New Shoes & Marsala

Location: Matteo's, Los Angeles, CA

I always like a long dinner at Matteo's, particularly when I can stick the bill to Mickey. What the hell, right? He's just gonna' mark it up and charge it back to me. Try the veal marsala there, best in the city. Don't even think of sitting at my booth though. Verboten baby.

Alright, on with the rest of the story. We go in to the field office, me, Mickey and the four socks brothers. When we get to the Assistant Director's office, he does the usual double take that I get when I'm recognized. "This is the guy?" he asks the four stooges.

"Yes sir, a Mr. Francis Albert Sinatra," the stooge said, referring to his notes.

"I know who the fuck he is Larry, the question is do YOU know who the fuck he is?" Then he turns to me, "I thought you were dead!"

"I get that a lot." I reply, taking a seat and pull out a cigarette. I had won this one before my ass hit the chair.

Larry interrupts me mid-light, "Mr. Sinatra, there's no smoking in public buildings."

Not even glancing up from my smoke as I continued to light it, I said, "What are ya' gonna' do, arrest me again? Hey listen, you're a public servant, go get me an ashtray sonny. By the way, don't they issue you guys shoes around here?"

That got the result I wanted. The Assistant director looked over his desk at Larry and the other three goon's feet. "Larry, where the fuck are you shoes?"

"Well uh, sir, uh, we don't know. Mr. Sinatra made us take our shoes off before..."

"He MADE you take off your shoes? Four grown men. Four FBI agents. That's what you want me to believe? What are you gonna' tell me that Mr. Sinatra stole your shoes on top of starting the largest wildfire in California's history?" The Assistant Director didn't sound too happy. Pity. He went on. "Larry, do you know that Mr. Sinatra not only knew Mr. Hoover, but dined with him?"

"On several occasions. Swapped a Christmas gift or two, I believe." I added. Mickey was just sitting there sweating and looking like he was watching a tennis match.

The Assistant Director went on, "Furthermore Larry, you know you don't bring in high profile celebrities without the express clearance from the director himself. What the hell is wrong with you kid, all three of you. You got nothing better to do?"

"Sir, please, if I can explain..."

"Larry, I don't want to hear it. I want the four of you, out of my office NOW! Take lunch, buy shoes and fucking go do your job while you still have one. Do you hear me?"

"Yes sir, I..."

I had to rub more salt, "Oh Lar," I said, "don't forget to grab me an ashtray before you leave, will ya kid'?"

The Assistant Director turned to me and said in the politest of tones, "Mr. Sinatra, I hate to ask, but we unfortunately have a law about smoking in government buildings. If you could be so kind as to not smoke in here, I would consider it a personal favor."

"Sure thing, kid" I turned to Larry, "Scratch the butt-tray kid. Here." I handed him the lit cigarette. "Don't be a litter bug, you might want to flush it down the crapper instead." Then I turned back to the Assistant Director, "Anything else you need while I'm here?"

"Well, just a formality, and I hate to ask, but since these boneheads filed a report, I have to ask you. Did you have anything to do with the fires that are eating up southern California?"

"I respect that you're doing your job, followin' the rules. You know Hoover woulda' loved you, really loved you. Nah, kid, of course not. Why do think I live in the desert? Nothing catches fire there. Smokey the Bear and me, we're like this." I crossed my fingers for emphasis.

"Well I can't see any reason to hold you. Again, on behalf of the agency, I apologize for any inconvenience..."

I got up and extended my hand to him, "No sweat kid. You shoot straight. If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, just give me a call, understand?"

He shook my hand and said, "Yes sir, thank you again Mr. Sinatra, and uhm, welcome back."

I winked, turned and headed for the door. I stopped in front of Larry, who was standing there utterly speechless still holding my lit cigarette, and said, "Larry, haven't you heard? No smoking in the office pally." I slapped him on the back and walked out. "Come on Mickey, you'll buy me lunch."

We get to the car and drive a good 5 minutes before he asks, "How the fuck did you pull that off? I thought Hoover hated you."

"He did Mick. That little faggot. You know I never really met the guy? Just some press photos."

"So why did that Assistant Director think you did?"

"Beats me pally, but that's something you attorneys don't know that any entertainer worth his SAG card knows. You gotta' improvise. Play the cards you're dealt like you stacked the deck yourself. The A.D. gave me an out and I took it. Listen, you bill me for this and I'll leave you where I found ya', ya' lazy prick," I laughed. "Let's hit Matteo's on Westwood, but stop at Sy Dev's first. I wanna' pick up some decent kicks for those Hoover clones."