with age spots on the backs of his hands and dark hair turning white.
Braun said in a nasal voice, “I hear, Dutch, that you‟re planning to retire tomorrow. There won‟t be
anything left for you t‟do.”
Dutch said, “Don‟t make me laugh too hard, I‟ll wet my pants.”
“How many is this between last night and tonight?” Braun asked, continuing to needle the big man.
“Cot enough for a football game yet?”
“Just do yer job, okay, Braun? Leave the comedy to Bob Hope.”
The homicide cop looked at Della Norman.
“Lookit that spook‟s tits. Bet there was some good pussy went through the window when she blinked
out.”
“You want maybe we should all step out in the hall for a minute or two while you get a little?” Dutch
chided.
“Up yours,” Braun said.
All class.
Chess finished his work on the woman and turned to Logeto.
“What‟ve we got here?” Chess said. „Looks as though there‟s been a hangin‟.”
“Jake here says this job looks like an old Vietnam trick called the singin‟ string or something.”
“D‟they learn it on The Lawrence Welk Show?” Braun asked.
“It‟s called the singing rope,” I corrected. “The way it works, you take a rope, tie a knot halfway
down it, and tie a small stick in the end. The Arvies would come up behind their target, whip the rope
around his throat, catch the stick, and twist. The knot pops the main nerve in the back of the neck and
paralyses the mark. After that, all it takes is about sixty seconds or so to finish the job.”
“You like havin‟ the Feds do yer thinkin‟ fer yuh?” Braun asked. Cowboy Lewis made a growling
sound deep in his throat and
balled up his fists. Dutch laid a gentle hand on the big man‟s shoulder.
“Anybody touch anything up here?” Chess asked.
The Cowboy shifted from one foot to the other.
“I used toilet paper when I phoned in it. No prints,” Cowboy said.
“Excellent, m‟boy. I see you teach them right,” Chess said to Dutch.
“Yeah, all yuh gotta do now‟s teach „em to talk,” Braun said.
“Cowboy, go downstairs, see what you can shake outta those dago coin-tossers,” Dutch said, probably
saving Braun a trip to intensive care. When Lewis was gone, Dutch said to Braun, “What‟s your
problem, putz?”
“You and your special headquarters and shit,” said Braun. “So far looks t‟me like all you‟ve done is
fuck up.”
“You make a lot of noise for somebody with six unsolved murders in his lap,” Dutch said.
Braun said, “We got enough bodies downtown for one night.”
“Braun, you cry too much. You can‟t see straight through all the tears,” Dutch said.
“Fuck you,” Braun said.
Tension crackled in the room. Chess broke up the witty repartee.
“Well,” he said, “if you two Shirley Temples are tired of goosin‟ each other, I‟d like to get this pair
down on a slab and start work.”
“It ain‟t my beat anymore,” Dutch said. “I get „em alive, putz here gets „em dead.”
“What‟s your guess about the time, Doe?” I interjected, hoping to ease things a little.
“I‟d guess—and I‟m guessing, remember, don‟t hold me to this—I‟d guess they were both killed close
together, the girl first. Three to four hours ago, give or take.”
It was ten thirty-five.
The ME turned Logeto‟s body over and the dead mobster lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the
ceiling with his tongue stretched out of his mouth. The corpse was nattily dressed. His tie wasn‟t even
loose.
An idea or two began to brew in my head.
I ambled out into the hall, found the stairs to the roof, and climbed up them. The door to the roof was
unlocked. I checked it out, looking down to the open bathroom window and giving the brick wall a
close check. There were three grooves in the ledge above Della Norman‟s bathroom window.
As I came back down I saw the Stick talking to one of the four coin-tossers, a weasel-faced little hood
who stood sideways, looking off down the street someplace as he spoke, as if the Stick were not there.
Stick finally nodded and left his stoolie, entering the building and joining me on the second floor.
“I got sidetracked,” he said. “That little shit I was talking to, his brother‟s in the dock waiting to be
sentenced for pushing. He‟s hoping I‟ll go to bat, get the bastard a reduced sentence. But he doesn‟t
know shit about what happened and neither do the other three. What he says, Logeto came here at six
fifteen. They saw him go into the girl‟s apartment, which is usual for Monday night. They heard some
bedsprings rattling a coupla minutes later, figure Logeto was so horny he jumped right to it. They
made a couple of jokes, then pitched dollars until Cowboy Lewis showed up and busted in.”
“Go take a look inside.”
We went back into the apartment together. Della Norman‟s body was already wrapped up and on a
stretcher. The ambulance lads worked a body hag over Logeto‟s feet and wheeled both bodies out.
Braun followed them into the ball and Dutch, Stick, and I were alone in the room.
“What‟s this bit about them getting Burked?” Dutch asked. “What‟s that all about?”
Stick said. “I saw this once downcountry. The CRIPS used it. Silent and quick.”
“What‟s a CRIP?”
“Combined Recon and Intelligence Platoons. They were kind of the army‟s on-the-spot Green Berets,
Only they didn‟t have the training. They recruited everybody. Guys in the brig, misfits, old French
Legionnaires, mercenaries, people who didn‟t want to come back after their tour was up. Basically
they were assassination squads. Send „em out, kill a village leader or a tax collector, some rebel leader
who‟s getting a little muscle. Like that.”
Morehead shook his head. “Different kind of army,” he said.
“You were in the army?” said Stick.
“Korea. Foot soldier. Sixteen months,” the big German said. “You remember Korea, boys? Nowadays
most people think Korea‟s the name of an all-night grocery stand.”
“Poor old Della,” the Stick said. “Why would anybody want to ice her?”
“What about her?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Della and I got along. I had occasion to bust her once. A pot charge. It was just a
fishing expedition, see if maybe we could turn up something on Nose. She figured it out and took it
like a sport.”
“Wonder what Logeto was doing with her.”
“Maybe she was just a good piece of ass,” the Stick conjectured. “Wasn‟t he supposed to be the
Taglianis‟ resident cocksman?”
“That‟s a simple enough explanation,” Dutch said.
I was barely listening. I was too busy wondering how Logeto and Della Norman had been killed
without being seen or heard by four goons at the foot of the stairs.
“I can think of one reason Della was killed,” I said.
“We‟re holding our breath,” said Dutch.
I did some verbal logic, to hear what the ideas sounded like:
“Logeto came here every Monday night. Whoever killed him knew that, knew what time he usually
came, and he or she also knew that there was a lot of heat on. Getting past Logeto‟s bodyguards
wouldn‟t be easy. So what‟s the answer? Come in first and kill the girl. Killer knew Logeto would
come in alone; he‟s too macho to have his boys sweep the place first. So he or she killed the girl and
then waited. When Logeto came in, the killer Burked him. Logeto never made a sound.”
“Then he or she dusted off through the bathroom using a dropline,” Stick finished.