"It shouldn't be too tough; a fleet boat of the Navy packs a wallop."
Arena tapped his teeth with a slim paper-cutter.
"You're worried your outfit will wind up Max Arena's private Navy, right? I'll tell you something. You think I'm sitting on top of the world, huh? I own this town, and everybody in it. All the luxury and fancy dinners and women I can use. And you know what? I'm bored."
"And you think running the Navy might be diverting?"
"Call it whatever you want to. There's something big going on out there, and I don't plan to be left out."
"Arena, when I clear atmosphere, we'll talk. Take it or leave it."
The smile was gone now. Arena looked at me, rubbing a finger along his blue cheek.
"Suppose I was to tell you I know where your other three boys are, Maclamore?"
"Do you?" I said.
"And the boat," Arena said. "The works."