he‟s too old to get sucked into that kind of game. Titan coulda been a state senator, probably
governor. God knows he‟s got the power. But he‟s like a man who can‟t swim—he never goes in over
his head.”
“Then maybe he had Tagliani killed,” I suggested.
“Not his style. Squeeze Tagliani out, maybe. But this high-style execution isn‟t gonna be good for
Dunetown. And I don‟t see a hope in hell of cleaning this up right away, do you?”
I admitted that there was very little to go on at that point. I also told him I didn‟t think the town could
keep the gang slayings a secret for too long.
“A day or two,” I said, “maybe.”
“When Cherry McGee and Nose Graves were going at it, the press kept it buried,” he said. “AS far as
most folks know, the hoods that went down during that melee were robbers and thieves, part of the
body count that can be chalked up to your normal, everyday crime statistics.”
“Can‟t you sneak some of this information to them?” I said. “Having the press on your side can help
sometimes.”
He leaned over the table toward me and said, “You don‟t understand, Jake m‟boy. They know it
already. It‟s their option to underplay it. It‟s the way things have always been done here.”
“As I recall, a sheriff is a very big man in this state,” I said.
“Nothing like Stoney. Big doesn‟t even cover it. The way I hear it, he‟s delivered the swing vote for
two governors, half a dozen senators, and this county helped give the state to Kennedy in 1960.”
“A lot of people owe him then,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“He could probably put Raines in the statehouse.”
“He could give him one helluva shove.”
“And the town blowing up around them could sink Raines, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose you could say that. But Raines is a heavy hitter. He might could slug his way out of
a scandal if it didn‟t touch him directly.”
I leaned across the table and said very quietly, “You know as well as I do they can‟t ignore this. It‟s
going to blow up bigger than Mount Saint Helens.”
“Stoney‟s point is well made,” said Dutch. “The sooner we stop it, the better.”
“For Raines?”
“For everybody.”
“Do you like Titan?” I asked bluntly.
“He‟s a relic,” Dutch said. “And I love relics.”
14
THE COMMITTEE
Dutch looked as if he were getting ready to pack it in for the night, but there was still a question left
hanging in the air. He had avoided it. I didn‟t want him to. I decided to back into it with a shocker.
“You think there‟s any chance Harry Raines is behind this?” I asked, It worked. He looked up as if I
had thrown cold water in his face.
“I‟m just trying to get a fix on all the players,” I said,
“Why would Harry want to create this kind of problem for himself? I told you, it‟s his worst
nightmare come true.”
“Maybe he thinks he can keep it quiet like the Cherry McGee affair. Get rid of these hoodlums and
pass it off as some kind of kook slaying.”
“You‟re reaching, son,” he said. “Harry Raines has more to lose in this than anybody.”
“Maybe that‟s what he wants everybody to think.”
“You‟re serious, aren‟t you.”
“You can look at it two ways. He‟s got the most to lose when this gets out, but he also has the most to
gain by getting rid of the Triad.”
“You know, if I didn‟t know better, I might think that‟s the way you want it to play out.”
“Just asking. Like I said, I‟m trying to cover all the bases.”
“You‟re out of the ballpark on that one,” he said, scowling at me over his drink. He looked around the
room and jiggled his ice some more.
It was time to force the issue. Dutch Morehead knew more than he wanted me to know, I was sure of
it.
“Look, Dutch,” I said, “I don‟t mind standing muster for your SOB‟s. I understand all that. I‟ll make
my peace with them in my own way. But I think it‟s time we started trusting each other. Right now I
have the feeling I‟m not playing with all the cards and you hold the missing ones.”
He continued to play with his drink. Finally he said, “All right, what‟s stuck in your craw?”
“What about this Committee you mentioned? What‟s that all about? I mean, look around, Dutch. This
is the crème de la crème of Dunetown in here. Society, politics, money. This is their watering hole.
They act like nothing‟s happened. Three mainline mobsters and a woman have been butchered and
there isn‟t a frown in the place.”
“They don‟t know about it yet,” he said. “And the local press is gonna keep it under wraps as long as
they‟re told to.”
“By whom?”
He sighed as only a big man can sigh. It shook the table.
“I got a few questions first,” he said.
“My old man used to say, „You can‟t listen when you‟re talking.
“Is that a fact,” he said. “Well, my old man used to say, „You can‟t get water out of a low well
without priming it.”
1 started chuckling. “You‟re older than I am, Dutch, I suppose you can keep this up a lot longer. What
do you want to know?”
“You been playin‟ coy ever since you got here, actin‟ like this is your first trip to town,” he said. “See,
I ain‟t buyin‟ that because I don‟t think you‟re on the level and it ain‟t a one-way street, y‟know, it‟s
give and take.”
I had been underestimating the big man. He was either a lot more perceptive than I had given him
credit for or he knew more about me than I thought he did.
“Give me a for instance.”
“For instance, I got this gut feeling you know all about Chief and Titan and the Findleys.”
I wasn‟t sure I could trust Dutch Morehead, I wasn‟t sure I could trust anybody. But I had to start
someplace. I decided to prime the pump a little.
“No bullshit,” he said.
“No bullshit,” I answered. “I lived with Chief Findley and his family for one summer. That was 1963.
Teddy Findley was my best friend. We played football together. We were in Nam together. I was with
him when he died.”
“Uh-huh.”
That‟s all he said. He was waiting for more.
“1 never knew my own father,” I went on. “He died at Guadalcanal before I was born. I guess Chief
was like a father figure to me. What he said was gospel. You could. . . you could feel the power of the
man when he walked in the room. It made the room hum. I‟ve got mixed feelings about all that now.”
“I‟ve heard that about him. There isn‟t much left anymore.”
“No, now Raines is doing the humming.”
“So what‟s that to you?”
“Bottom line, if Raines is the man now, then he has to take the rap for what‟s happened here. Sooner
or later it‟s going to fall on him.”
“So?”
“So how come he‟s got his head stuck so far in the sand?”
“Harry Raines is a local boy,” he said. “Surprised everybody because he was kind of a hell-raising kid
who grew up to be a shrewd businessman and a tough politician. His old man was a barely respectable
judge, had a passion for all the things judges ain‟t supposed to lust after—women, racehorses,
gambling. Hell, the old man died in his box at Hialeah with a fistful of winning tickets in his hand.”
“So that‟s where the interest in horse racing started,” I said.
“From what I hear, by the time Harry was old enough to pee by himself, he‟d been to every racetrack
in the country. He handicapped his way through Georgia, played football, was one of Vince Dooley‟s