Hooligans (21 page)

reports, or lack thereof, forever.

“Salvatore says you‟re interested in that little weed, uh...” He paused, stymied temporarily because he

had forgotten the name.

“Cohen?” I helped.

“Yeah. Little four-eyed wimp, got his head on a swivel?” he said, twisting his head furiously back and

forth to illustrate what he meant.

“That‟s him,” I replied. “Unless times have changed, he‟s the bagman for the outfit.”

“Yeah,” he said, which was his way of agreeing. “Carries one of those old-timey doctor‟s bags, black.

Hangs on to that sucker like he‟s got the family jewels in there.

“That‟s about what it is,” said Stick, “the family jewels.”

“I shadowed him three days—Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, last week—and got him cold.” Lewis

took out a small black notebook. “He stays real busy in the morning. Moves around a lot. Goes to the

bank every day at two o‟clock, just as it closes.”

“Every day?” I asked.

“All three days he went to the bank there on the river.” He nodded.

“This activity in the morning—does he always go to the same places?” Stick asked.

Lewis shook his head. “He‟s all over town. But he always seems to wind up on the Strip around noon.

Leastwise he did these three days.”

“Where does he bank?” I queried.

“Seacoast National, down there by the river like I said. Although sometimes he makes deposits at the

branches.”

The good-news worm nibbled at my stomach. That was Charles Seaborn‟s home plate.

“Cash deposits?” I asked.

“Never got that close,” Lewis said with a shrug. “Didn‟t wanna tip my hand, y‟see. He travels first

class. Big black Caddy limo with a white driver looks like he could carry the heap in his arms. Then

there‟s another pug in the front seat and a souped-up Dodge Charger with a high-speed rear end

fo1lowing them. Usually two, three mutts in it.”

“Like a little parade?” Stick suggested.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, “a little parade. Any one of „em could win an ugly contest, hands down.

The Charger is usually in pretty tight. Half a block behind at least.”

“And he moves around a lot, you say?” I threw in.

“Uh-huh. But he always ends up there at the bank by the river, just before it closes.”

He offered me his notebook, which had notations scrawled everywhere. Slantwise, up the sides of the

pages, upside down. It was far worse than his typed report.

“What does all this mean?” I asked.

He looked a little hurt. “That‟s addresses and stuff,” he said. “See here, 102 Fraser, that‟s an address

where he stopped. Here‟s Bay Br. That‟s the Bay branch of the bank. Uh, I don‟t know what this one

is for sure, but I can figure it out.”

“Any of these addresses mean anything to you?”

“Well, some of „em do. See here where I wrote down „Port?‟ That‟s the Porthole Restaurant on the

way out to the Strip. He hit there two days, Tuesday and Friday. Bron,‟ that‟s Bronicata‟s joint. That

was Wednesday.”

“He sure eats a lot,” I said.

“Naw. Never stays that long. Five minutes, sometimes ten. I ambled in behind him once at the

Porthole. He has a cup of coffee at the corner of the bar, goes to the can, and leaves. Two guys from

the Charger sit a few stools away, another grabs a table near the door. The other two stand by the car.

He sure ain‟t lonely.”

It was an excellent tail job, but it was impossible for me to decipher his notes.

“This is a great job,” I told him, “but I need a big favour. Can you list the places he stopped with the

dates and times for me? Nothing fancy, just write them down in a straight line on a sheet of paper.”

“Can‟t read my writing, huh?” he said, looking hurt again.

I tried to ease the pain. “It‟s strictly my problem,” I said. “I have a very linear mind.”

His “Oh” told me that he didn‟t quite get my meaning but wasn‟t interested in pursuing it any further.

“Does Dutch have you shadowing Cohen anymore?” I asked.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I‟m pulling a double. Logeto tonight, Cohen in the morning. Then I‟m off a

day.”

“Maybe he ought to watch the car instead of Cohen,” Stick suggested. “Some of his operators

probably have a key to the trunk. He parks in a lot or on a side street somewhere, goes into a place,

and while he‟s gone, the henchman makes a drop in the trunk.”

“Excellent idea,” I said. “Also you might switch cars with one of the other guys. These people are

very nervous. They keep their eyes open; that‟s their job.”

“That and cutting down anybody that gets near the family jewels,” Stick said.

“Got it,” Cowboy said. “I‟ll get right on this list.” He returned to his desk.

I pulled Stick out of earshot. “When he gets finished,” I said, “we need to pull a link matrix on this

stuff, just to see where these pickups overlap. The same with the rest of the gang. This Cohen is very

particular. I‟m sure he‟s smart enough to avoid any obvious patterns, but in the long run he‟s going to

end up setting patterns whether he likes it or not.”

“What‟s the significance of the restaurants?” Stick asked.

“I‟d have to guess.”

“So guess.”

“Bronicata probably owns the Porthole, as well as his own place. Maybe some other eateries around

town as well. That‟s probably dope money. The hotels‟ is probably skim. I‟m sure they have doubleentry books to keep the Lepers off their ass.”

Stick said, “We might have Salvatore pay Mortimer another visit and find out who he pays and when.

That could give us a lead on the pros take.”

He had learned his lessons well, the Stick. He was revealing himself as a first-class detective with a

handle on how the mob operates and I told him so.

“Thanks, teacher,” he said with that crooked smile of his. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. It wouldn‟t hurt to know who owns the businesses they frequent. We‟ve got to start putting

together some kind of profile on the whole Triad operation here.”

“Charlie One Ear‟s the man for that He knows all the tricks and you can‟t beat that computer he uses

for a brain. I can help with the legwork.”

“Good enough,” I said.

“How about dinner tonight?” Stick asked. “Maybe hit a few hot spots afterward.”

“I‟m tied up tonight,” I said. “Can we shoot for tomorrow night?”

Stick smiled. “I‟ll check my dance card,” he said.

Charlie One Ear appeared from the back of the building with an expression that spelled trouble.

“You need to have a chat with Dutch, old man,” he said to

“Trouble?”

“I think his feelings are hurt.”

“Oh, splendid,” I replied.

“I‟ll fill Charlie in,” Stick said as I headed back toward the big man‟s office. Dutch operated out of a

room the size of a walk-in closet. A desk, two chairs, one of which he occupied, and a window. The

desk could have qualified for disaster aid. It was so littered with paper that he kept the phone, which

he was using when I knocked, on the windowsill.

“Talk to ya later,” he barked into the phone, and slammed it down. I decided to close the door.

“You don‟t have t‟do that,” he growled. “We ain‟t got any secrets here.” He pointed to the other chair.

“Take a load off.”

I sat down. He cleared his throat and moved 1unk around on his desktop for a minute or so, then took

off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“I don‟t wanna sound unappreciative,” he started, “but I got a way of doing things, okay? It may not

be SOP, and it may not be to the Fed‟s liking, but that‟s the way it is. No it seems to me that all of a

sudden you‟re kind of running this operation, got my people running errands all over town, doing

little numbers on wayward pimps, like that, and I like to get things off my chest, so I‟m speaking my

piece right up front.”

“Is that all that‟s bothering you?” I asked. I sensed that there was something else behind his

annoyance but I wasn‟t sure exactly what.

“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, 1 came here to do a job, which is to

dump the Tagliani outfit. I thought w 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 hit. It caught him off guard. His eyes

glittered dangerously and beads of sweat popped out in his moustache. 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 misjudgement. 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 lust 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 mailer,” 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. 1 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