Hooligans Page 16

  "So far."

  "Okay," I said. "Since it's your ballgame, maybe you better tell me the rules."

  He opened a drawer and took out a sheet of paper.

  "This here's my schedule sheet. I spend a lot of time workin' this out, make sure all the bases are covered, people have some time off when they need it. You go short-stoppin' me and it's goin' to get to be a big mess."

  I don't like to be put on the defensive, nor do I like apologies and excuses. "That's fair enough," I said. "Can we work out a compromise?"

  "Such as what?"

  "Such as you and me sitting down and drawing up a list of priorities."

  "I got a list of priorities."

  "It would help if you explained them to me."

  "When it comes up, I will."

  "See here, Dutch, I didn't come here to screw up your operation. You've got a good bunch of people here. A little rough around the edges, but that may be good in the long run. All I'm trying to do is give them a little direction."

  "There's channels," he said brusquely.

  "What channels? You? You're the channel, Dutch. I'm sorry if I stepped on your toes-

  "It ain't that," he said, cutting me off.

  "Then what is it? Look here, if you want to keep boosting dips and hassling street pushers and hookers, that's your business. I didn't come here to kick ass, I came here to do a job, which is to dump the Tagliani outfit. I thought we saw eye to eye on that."

  "Don't screw up my schedule!" he bellowed, slamming his fist on the desk.

  I jumped to my feet.

  "Fuck your schedule," I said quietly. "Maybe I better get some help in here from the field and go it alone. And don't raise your voice to me. This isn't high school."

  It was a bluff but I decided to call his hand before the pot got too big to cover. Sometimes the best way to defuse a situation is to light the fuse. He didn't like it one bit. It caught him off guard. His eyes glittered dangerously and beads of sweat popped out in his mustache. I started for the door.

  "You shoulda told me about you and Doe Raines," he said, before I could get to it.

  So that was it. Titan had let the tiger loose.

  "Why? It's personal business. Titan knows that."

  "Titan didn't tell me."

  "Nobody else knows about it," I said. "That was twenty years ago, damn it."

  He leaned back and raised his eyebrows. "Babs Thomas" is all he said.

  I felt like a fool. The last thing I needed to show Dutch at this point was misjudgment. We stared at each other for what seemed like an hour. Finally his shoulders loosened and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Sheiss," he growled, half under his breath, then waved at the chair. "Sit down. Let's start over."

  I sat down. There was no point in pushing it any further. We both had made our points.

  "Suppose you tell me how you want to run the show," I said.

  The storm was over. "It ain't that," he said quietly. "I just got hot under the collar, see. I didn't like hearin' things about a man I'm workin' sock and shoe with from the local gossip."

  "She's guessing," I said.

  "Is she guessing right? Did you have an affair with Doe Raines?"

  "Shit, Dutch, I had a college romance with Doe Findley. That was over and done with a long time ago. Besides, what's that got to do with the price of eggs?"

  "Right now a scandal could really upset the apple cart."

  I felt like getting righteously indignant except that he was cutting close to the bone. I wasn't sure how to deal with the situation without straight-out lying to the man.

  "There's not going to be any scandal," I said finally.

  "Is that a fact?" he asked seriously.

  "That's a fact."

  He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "I'm sorry I brought it up but I'm just as glad we got it out of the way. Anyway, I got run through the wringer this morning. Titan and Donleavy both shoved it up and broke it off."

  "Does Donleavy know about Doe and me?"

  "I doubt it. It didn't come up."

  "So what's their beef?"

  "No more'n you could expect," he moaned. "My job was to keep people like Tagliani outta here. Now they want the whole mess cleaned up. Titan's idea is to just run them out of town."

  "That stuff went out with Buffalo Bill."

  "Tell them that. So far, Raines hasn't figured it all out. The name of the game is sweep it under the rug."

  "It's gone too far for that."

  "You know it and I know it."

  "But they don't, is that it?"

  "Livin' in the past," he mused. "Donleavy doesn't know anything about the rackets. He's seen too many James Cagney movies."

  "Unless I'm mistaken," I said, "Donleavy had a hand in all this. He was supposed to screen these people."

  "I think it goes something like this: the buck stops here," he said, pointing to himself. "It doesn't go any higher."

  "How did you get yourself in this fix?" I asked. "You're not the kind of man that kisses the ass of people like Donleavy."

  I was thinking of what Charlie One Ear had told me, about the way Dutch hired him and Salvatore. I was sure Dutch had used the same kind of judgment in hiring all the hooligans.

  "The rules changed on me," he said sadly. "Leadbetter was supposed to be the in-between man. When he went down, it fell to me. Up until now, I didn't have any bitch."

  "Up to now it didn't matter," I said.

  He looked over at me for a long time. I was putting the squeeze on him and he knew it. What he wanted was for me to let him off the hook, but I couldn't do that. I needed Dutch right where he was, standing between me and the damned Committee. And that meant he had to stand up to them, like it or not.

  "You don't give a man much, do you, son?"

  "I'm not telling you how to run your business, Dutch. I could ask you to trust me but you don't know me that well. What I will tell you is that this thing is going to blow and soon. The powder keg's in the fire."

  "So what's the answer?" he said, holding his hands out like a man going down for the third time.

  "Try to beat the explosion," I said. "I need to find the key that will put the Triad against the wall."

  "What key?"

  "I need to build a RICO case against these bastards."

  "That could take years!" he cried.

  "Except we have one edge," I said. "I already know the players and how they operate. It's not like we were starting from scratch. What I need is the local buy-out."

  "Who do you suspect?" he asked.

  "Hell, there's so many termites in this woodpile it's hard to say. Just give me free rein with your SOB's for a few days. We can work together. But if something pops, I don't want to have to run you down and explain it. Trust me that far. I may work your boys to death, but it'll be worth it in the long pull."

  "I'll give you this-you already made believers outta Charlie One Ear, Salvatore, and Cowboy Lewis. Zapata's still on the fence but he's about to come around. That leaves only Kite Lange, the Mufalatta Kid, and Pancho Callahan to convince. I don't know how you did it, but you sure moved fast."

  "I'm just a charming fellow," I said with a smile, trying to ease the pressure.

  "You don't have any ideas?" he asked, pressing the question.

  "It could be Raines. Maybe that's the reason he's so coy. He's keeping arm's length from the action. And Donleavy could be his front. "

  "That don't even make good sense, Jake. They got more to lose than anybody, particularly Harry."

  "Harry Raines didn't get where he is by running on empty," I said. "He's ambitious and he's got more than his share of pride. The mob might be making him a bigger offer than just governor of the state. Their clout in Washington is scary."

  He shook his head. "You got one helluva devious mind," he said.

  I didn't say any more. I couldn't tell him that I wanted Raines to be in it. Or Donleavy. Or that my reasons were purely selfish because I was in love with Rain
es' wife. Hell, I'm only human.

  24

  DUE PROCESS

  Charlie One Ear was killing time near the water fountain when I left Dutch's office. His expression asked the question. I made a circle with thumb and forefinger and winked.

  "Just your basic lack of communication," I said.

  "Good," he said. "He's a fine man, Dutch. There's not a man in the squad who wouldn't kill for him."

  "He deserves it," I said. "He's got a mean job and right now the local hotshots have got him shoved against the wall."

  "I just wanted to make sure you understood," said Charlie One Ear. "You're a nice chap and all that, but we're throwing in with you because it appears to be the only chance he's got."

  It was obvious that Charlie One Ear was the spokesman for the SOB's, or perhaps chairman would be closer to it.

  "I appreciate your honesty, Charlie. Just so there's no misunderstanding either way, I intend to take advantage of that loyalty every chance I get."

  He smiled and put out his hand. "Thus far you seem to know what you're doing. Someday I hope to add a new chapter to the legend that seems to be growing around me. Busting the Triad with Jake Kilmer."

  "Let's hope you can write it," I said. "We got the clock against us."

  "I have already come to that conclusion," he said as we walked toward the door. "There seems to be a covert attempt in Dunetown to ignore the Tagliani kill-out."

  "You noticed that, huh?"

  "Yes. Obviously they're hoping for a break before they have to fess up," he continued. "I'm certain the powers that be are aware that the homicide division couldn't find their collective asses if they were all farting 'Dixie' in harmony."

  "Did Stick talk to you about the information we need?"

  "Yes," he said. "I'll start on it this afternoon. I just wanted to make sure everything was A-one with Dutch."

  "He just wants me to stop fucking up his schedule," I said, laughing.

  "He's been days behind on the bloody schedule since the first week we started," Charlie One Ear said with a grin.

  "I think he just needed to blow off a little steam," I answered.

  "By the way, just so you'll know. Cowboy may seem a bit dense at times, but he's really quite bright. He's on about a ten-second flash-to-bang delay."

  "Okay," I said. "Has he always been like that?"

  Charlie One Ear shook his head. "He got the back of his head blown off in Vietnam. There's a steel plate in there. That's why he wears that ridiculous baseball cap. It covers up the bald spot."

  I didn't know how to respond to that. What do you say? Gee, that's tough? Everybody knows it's tough.

  "Actually I mentioned that because Cowboy was a sheriff in Waco, Texas, before he went off to war. When he came back nobody would hire him. Dutch found him working on the docks in New Orleans."

  "Thanks, Charlie, I'm glad to know that."

  "I'm sure he'll have that list up for you by tomorrow, even if he has to work on it all night."

  "Tell him I said thanks," I said.

  "Tell him yourself," said Charlie One Ear. "I'm off for the hall of records."

  Cowboy Lewis was right where I left him, laboring over his errant notebook.

  "Cowboy, don't kill yourself on that, okay?"

  "Tomorrow," he said, shoving the baseball cap back on his head. "I got to tail that Logeto tonight but I'll have it tomorrow."

  "Thanks. "

  "By the way, Zapata said to tell you he went out to find that creep that shot you."

  "His name's Turk Nance," I said.

  "Turk Nance, right." He smiled. "Zapata'll find him, you can put that in the bank."

  "I'll thank him when I see him," I said.

  "I think I'm going to have to take writing lessons," he said as I was leaving. "I can't read my own fuckin' writing."

  As I headed for the door a new figure loomed in my path. It was the cop with the waffle-iron features.

  "We didn't have a chance to get acquainted last night," he said. "I'm Kite Lange."

  "Jake Kilmer."

  "I'm a good wire man," he said. "You need anything wired, you call me, okay? I can bug a fly in motion right in front of your face, you wouldn't see me do it."

  "Terrific."

  "I'm not bragging," he said, and his battered features broke into a smile. "It's a God-given talent."

  "And I'm sure you don't abuse it," I said.

  "Not unless somebody asks me to," said Kite, then he added, "I hear you were in Nam."

  "Yeah," I said.

  "When was that?"

  "'67, '68. I got held up coming home by Tet."

  "What outfit?"

  "Military intelligence. How about you?"

  "Medevac chopper pilot," he said.

  "How many missions did you fly?" I asked.

  "You'd throw up if I told you."

  I hesitated for a moment before asking him the next question, but I figured, what the hell. I was getting to be one of the boys.

  "Mind if I ask you a personal question?" I said.

  "Shoot. "

  "How did you fuck up and get in this squad?"

  Lange's smashed face bunched up and he howled.

  "Hey, that's getting right to the point," he said. "Well, I was flying helicopter traffic control for the Denver PD. Three guys heisted a bank and I was tailing them at about five hundred feet. A blue and white was closing in on them but he lost his car and went off the road. So I dropped right down on top of the getaway car. You know, a couple of feet. I was hanging right in there, radioing back his position, trying to force him off the road, when we came to a railroad bridge. At the last minute I had to pull up to get over it."

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't see the freight train that was crossing the bridge at the time. Flew right into an open boxcar. It happened to be the mayor's favorite chopper. Had his name on the side and everything. You should of seen it, the chopper, I mean." He stopped a moment and chuckled. "It looked like the Jolly Green Giant had it for lunch."

  "So you got the old heave-ho for breaking the mayor's toy, huh?"

  "That, and the city had to buy a new boxcar for the train. They didn't even give me a going-away party."

  I said, "You're lucky you lived through it."

  "What d'ya think happened to my face?" Kite said, still grinning.

  "What were you doing when Dutch found you?" I asked, expecting him to tell me he was selling used cars or something.

  "A traffic gig in Roanoke, Virginia, with a lady reporter," he said. "It was kind of demeaning after doing police work, but it had its moments. She used to give me head on the way back from the afternoon rush every day."

  It was my turn to laugh. "You must be some kind of pilot," I said.

  "After Nam, it's all pie a la mode."

  Then I got an idea. I still don't believe what I did next. Old Mr. Due Process, ex-lawyer, always-do-it-right Kilmer. Maybe the hooligans were beginning to rub off on me.

  "I got an idea," I said.

  "Shoot. "

  "You know the Seacoast Bank's main branch down near the river?"

  "I can find it."

  "I'd like to know who the president's doing business with. Who he talks to during the day, that kind of thing. His name's Charles Seaborn."

  "How about the phone?" Lange asked. "You want it bugged, too? I got a two-for-one special on."

  "No, they wouldn't be that dumb."

  Lange spread another smile over his boxcarred face.

  "Done."

  25

  LIGHTNING PEOPLE

  All the way back to the hotel I was thinking she had probably called and left a message canceling out. It kept building up in my mind until I broke out in a sweat, the way you do when you want something so bad you're sure you won't get it. I started getting pissed and by the time I got to the hotel I had this dialogue between us worked out in my head. I would get it all off my chest, once and for all.

  Then I got to the room and there were no phone calls
or messages. It was almost a letdown.

  I was still in a sweat so I peeled off my shirt and pants and sat down in front of the air conditioner in my shorts. I sat there until I got chilled. That took about fifteen minutes, which meant I had four more hours to go.

  I kept waiting for the phone to ring, expecting her to call the whole thing off. The suspense was awful. I took the phone off the hook but it started screeching like bad brakes do and I hung it up. I sat on the bed and took it off the hook and waited until it screeched; then I'd depress the little bar and wait a minute and let it up again. I killed another fifteen minutes that way until my finger got tired.

  About six o'clock I ordered a steak, potatoes, salad, and coffee. I had forgotten how bad room-service food is until I took the first bite. I wasn't hungry anyway. The coffee was in one of those ugly purple Thermos pitchers that always look dirty and it was lukewarm but I drank it because it was something to do.

  I was killing time. Hell, who am I kidding, I was watching it crawl by on its hands and knees, checking the clock every five minutes. In desperation I started to read Cisco's report on Dunetown. It might just as well have been written by the chamber of commerce for all it told me. I dropped it in the wastebasket and stared at the television set for another thirty minutes.

  At about seven I decided to take a bath, soak my tired muscles, and kill another half hour. I turned on the spigots and the radio. The water was so hot it took ten minutes of juggling and dipping before I settled in. A bath is great therapy, particularly when it's just about too hot to bear. It opens up the head, clears away the cobwebs, helps you sort the real stuff from the bullshit. Kind of like medication.

  About ten minutes after I got into the tub the muses began to whisper to me. They were saying things I didn't want to hear. The muses don't always cooperate.

  Wake up, Kilmer, the voices said, you made Dutch a promise. No scandal, you told him, and he took you at your word, no questions asked.

  Wake up, Kilmer, you can't erase twenty years with a kiss and a smile and a roll in the hay. 1963 is history. You had prospects then. What have you got now? Stick spelled it out, the Holiday Fucking Inn, that's what you've got. Now that would really give Doe a laugh—for about the first five minutes.