Whatever my decision, the odds were that, once I reached it, I was going to lose Aahz!
A soft rap on my door interrupted my thoughts.
“Say, Boss. Can you spare a minute?”
Not only could I spare it, I was glad for the break.
“Sure Guido. Come on in. Pour yourself some wine.”
“I never drink when I’m workin’, Boss,” he said with a hint of reproach, “but thanks anyway. I just need to talk to you about something.”
My senior bodyguard took a chair and sat fidgeting with the roll of parchment he was holding. It occurred to me how seldom I just sat and talked with my bodyguards. I had rather gotten accustomed to their just being there.
“So, what can I do for you?” I said, sipping my wine casually, trying to put him at his ease.
“Well, Boss,” he began hesitantly, “it’s like this. I was thinkin’ . . . You know how Nunzio and me spent some time in the army here?”
“Yes, I heard about that.”
“Bein’ on the inside like that, I get the feelin’ I probably know a little more’n you do about the army types and how they think. The truth is, I’m a little worried about how they’re gonna handle bein’ tax collectors. Know what I mean?”
“Not really,” I admitted.
“What I mean is,” Guido continued earnestly, “when you’re a soldier, you don’t have to worry much about how popular you are with the enemy, ’cause mostly you’re tryin’ to make him dead and you don’t expect him to like it. It’s different doin’ collection work, whether it’s protection money or taxes, which is of course just a different kind of protection racket. Ya gotta be more diplomatic ’cause you’re gonna have to deal with the same people over and over again. These army types might be aces when it comes to takin’ real estate away from a rival operation, but I’m not sure how good they are at knowin’ when to be gentle with civilian types. Get my drift?”