"So you're tapped out, too?"
"I got a small stash, get me where I'm goin'. Look, I'm not askin' for anything except a ride and some company to Jacksonville. They can put me on the plane, that's it. Am I on the suspect list, Kilmer?"
"Hell, I think I'm even on the suspect list."
"I need some cover, man, to break out. Whad'ya say?"
The crowd noise surged and I was compelled to look down in the pit. The little dog, the hog dog, had the old warrior by one ear and was dragging it across the pit.
"See what I mean," Harry cried, forgetting his troubles for the moment.
"What's to trade?" I asked.
"You sure got a one-track mind."
"Yeah, and right now I'd like to get on that track and get the hell out of here."
"Like I said, what d'ya wanna know?" he asked.
"Everything you know."
"It ain't that much."
"How about narcotics?"
"I don't have nothin' to do with dope."
"How about Chevos?"
"Look, what do you want? All I'm askin' is a fuckin' ride out of town. This ain't the Inquisition. I can't turn anybody up. That ain't what this is about."
"Did I ask you to turn anybody up, Harry? You're making me play twenty questions here, that's all. We've never done business before. What's the game?"
"Look, I don't know what you want to know. One thing I don't know is who iced these people."
"Start from the beginning. The first time you came down here from Cincy."
He thought about it while I watched the activity in the ring. Finally he said, "I come down here four years ago. It was Tagliani, Costello, Cohen, that's all. I was one of the old man's soldiers at the time."
"What happened?"
"Nothin'. We was gonna stay at this old hotel out where the Strip is now, but it was rundown. We ended up on this guy's yacht. "
"What guy?"
"I don't remember his name."
"Was he local?"
"Yeah. A Doomstown johnny. I think he was in the banking business, like a big shot. Look, you wanna know the truth, it was the two guys you were talkin' to at breakfast."
"Seaborn and Donleavy?"
"I just don't remember that, I ain't good on names."
"Did you hear what they were talking about?"
"I never did that. It was none of my business. On the way back, though, Tagliani tells Costello he thinks this guy is gone around."
"You mean they made some kind of a deal with him?"
"That's the impression I got. In fact, I know it. We all got accounts in his bank."
"What bank?"
"Seacoast National."
"You all have accounts in the same bank?"
"Sure. We get paid automatically. Every Friday, you can book on it. It goes in automatically."
"And that's the whole family?"
"Anybody I know about."
"Did you come down again with Franco?"
"One other time. We stayed on the same yacht. That time it was only the older guy, not the one looks like a wrestler, and he brought this other bozo with him. Short fellow, skinny. Looked to be maybe thirty-five to forty."
I felt like kicking myself for not knowing anything about Sutter and Logan. They were the two members of the Committee I was still in the dark about. I didn't know what they looked like, how old they were, nothing except their names and what they did. Sutter was the media man and Logan was the lawyer.
"Could his name have been either Logan or Sutter?" I asked.
"His name coulda been Mussolini for all I know," Harry whined.
"And you didn't overhear any of their conversations."
"I couldn't listen to that stuff, Kilmer, you know that. It's see nothin', hear nothin'. Besides, at the time I didn't have no idea what was going down. Hell, I still don't for that matter."
The fact that Seaborn entertained Tagliani on his yacht was still not an indication of any wrong-doing. It was his job as a member of the Committee to size up big investors. But if Seaborn was washing money for Lou Cohen, that was a different ball game. Then the meetings on the yacht became pertinent testimony.
I decided to change the subject.
"What do you know about Cherry McGee?" I asked.
"He's dead," Harry said.
"I know he's dead. Before that."
"He was a pistol over in Covington, did free-lance work for Draganata back when Bannion tried to elbow in."
"So McGee was working for the Triad when he came down here?"
"I don't know that for sure. Nobody seemed too upset when he got blown away, though."
"When did you move down here?"
"With O'Brian. I was one of the kid's wedding presents. So I came with them. Nine months ago, maybe."
"The house was already bought?"
"Yeah, that was also a wedding present."
"So what was the reaction when Tagliani was iced?"
"Well, you know I been through a couple wars. When somebody in the family takes one, the first thing happens, everybody gets together, tries to figure out the who and the why. They did it at Franco's place the next day, the day of the wake."
"What happened?"
"It ended up nothin'. It didn't make sense. Both Franco and Draganata had got it by then. Everybody else was freakin' out. They din't think anybody even knew who they were. They started talkin' about you."
"What about me?"
"That you're sweet on Raines' old lady."
"Who said that?"
"Costello, maybe."
"So.. "
"Costello says you're bad luck. There's a big hate on for you over there. It's why I was nervous for O'Brian to meet with you. They say you took down Skeet and then set fire under them in Cincy, which is true."
"So?"
"So Chevos says maybe he should take care of it and Costello says no, no Fed killing and besides, Nance fucked it up once before and Nance gets really pissed, like bad enough, he could have taken Costello's head off. Couple of us, we had to take them apart. Anyway, it blew over. Later Costello tells Nance he's sorry, it's all blown over, and Chevos says maybe they can use this thing with the Raines broad to bring you down."
"What'd Costello say?"
"He says he'll think about it and Chevos says you're a jinx. He says, 'A black cat runs across your path, you kill it, one way or another.' That's his exact words and Costello repeats himself. 'I'll think about it,' he says."
"Is there paper on me?"
"Not that I heard, just the beef is all. Jesus would you look at that. "
The two dogs were locked together in the center of the pit. Blood was splashed on the pit walls, the dirt floor, everywhere. The hog dog was no longer a pit virgin. Its face was shredded. I wanted to get out of there.
"Anybody in the mob got a beef against the Taglianis?"
"Not that I heard."
"Anybody inside got a hard-on for them?"
"Hey, it ain't like that, man. I told ya, everybody's happy."
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Well . . . there's one more thing I can give you. I heard something about a big coke shipment that's coming in. Mucho kilos."
"Well, what about it?" I demanded.
"All I know, there was some stuff comin' in from down south. Out of the country. I know this because some of our girls are into snow and it's been short."
"And . . . "
"And the boat's late. Not to worry, is the word. Could be a storm or something. If it got busted, we'd already know. You guys brag about shit like that."
"Maybe that's where Nance went, to bring the load in."
"What about Nance?"
"He's gone underground. We've been looking for him since Monday."
"I don't know anything about that," Harry Nesbitt said.
Down below, the fight had gone against the hog dog. The old warrior had it by the throat and was snarling for the first time. You could tell it was almost over for the little pit virgin. His o
ne leg was dangling like it was broken and his throat was spilling blood.
"I'm leaving," I said to Nesbitt. "When do you want to leave town?"
"An hour ago."
"Okay, I'll see what I can do. I mean, I'll do the best I can. I don't know what the hell you gave me for this, but I'll talk to somebody and that somebody'll talk to somebody else and we'll get it together. It may be tomorrow morning before I can swing it. You got a place to flop?"
"Yeah. Early tomorrow, huh?"
"You call me first thing."
"Seven be okay?"
"Doesn't anybody in this town sleep past dawn?" I said.
But his attention was already back on the dogs. As I started down the tiers toward the door, the referee stepped in and ended the fight.
The little hog dog was finished. He dragged himself by one good leg toward his master and collapsed in the dirt, his tail wagging feebly. He looked up pitifully at his owner.
I turned away again and didn't see the owner take a .38 out of his belt and hold it down between the hog dog's eyes.
The shot startled me. I whirled around and drew my Magnum without thinking. It took me a second or two before I got the gun back out of sight.
Too late.
The giant at the door saw the move. As I got outside I heard his deep voice drawl, "Hey, boy."
I kept walking. I walked straight toward Longnose Graves' limo.
"Hey, you with that hotshot pistol. Talkin' to you, boy."
I stopped a few feet from the limo and turned around. Two friends had joined him. Just as big and just as ugly.
"Want something?" I asked in the toughest voice I could dredge up.
"That was some kind of move there inside," the giant said. "Like the old O.K. Corral."
"It's a nervous tic," I said. "Happens all the time."
"You needa get it fixed."
"I'll keep it in mind."
He moved closer.
"The only firearms we 'low hereabouts go with the house," he said.
"I was just leaving."
"You goin' the wrong way."
Behind me, I heard a car window whirring. I turned. Graves was a shadow in the back seat, a pair of eyes eager for trouble. The bad end of a .38 peeking over the windowsill took my attention away from his eyes.
A voice as soft as baby skin said, "Let him do his move."
They thought I was going for a heist.
Before I could say anything, the Mufalatta Kid's pickup roared out of the parking lot and skidded up beside me, raising a small dust storm. When it cleared, Zapata and Mufalatta were there. I wondered where the hell Zapata came from!
Zapata had his wallet in one hand and a police special in the other. The wallet was hanging open and his buzzer was gleaming for all to see. Mufalatta was behind the door of the pickup, aiming his Cobra at the limo.
"You sure know how to pep up a party," said the Kid.
47
TITAN DEALS A HAND
The tension was broken by the appearance of another limo. This one was black and I had seen it before, in front of the Ponce Hotel after Draganata was killed. I even remembered the license plate, ST-1. It pulled slowly toward us until its headlights were shining between us and Uncle Jolly's goon squad. All weapons magically vanished. I heard Graves' window glide quietly back up.
"A lot of limos here tonight," I said.
"Either one of these is a lot of limos," the Mufalatta Kid said.
The driver's door opened and a tall, rangy man in a county uniform got out. He wasn't an inch over six six and probably didn't weigh more than two hundred fifty pounds. He walked with a decided limp and there was about him a bug-eyed, almost haunted look. It was a look I had seen many times before, eyes full of fear of what they might see next—or had already seen. He limped toward the front of the car and leaned against the hood. He didn't do or say anything, just leaned against the hood.
The goon squad turned like robots and marched back inside the arena.
"Luke Burger, the sheriff's man," said Zapata. "He's only got one good leg but he can kick the shit out of a rhino with it."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"What I heard," said Mufalatta, "he was chasing a bootlegger on his hog, lost it going over South River Bridge, took a header over the railing, and went through the roof of some public housing two stories down. I hear it took them six months to glue him back together. One of his legs ended up three inches shorter than the other. "
Zapata said, "I also heard Titan covered all the bills his insurance didn't take care of."
Graves' man sauntered back to his boss's Lincoln and passed a roll of bills through the window.
All of a sudden it was business as usual.
"I had enough of this party for one night," Zapata said. "I think I'll just haul my ass outta here. You comin', Kilmer?"
"I think it's time for me to have a chat with Mr. Stoney," I said.
"I'll stick around," the Kid said. "I get a bang outta surprises. Take the pickup. I'll go back with Kilmer."
I walked toward the black Cadillac. Behind me, Hears the big-wheel scratch off in the sand. As I neared Titan's car, his man opened the back door.
"Get in," Titan's crusty voice said from the back seat.
I got in.
"You got more guts than a slaughterhouse floor, doughboy," he said, "but a sparrow's got more brains."
He sat forward, almost on the edge of the seat, his legs tucked close to the black cane, his gimlet eyes glittering like diamonds. When he wanted, his voice had the lilt of Irish flavored with molasses, a voice you listened to and wanted to believe. It could also be as tough as a cowhand's behind.
"I've heard you're a smart cop," he said quietly. "Very savvy, they say. I can believe that. You were a helluva good ballplayer. Too bad about the foot."
"It was my ankle."
"Foot, ankle, what's the difference? So you remember me, eh?"
"Hell, Mr. Stoney, who could forget you? I remember everything. That was one hell of a summer."
"It's a dead and buried summer. Best you forget it or move on."
I didn't respond to his veiled threat, I just listened.
"I know everything that happens in this town, this county. If a cow farts, I know it. I've had my eye on you since you got off the plane. You been havin' quite a time for yourself."
"Just doing my job," I said.
"I could get you recalled with a phone call, doughboy. You got yourself way off base."
"Seems to me that's my business."
"Don't be a dreamer. Best you forget the past and get on with your work. In the first place, you don't even have the credentials. Besides, she's a happy woman, just gets a little lonely."
"Did Chief send you to—"
"Chief doesn't know you're here. If he did, I doubt he'd remember you. He's still livin' in 1969. Teddy's death destroyed him."
"It didn't do a helluva lot for Teddy either."
"You gonna turn out to be a smartass?"
"I was with him when he died. That kind of thing stays with you."
"I saw the letter," he said. He was staring straight ahead, not looking at me or anything else in particular.
I gave him my hardest stare. "You never did like me, did you, Mr. Stoney? You never thought I was good enough for her."
"I told you what I thought," he said. "You were a good halfback until you got busted up. After that . . . "
He let the sentence dwindle away. Fill in the blanks.
"It was all part of watching out for Dunetown, right? Like you're doing now. Sticking your nose in my business again."
He looked at me and his lip curled up on one side.
"You found your level, doughboy," he said.
"Just like you, right?"
He sat for a few beats more and then, without looking at me, he said, "Harry Raines has a brilliant future. It wouldn't do for his wife to be caught screwin' around with a cop."
"Or anybody else," I added.
; "There ain't anybody else, doughboy."
"How about Tony Lukatis?"
His eyes narrowed. "You sure been busy prying into things that don't matter."
"That makes two of us. Besides, you brought the subject up," I said. "Seems to me everybody's awfully concerned about Harry Raines' future and nobody particularly gives a damn about his wife."
"She ain't runnin' for office."
"That's all it's about, running for office?"
"Look, don't go making a monkey of yourself. She's vulnerable right now. I'd hate to think you were takin' advantage of the situation. "
"You've got a lot of time invested in him, don't you?" I pressed on.
His eyes continued to twinkle, even in the subdued interior of the limo. He nodded his head sharply.
"Bet your ass I do," he said.
"I can understand your concern."
"Hasn't a damn thing to do with that. Chief and Doe are family to me. I won't stand by and see either of them hurt."
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Anything else would be tomfoolery," he snapped. The molasses in his tone had changed to flint.
"Could be there's more to it than that," I suggested.
"Now what the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"How long do you think you can keep this under the table? How long can Harry Raines play dumb?"
"He ain't playing nothin'," the sheriff snapped vehemently. "If Morehead was doin' his job, none of this would've happened."
"That's bullshit and you know it. If the Committee had done its job, none of this would've happened."
At my mention of the Committee, he reared back as if I had slapped him. I went on before he could say anything.
"That makes you as much to blame for what's happening here as anybody. I could understand Donleavy and Seaborn being naive enough to swallow Tagliani's line. You're the sheriff, Mr. Stoney, lord high protector of Dunetown and all its peasants and all its kings. You should have tumbled to them. Why dump it off on somebody else?"
"Doughboy, I'm beginning to think you're suicidal," he said softly, and with enough menace that it made me pucker a little.
"Okay," I said, "I'll put it on the table. How clean is Raines?"
"Don't be silly," he snapped. "You think Harry Raines had anything to do with this?"
I said, "If anybody local sold out to the Taglianis, they're looking down the throat of a RICO case. And that means you, Harry Raines, or anybody else."
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