Part 33 (1/2)

”I appreciate your concern,” I said. ”The thing is, if O'Brian wants to make some kind of a deal, we can't afford to lose it. I've been down this road before, Charlie. I'll watch my step.”

He shrugged. ”You're a big boy now,” he said. ”I a.s.sume you know what you're doing.”

I ordered a light breakfast and doctored my coffee. Dutch was gone about five minutes. He seemed concerned when he got back.

”Okay,” he said. ”Zapata was in the Warehouse and he beeped Salvatore. Zapata's going to call me back if he raises him.”

”I thought Zapata was tailing Nance,” I said.

Dutch was scowling. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling.

”He lost him,” Dutch said. ”Followed him out to the docks at dawn. Nance went out on a shrimp boat and left Zapata at the altar.”

I got a sudden chill, as if a cold breeze had blown across the back of my neck. Nance being on the loose was a wild card I hadn't counted on.

”An awful lot of people know about this gig,” I mused.

”Are you worried about Salvatore and Zapata?” Dutch asked stiffly.

”No. But I don't want anybody s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g this thing up.”

”Don't worry about it,” Dutch replied. ”We'll raise Salvatore and call him off, if you're sure that's the way you want to play it. ”

”That was my deal,” I said as the waitress brought my breakfast.

”You want to tell us where you're going?” Charlie One Ear asked.

”Not really,” I said. ”You know how it is with these people, Charlie. They spook real easily.”

I decided we had talked enough about O'Brian and changed the subject again.

”Anything new on the Logeto killing?” I asked.

Dutch shook his head. ”We combed the neighborhood. n.o.body saw anybody on the roof or coming down the walls. So far it's a blank. But I do have something for you.” He took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. ”Here's that list of drops Cohen made. Cowboy finally got it together for you.”

I opened it up and checked over the list. Most of the addresses didn't mean anything to me. The most significant note was that on two of the three days, Cohen had visited both a branch bank of the Seacoast National and made his usual two o'clock visit to the bank.

”Have you checked this over?” I asked Dutch.

He nodded. ”I can give you chapter and verse on the drops if you want.”

”I don't have time now,” I said. ”There's one thing that jumps out. I wonder why Cohen has been hitting the bank twice. On Wednesday and Friday he went to a branch and the main bank. Now why would he do that?”

”Maybe he doesn't like to carry a lot of cash around for too long,” Charlie One Ear suggested.

”Maybe,” I said, staring at the list. ”But I don't think so. Unless things have changed, he's used to moving large sums of money.”

”You got another idea?” asked Dutch.

”Yeah. Maybe he's skimming a little off the top for himself.”

”If he is, he's got more guts than I give him credit for,” said Dutch.

”Or he could be working it with Costello,” I said.

”Wouldn't that be sweet, to catch them in the middle like that,” Charlie thought aloud. ”We could probably get a whole chorus of canaries out of it.”

”That's if he's playing games,” I said.

”Cowboy's on him again today,” Dutch said. ”Maybe he'll turn up something new.” Then his eyebrows went up. ”I'll be d.a.m.ned,” he said. ”Speak of the devil. See the two guys that just walked in? The one that looks like a football player and the jellyfish with him?”

The two men sat down at a corner table and immediately began to jabber like two spinsters gossiping. One was Donleavy. The other one was as tall, but slender, and older, probably in his mid-forties, with wavy, graying hair that framed a weak, flaccid face. His manicured hands jittered nervously as he talked, fiddling with the bits of toast on his plate the way a spider fiddles with a fly. Both of them looked like they spent a lot of time in the sun.

”The one on the left is Donleavy,” said Dutch. ”The bird in the navy blue suit is the banker, Charles Seaborn. From the looks of things, they're having a lovers' spat.”

”I think I'll just stir the pot a little,” I said.

”What are you going to do?” Dutch asked nervously.

”Just introduce myself,” I said, patting his shoulder as I rose. ”I'm not going to bite anybody.”

I strolled across the restaurant toward the table where Donleavy and Seaborn were bickering over breakfast. Donleavy saw me from the corner of his eye. He kept talking, but it was obvious that he sensed I was heading their way and he didn't want to be disturbed. As I reached them, he looked up angrily, trouble clouding his brown eyes.

”I'm Jake Kilmer,” I said before he had a chance to explode. ”I think it's about time we met.”

He wasn't sure what to do. The anger in his hard features was suddenly replaced by a wide grin, a car salesman's grin, the kind that makes you want to count your fingers after you've shaken hands.

”Yes, yes, yes,” he suddenly babbled, and jumped up. ”Of course.” He pumped my hand and introduced me to Seaborn, who looked like he'd just bitten his tongue. Seaborn offered me a hand that was as clammy as it was insincere.

It was obvious that neither of them was overjoyed at meeting me.

”I'd like to have a talk with you,” I said to Donleavy, ”whenever it's convenient.”

”Is it urgent?” he said. ”Aren't we going to see you tomorrow night?”

”Tomorrow night?”

”At Babs' c.o.c.ktail party,” he said with a lame grin. ”You better not forget-she's touting you as the guest of honor. She's got a short temper and a long memory.”

”I'll be there,” I said. ”But I need a little time alone with you. It's nothing unpleasant. Information mostly.”

He dug a small notebook from an inside pocket and leafed through it. ”How about Friday around noon?” he asked. ”I'll take the phone off the hook and send out for sandwiches.”

”Sounds like a winner,” I said. ”I'll buy.”

”Not in my town you won't,” he said. His smile had grown more relaxed and genuine. ”It's Warehouse. Three, overlooking the Quadrangle. We have the whole top floor.”