Hooligans (5 page)

got Mafia up to our eyeballs. How do you think that makes me feel? All of us, the whole bunch. Like

monkeys, that‟s how.”

“Cisco didn‟t invite them down here, y‟know. He just recognized a face and turned them up for you,

that‟s all. If it was the Feebies, you can bet your sweet by-and-by they‟d be all over town and you

couldn‟t find out what day it is From any of them.”

“You‟re right there.”

“So we throw in together and bring them down?”

“If somebody doesn‟t beat us to it.”

“Okay. So tell your boys to forget this college Charlie shit,” I said, still acting irritated. “This isn‟t

pledge week at the old frat house and I‟m not here to impress anybody. If these guys are as tough as

you make them sound, it‟ll help if you give me a vote of confidence off the top.”

Not bad, Kilmer, not bad at all. Hard case but not hard nose. They can live with that.

Dutch started laughing.

“Sensitive, ain‟t you,” he said, and led me into the building. We walked through the front door into

what looked like the entrance to a prison block: a small boxlike room, a door with a bell on one side,

and a mirror in the wall beside it. One-way glass. Dutch shoved a thumb against the bell. A second

later the door buzzed open. Inside, a black, uniformed cop sat in a darkened cubicle, watching the

entrance. An Uzi submachine gun was leaning on the wall beside him. I nodded and got a blank stare

back.

“Looks like you‟re expecting an invasion,” I said.

“Security. Nobody gets in here without one of us saying so. That includes everybody from the chief of

police and the mayor to the President of the United States.”

“Nice weapon,” I said, with a nod toward the Uzi.

“We liberated it. My bunch is pretty good at dog-robbing,” Dutch said, then added, almost as an

afterthought, “among other things.”

Inside, the front of the place had been divided into half a dozen office cubicles. Behind them, in the

centre of the building, was a fairly sophisticated computer system and a telephone switchboard.

Behind that was what appeared to be a large meeting room, walled with chalk-and corkboards. A

six—foot television screen was mounted in the wall at the front of the room and twenty or so oldfashioned movable chairs were scattered about, the kind with writing platforms attached, like they had

in school when I was a kid—arid still do, for all I know.

The big room in back was affectionately known as the Kindergarten.

Two rooms filled the back end of the old supermarket. One was a holding cell that looked big enough

to accommodate the entire D-Day invasion force, and the other was behind a door marked simply

VIDEO OPERATIONS. I counted three uniformed cops on duty, including the man on the door and a

black woman who was operating the switchboard.

A pretty classy setup: Morehead‟s war room.

“Are the uniform people part of your gang or on loan—out?

“Probation. If they can hack the everyday stuff, they maybe can work their way into the gang. Also

find out pretty quick whether they can keep their mouths shut”

I decided to take one last shot at my immediate problem. “Before the rest of your guys show up,” I

said, “can we settle this Fed problem?”

“It‟s settled. We don‟t have a problem,” he said, trying to brush it off.

“Right,” I said with more than a little acid. I decided to let him blow off a little steam.

“Okay,” he snapped, “let‟s put it this way. At first we tried workin‟ with the IRS, but cooperating with

the Leper Colony is no different than loanin‟ your watch to Jesse James. They‟re either young turks

just out of college, in it so they can learn how to beat the system and get rich, or they‟re misfits none

of the other agencies‟ll touch. Either way, it‟s every man For himself. Like workin‟ in a patch of

skunk cabbage.”

“No argument,” I said.

“A bunch of pfutzlukers!” he bellowed.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Whatever that means.”

“If I broke half the laws they do, I‟d be doing time.”

“Life plus twenty, at least.” Now it his turn and I let him rage on.

He leaned over me, jabbing his chest with his thumb. “1 wouldn‟t let one of „em in here, not if he

showed up with a court order and the entire Marine Corps to back „em up!” he roared. “And the

Feebies aren‟t much better! All they wanna do is make nickels in Washington. If it looks good on the

daily report and they can get a press conference out of it, that‟s all they care about. Ask them for a

little help, you get senile waitin‟ for the phone to ring.”

“I‟ve had the same experience,” I said with sympathy.

“Dipshits and robots!” he said. Now his arms were in the act. He was waving them around like a

symphony conductor. “Bastards steal our information, make deals that sown our cases, violate civil

rights, and we get the enema. They always ride off with the chick in the end.”

I nodded agreement. He was running out of steam.

“All my boys get is to kiss the horse at the fadeout, know what I mean?”

“Sure.” Pause. “How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“You feel all you get out of them is to kiss the horse?”

He stopped and stared me up and down and then he figured it all out and started to laugh.

“Aw, hell, pal,” he said, “I been around so long I‟m glad for all the kissin‟ I can get, even if it‟s a

horse‟s ass.”

“Okay, Dutch,” I said quietly. “I‟m not looking for any fadeout kisses. If these people are looting your

town, I‟ll help you put them away. All the Freeze wants out of it is information. Connections. How

they operate. How did they infiltrate the town? Who did they have to buy? How are they connected

with the other mobs? No conflict, okay?”

“We‟ll just play it by ear,” he said, still coy. It was like kicking a brick wall.

“Shit, if that‟s the play, that‟s the play,” I said with a shrug.

“You‟ll do fine. You got a hair up your ass just like the rest of

“I just do the best I can,” I said, throwing in a little humility.

“According to your boss, that‟s pretty damn good,” he said.

“Far as I‟m concerned, if we get enough to make a case against somebody, it can go state or federal,”

I said. “My style is give it to whoever has the strongest case—and the best prosecutor. I get a little

crazy when somebody walks on me”

“That‟s fair enough,” he said. “Who doesn‟t?”

“What kind of DA do you have?”

“A woman. Her name‟s Galavanti and she‟s meaner than a three-day hangover.”

“On us or them?”

He smiled. “On everybody. You put a case on her with holes in it, you‟ll hear language would turn a

lifer purple.”

“Good. Maybe we can help each other.”

“Thing of it is, I never heard of your bunch until a couple months ago. This guy Mazzola shows up

one day outta the blue, buys me lunch, gives me the same buck and wing you‟re givin‟ me.”

Mazzola was Cisco Mazzola, my boss in the Freeze. He had told roe Dutch Morehead was a man who

said his piece and I was beginning to believe him.

“Which you sneezed off,” I said.

“Not exactly. For starters, be put something in the pot.”

“Like what?”

“Like the Stick.”

“The Stick? What‟s the Stick?”

He looked at me kind of funny, one of those “what year were you born” looks.

“Not what, who. You know... the Stick. Parver. So far he fits right in.”

I didn‟t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about and before I could pursue it any further, he

picked up a bright red bullhorn, turned up the volume, and summoned his men to the back room.

I took the opportunity to step into an empty office and call the hotel. They patched me through to

Cisco, who was in the restaurant, eating. He had flown in from Washington to brief me on the local

situation. Since it had changed radically in the last couple of hours, I didn‟t know what to expect.

Cisco and I were friends in a remote kind of way. He was one of several shadows that wove in and out

of my life, altering its course without ever touching me directly, our main connection provided by the

telephone company. Iii the seven or so years I had known him, I had never seen the inside of his

house, never met his family, and knew little about his personal tastes other than that he had a penchant

for vitamins and health food. He also had an obsession about saving his hair, most of which was gone.

It took him a minute to get to the phone.

“Sorry to take you away from dinner,” I said. “1 would have called sooner but I‟ve been busy.

„There‟s been a takeout. Tagliani, Stinetto, and Tagliani‟s wife.”

“Yes, I‟ve heard,” he said in his flat, no-nonsense voice. “Any details yet?”

“At his place, about three hours ago. Pistols and a fire bomb. The woman was killed by the bomb.

Whoever scratched the other two knew what he, or they, were doing It looks like a couple of Petes to

me.”

“I want „u to stay with this,” he said.

“Good. F-low many have you made s far?”

“The whole mob‟s here except for Tuna Chevos and his gunslinger—”

“Nance,” I hissed, cutting him off. Anger roiled inside me at the mention of Turk Nance. We went

back a ways, Nance and 1, and it wasn‟t a friendly trip. “They‟re here too,” I said. “I‟ll give you

odds.”

“Maybe so, but this isn‟t a vendetta. Nance is just a tinhorn shooter. Forget him.”

“Right.”

“Forget him, Jake.”

“1 heard you”

“What are you so edgy about?”

“Oh, nothing at all. I‟ve been hound-dogging this mob for what, four, five years?”

“Closer to five,” he sighed.

“I‟m just a little burned that the iceman beat me to it.”

“Understandable. Just remember why you‟re here. I want information. Where are you now?”

“Morehead‟s war room.”

“A good man,” Cisco said. “A little short on procedure, maybe.” That was the understatement of the

year.

I said, “So far he‟s treating me like I just broke his leg.”

“Cautious,” said Cisco. “Give him a little time.”

“What happens if things pick up speed arid I need some backup?” I asked.

“Mickey Parver will help you,” he said.

“He the one they call Stick?”

“Right.”

“I felt a little like an idiot. How come I never heard of this guy before now?”

“Because you never read the weekly report, that‟s why,” he snapped. “He files a report every—”

I cut him off, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, yeah, I do seem to remember—”

“Don‟t bullshit me,” said Cisco. “You haven‟t read the weekly poop sheet since the pope was a

plumber.”

“How long‟s he been in the squad?” I asked, trying to avoid that issue.

“He‟s been in the squad for a year or so,” Cisco said, with annoyance. “You‟ll like him. He‟s young

and not too jaded yet. Please don‟t spoil him by getting lost out in left field someplace. He‟s a lot like

you, a lone wolf. You two can be good for each other.”

“I don‟t have time to baby-sit some—”

“Who said anything about baby-sitting? Did I say that?”

“It sounded like—”

“It sounded like just what I said. Don‟t stray off the dime, Jake. I want information, period. You‟re a

lawyer and you always stick to due process. I‟d like a little of that to rub off on Stick.”

“I got a feeling he‟s not going to get a lot of help in that respect from Morehead‟s bunch.”

“That‟s what I mean,” Cisco said. “Give the lad a little balance, okay?”

“What if I need some professional backup?” I asked.

“He wouldn‟t be in the Freeze if he wasn‟t first class, and you know it,” Cisco growled. “You get in

trouble, he‟s as good a man to have at the back door as you could ask. All I‟m saying is, if we do

happen to turn up a RICO case, I want it to be airtight. No illegal wiretaps, no hacking their

computers. Nothing that won‟t hold up in court.‟

“Yeah, okay,”! said.

Cisco couldn‟t resist throwing in a little jab.

“Maybe he can get you to file a report now and again, once a week or so, y‟know.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Dutch has a computer setup. You can tie directly into our terminal in Washington.”

“Right,” I said, and before I could move on to something else, he added sarcastically, “Maybe he can

help you a little in that area.”

“Sure thing.”

“Stick sent the „Tagliani photos up to me in his weekly report; that‟s how we made them.”

I was beginning to hate this kid they called Stick, already. He sounded like a miserable little eager

heaver.

“How long you in town for?” I asked.

“I‟m in town to say hello,” Cisco answered. “I head back to Washington tomorrow.

“Aw, and just when the fun‟s starting.”

“Somebody has to put food on the table. We‟re in the middle of the annual battle of the budget—

which reminds me, you‟re two months behind in your expense reports and you haven‟t filed a field

report for—”

“Tell me more about this Stick fellow,” I said, trying to avoid another issue.

Mazzola paused. “I want those expense reports,” he said. “Clear?”

“Right. You got „em.”

“Now, about Parver. Before he came with us, he was a D.C. plainclothes, then a narc, then he worked

on the D.C. mob squad. Before all that he did time in Nam. Army intelligence or something. He‟s

tough enough.

“Not too jaded, huh?”

Cisco chuckled like he‟d just heard a dirty joke. “I loaned him to Dutch. I don‟t think anybody else in

the outfit knows he‟s one of us. Dutch‟ll fix it so the two of you can pair up. You‟ll like him.

“Says who?”

“All the ladies do.”

“Great.”

“Sorry about Tagliani,” Mazzola said. “I know how long you been working on his case.”