorial, and the New York Times or the Post or somebody major runs it. Someone, and it will probably be a goddam GOP operative, is going to say, ‘Aha. This Paulie Five Fingers has been associated with the mob. Let’s just see if he does business in the middle east.’ And boom! Next week you’re looking at a headline that say’s “Suspected mobster doing business with bin Ladens!”

Paulie curled a finger over his upper lip and looked down at my desk, lost in thought. Sensing this would be a good time to shut up, I leaned back and watched as Paulie selected, and rejected, several responses. Finally he looked up. “Are you suggesting I should let this smear against Italian Americans go unanswered?”

“I’m saying that you are the wrong guy to make the response. Your business dealings play right into Junior’s hands. Get someone who isn’t doing business with the bin Ladens and who doesn’t have a name like ‘Paulie Five Fingers’ to speak up for the Italian American community.”

Paulie strummed fingertips on my desk indecisively. Not something I see him do very often. “Is there anything I could do?”

It was my turn to think while Paulie waited with unusual patience. Finally I looked up with a wide grin. “I’ve got it. There’s a way you can respond that will not only let people know that Italian Americans have no use for bin Laden, but will give you a shot at embarrassing the Putsch junta.”

“You interest me strangely. Tell me more.”

“You do the editorial, speaking as someone who is an Italian American and a mobster.”

“...Have you gone mad?”

“OK, you don’t come out and call yourself a mobster. You describe yourself as ‘An Italian-American and a legitimate businessman’ and everyone goes ‘right, wink wink, nod nod’ and then you spend the first half of the essay talking about how Italian Americans, more so than nearly any group in America, stand four-square against terrorism and Moslem extremism. You shouldn’t have any trouble making that case; jihadists have little appeal among Roman Catholics.”

Paulie canted his head to one side, a sign that he found that part persuasive, but wasn’t ready to buy.

“Then you address the issue as a businessman. You come right out and say that you do business in the middle east, both with Arab countries and Israel – you did say you have interests there, right? Ok, and you point out that as a businessman, it isn’t your place to base your activities on the fact that your customers might know some people who you wouldn’t like. That’s no way to do business.”

I grinned an arrest-me grin. “Now comes the fun part. You discuss how Americans of all ethnicities do business in that part of the world, including Dick Cheney, the Bush family, DeLay, Hastert, Wolfowitz, and a whole bunch of other administration types, some of them at levels that utterly dwarf yours. Wryly note that they don’t seem to spend a lot of time questioning the politics and tactics of their customers, and note that while as far as you know, none of them are in the mob, from your vantage point the only real difference between an administration official and a mobster is that an administration official can arrest a mobster for doing the same sorts of things that the administration official does! Point out that Dick Cheney can’t say it’s pragmatic when he does it and immoral when you do it, and note that despite their profound involvement in middle eastern business dealings, few members of the administration appear to be Italian-Americans, although all of them appear to be mobsters.”

Paulie grinned, but was shaking his head. “I love it, but no paper would run it.”

“Can it hurt to try?”

“Yes, but let us try it anyway.”

“I can imagine a good headline if your piece gets a strong positive response, Paulie.”

“Oh? What would that be?”

“Italian-Americans “mob” administration over al Qaida link”

It’s not often I make Paulie groan.