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 didn‟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 arid 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 centre 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 one 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 Craves‟ 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