Hooligans (14 page)

operation of Findley Enterprises to his best friend, Sam Donleavy. That way nobody could accuse him

of any conflict of interest. Hell, he won‟t even let his wife rice her Thoroughbreds. The man‟s clean,

Jake.”

“Yeah, I know, he‟s going to be governor one of these days soon.‟,

“Probably, if this mess doesn‟t blow him out of the water.”

“Anybody jealous of his success? The fact that he married a right girl and got richer?”

“I suppose so.”

“Anybody who might be out to destroy him?”

He stared hard at me.

“Lissen here, a lot of people in this town got rich in the boom and they thank Harry for that. If you

think he‟s unpopular around here, think again. He‟s the favourite son of Dunetown.”

“And the most powerful,” I added.

“1 would say that.”

“Because of Chief‟s clout,” I went on.

“In the beginning maybe. Not anymore. He‟s got his own power base; he doesn‟t need a worn-out old

mar‟.”

“He uses Titan.”

I realized that was a mistake the minute I said it. I was letting my own feelings intrude on the

conversation. Dutch shook his head and stared down into his drink.

“You‟re gonna waste a lot of time if you try to stretch that one out,” he said. “Raines doesn‟t use

Titan any more than Titan uses him. As far as the town goes, the people that run Doomstown don‟t

have to drive down Front Street anymore. They can afford to shop in Atlanta”

“So they drew the battle line at Front Street,” I said. “Gave that to the hoodlums.”

“More or less.”

I stared him hard in the eye.

“What‟s the Committee?” 1 asked bluntly.

He paused again. I had the feeling he wanted more out of me before going on but I waited him out.

Finally he talked:

“Before he stepped out of local affairs, Harry formed an ex-officio committee. The five most powerful

men in town. They have no legislative power per se. They don‟t have a name, an office, don‟t even

meet any one place in particular. They‟re just old friends who feel it‟s their responsibility to look out

for the town, just like your friend Chief used to do, and Titan still does. It‟s the way things‟re done

down here.”

“What do they do?”

“As I get it, the idea was that they screen everybody who comes near this town with a dollar to

invest.”

1 said, “To make sure people like Tagliani don‟t get a foothold, is that it?”

“Part of it. And to contain the roughhouse element, so nobody gets out of line.”

“That what you‟ve been doing, containing the roughhouse element?”

“Part of it.”

“That gives them ten points for awareness and none for performance.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“1 don‟t mean you. It wasn‟t your job to spot Tagliani.”

“They‟re local boys, Jake. They don‟t know from the Mafia. Babes in the woods. That was what

Ledbetter was supposed to do, keep an eye on the new shakers that moved in.”

“That makes a strong case against the Tagliani clan for Leadbetter‟s murder,” I said. “Maybe he

tumbled them and they hit him before he could say anything.”

“I‟ve been thinkin‟ the same thing. When Leadbetter took the wash, it kinda fell in my lap. What can I

tell you, Tagliani got by all of us.”

“Hell, I can‟t knock that,” I said. “I Lost them for a year. But how could five men operating exofficio, have any effect on the town?”

“Cause they‟re the most powerful m en in the city, son,” he said. “This is still a small town to them.

Since the day they laid the first cobblestone, a handful of men have run Dunetown. Them, their wives

and families—hell, they own or control most of the property on the islands. They are the political

power. They set the social standards. They screen people who want to do business here. And they

directly or indirectly control most of the big banks. They are Roman emperors, lake. Thumbs up,

you‟re in; thumbs down, you‟re out. Now, that may not be to your likin‟ or mine, but that‟s the way it

is. Nobody bucks that kind of power.”

“So they‟d know who owns the hotels, the marinas, condos, apartments, what have you?”

“1 suppose so, unless they‟re all owned by blind corporations. The hotels are owned by a local

combine.”

“You‟re sure about that?”

“Straight from the horse‟s mouth.”

“And which horse would that be?”

“Sam Donleavy. He‟s Harry‟s right-hand man, the second most powerful man in Dunetown. If there‟s

a head of the Committee, he‟d be it.”

“How about Raines?”

“He doesn‟t sit. Donleavy‟s his voice. Raines is funny about conflict of interest. Right now he devotes

all his time to the track. If he can prove it‟s worthwhile, he‟ll waltz into the governor‟s mansion.”

“Who else is on this Committee?”

He wiggled his head like an old bear. “Shit, pal, you don‟t stop, do you? You prime the pump with a

cup of water and get a gallon outta me. You could turn out to be a real son of a bitch.”

“I have been accused of that.”

His flaccid face flowed back into a smile.

“I‟ll just bet so,” he said.

“It‟s what I do,” I said, smiling back.

“Don‟t we all. Okay, first, there‟s Donleavy. That‟s him sitting right over there in the tweed jacket.”

He nodded toward the man whom I had seen talking to Stoney Titan as I came in. He was a big guy

with a bull neck and shoulders that threatened to split his jacket down the middle. He appeared to be

in his thirties, wore his hair in a crew cut, and had nose that had been flattened more than once. An

ex-ballplayer, I guessed looking at him. He was entertaining the ladies at the table, there was a lot of

giggling, hut the lines around his mouth were tight and the laughter didn‟t spread to his eyes. He

looked like a man with a lot of trouble trying to have a good time and I mentioned it to Dutch.

“I imagine Stoney‟s driven a spike up his tail,” said Dutch. “Sam‟ll fall before Harry, and if he falls

out of grace, he doesn‟t have the Findley millions to lean on.”

“Which means they‟ll put the heat on you.”

“Us, partner.”

“Yeah, us.”

“Our feet are already in the fire, make no mistake.”

“Who else is on this Committee?”

“Charles Seaborn. He‟s president of the Seacoast National Bank chain, largest in these parts. He‟s old

money. His father was chairman of the board when he died last year. Then there‟s Arthur Logan,

who‟ll be president of the town‟s most prestigious and successful law firm in another year or two,

soon‟s his old man dies or quits. Next, Roger Sutter, he‟s utter Communications. That‟s the

newspaper and the television station. Between them, they own most of the ground with grass or it in

the county. That‟s power.”

“That covers all the bases but one,” I said. “You said there were five members on the Committee.”

“Before I answer that,” he said, “I got one more question to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“It‟s personal, Jake. You can tell me to suck eggs if you want to.”

I guess I knew what the question was going to be before he asked it.

“Were you in love with Doe Findley twenty years ago?” he asked.

I was ready for him. I smiled a big fifty-dollar smile. “Hell, I‟m just like you, Dutch. I always end up

kissing the horse at the finish. Who‟s number five?”

“Who else?” he said. “Stonewall Titan.”

15

I finished my drink and said good night. My room on the third floor had a dormer window with a

chintz loveseat and coffee table in front of it, a vintage TV set, a double ted, and ceilings so high you

could fly a kite in it. Everything—the drapes, walls, carpeting, sills, and baseboards—was a

combination of green and white. The room looked like it had been designed by a rampant garden club.

I got out a bottle of amaretto and poured myself a couple of fingers.

Burned out, my bones aching with jet lag, I couldn‟t erase the images of the night from my mind.

Tagliani and Stinetto in the icebox. Mrs. Tagliani‟s monitor going
deeeeeeee
right in front of my eyes.

The haunting tape of two killers delivering their coup de grace and the bloody back wall of

Draganata‟s house. I had seen worse, but never in any civilized place I could remember.

Then I looked at the note I had picked up at the desk. The handwriting was so precise it could have

been calligraphy. I recognized it immediately and the old electricity streaked from my stomach to my

throat.

“I know you are here,” it said. I‟ll be in the boathouse at Windsong, tomorrow night, 9 p.m. Please.

D.”

She must have written it before she vent into the restaurant, before I had seen her downstairs.

I suppose you always remember the good things in life as being better than they really were. To me,

Dunetown was a slow-motion movie shot through a hazy lens. Everything was soft, the reflections

glittered like stars, and there were no hard edges on anything. It was the end of adolescence and being

exposed to the sweet life for what was an instant in my time. It was living high, dancing at the country

club, open cars and laughter and cool nights on the beach.

Fat City is what it was.

And it was Doe Findley.

Doe Findley had risen out of my past like a spectre. For twenty years she had been the hope in my

nightmares, a gauzy sylph brightening the dark corners of bad dreams like the nightlight at the end of

a long, dark hail.

1 thought about that boathouse and about Doe, dancing tightly against me to the music from the radio

as we fumbled with buttons and snaps and zippers. I couldn‟t remember the song now, but it had

stayed with me for a long time before Nam erased it.

The thought of her spread through me like a shot of good brandy. She was the memory of that lost

summer, the last green summer I could remember. It had all vanished that fall on a Saturday afternoon

in Sanford Stadium.

It‟s funny, Teddy and I used to joke about those days later in Nam. Anything for a laugh over there. I

remember Teddy once saying to me, “Y‟know something, Jake, we should have been born a little

earlier or a little later. Our timing was terrible. Think about it—we played during three of the worst

seasons the Bulldogs ever had. You remember what our record was for those three years?” Did I

remember? Hell, yes, I remembered. “Ten, sixteen, and four,” I answered with disgust. “Yeah,” he

said, “and the season after we graduated, Dooley came in and they had a seven, three, and one. Now

we‟re here. See what I mean? A dollar short and a day late, that‟s us.”

Looking back on it, he was right. Maybe we were just jinxed from the start. That Saturday that

changed my life, I was going wide to the right with Teddy in front of me and I made one of those hard

stopping turns I had become known for. The foot hit wrong. I could hear the ankle go before the pain

knocked my back teeth loose. It sounded like a branch cracking. All I remember after that is the

backfield coach staring down at my face, saying, “Shit! So much for this halfback.”

I got the letter from Chief Findley while I was still in the hospital. “Too bad, son,” it said. “Keep the

car. Doe sends her regards.” The pink slip for the MG was attached. That was it. That‟s how I found

out what an ex-running halfback with a bum ankle is worth in Dunetown. Findley had been my

sponsor. They couldn‟t pay us for playing football at the university, but there was always some rich

alumnus willing to provide a sports coat now and then, a car, a summer on the house. Sometimes even

a daughter.

She didn‟t even send a card.

Twenty years. I hadn‟t seen or heard from her since, not even when Teddy was killed. I can

understand that; I can understand not being able to deal with that kind of pair. Hell, I can understand it

all. When you love someone you forgive everything.

I had kicked most of the other monkeys off my back, all but Doe. I couldn‟t purge her from my

fantasies, what was left of them. Vietnam was bad for the soul. It was bad enough, what you saw and

did, but the worst thing was what you thought. You get over the rest of it but you never forget what it

does to the soul. Teddy Findley was the best friend I ever had, from the day I arrived at Georgia until

the day in Saigon that he bled to death in my arms. Teddy was a golden boy. Teddy hadn‟t hit a false

note. He was Chief‟s hope for immortality. The plan was perfect:

football for four years at Georgia, show what the kid could do, then law school somewhere in the

north to erase the jock image. Then back to take over the reins and keep the Findley hand in the

Dunetown pot.

Vietnam screwed it all up. Instead of Harvard Law School, Teddy ended up in Nam with me, a couple

of shavetail lieutenants doing the best we could to keep sane and alive.

Then all of a sudden Teddy was dead and the moment it sank in that he was dead, what I thought was:

Christ, Teddy, how can you do this to me, how can you leave me to tell Doe and Chief about this?

I still remember thinking that. I have pretty much erased everything else from my mind, but I still

remember that when Teddy died, I didn‟t think about Teddy, I worried about me. That‟s what I mean

about Nam and your soul.

Eventually, of course, I wrote the letter. I told them what I knew Chief wanted to hear.

I created the lie and I wrote the letter and I never got an answer, not even an acknowledgment that he

had received it.

So I started forgetting in earnest. Football heroes exist only on bright fall afternoons, and pretty girls