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-I. It pulled slowly toward us until its headlights were shining between us and Uncle Jolly‟s goon
squad. All weapons magically vanished. I heard Craves‟ 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! 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. “1 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, I heard 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 flavoured 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 fails, 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! 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
therm. 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?”