Part 41 (1/2)
He moved closer.
”The only firearms we 'low hereabouts go with the house,” he said.
”I was just leaving.”
”You goin' the wrong way.”
Behind me, I heard a car window whirring. I turned. Graves was a shadow in the back seat, a pair of eyes eager for trouble. The bad end of a .38 peeking over the windowsill took my attention away from his eyes.
A voice as soft as baby skin said, ”Let him do his move.”
They thought I was going for a heist.
Before I could say anything, the Mufalatta Kid's pickup roared out of the parking lot and skidded up beside me, raising a small dust storm. When it cleared, Zapata and Mufalatta were there. I wondered where the h.e.l.l Zapata came from!
Zapata had his wallet in one hand and a police special in the other. The wallet was hanging open and his buzzer was gleaming for all to see. Mufalatta was behind the door of the pickup, aiming his Cobra at the limo.
”You sure know how to pep up a party,” said the Kid.
47.
t.i.tAN 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-1. It pulled slowly toward us until its headlights were s.h.i.+ning between us and Uncle Jolly's goon squad. All weapons magically vanished. I heard Graves' 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 s.h.i.+t out of a rhino with it.”
”What happened to him?” I asked.
”What I 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 t.i.tan covered all the bills his insurance didn't take care of.”
Graves' man sauntered back to his boss's Lincoln and pa.s.sed 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. ”I think I'll just haul my a.s.s 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, Hears the big-wheel scratch off in the sand. As I neared t.i.tan's car, his man opened the back door.
”Get in,” t.i.tan'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 flavored with mola.s.ses, 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 h.e.l.luva good ballplayer. Too bad about the foot.”
”It was my ankle.”
”Foot, ankle, what's the difference? So you remember me, eh?”
”h.e.l.l, Mr. Stoney, who could forget you? I remember everything. That was one h.e.l.l 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 farts, 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 h.e.l.luva lot for Teddy either.”
”You gonna turn out to be a smarta.s.s?”
”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.”