Part 42 (1/2)
”That didn't answer my question,” I said.
”The answer to your question is yes and no. I own quite a few fightin' dogs. It's kind of a tradition in my family. Been fightin' dogs all my life, just like my pap and his pap before him. The t.i.tans've raised pit dogs since before Georgia was a colony. But I don't run the game, Mr. Kilmer. That's gaming and that's felonious, and while I can tolerate it and my conscience doesn't have a problem with misdemeanors, it balks when it comes to felonies.”
It was my turn to laugh.
”That's the d.a.m.nedest bit of rationalization I've ever heard,” I said.
”Call it what you will, it's the way I keep law and I haven't had a lot of trouble doin' it and I been at it for longer than you've been alive, so that ought to tell you something. Besides, this ain't Cincinnati or Chicago or New York, it's south Georgia.”
”You want to tell me what happened between Nose Graves and Cherry McGee? There was a definite touch of the Bronx to that. ”
”Why are you interested?”
”Because Cherry McGee had done dirty laundry for Tagliani in the past. I don't believe in coincidence, Mr. Stoney.”
”Mm-hmm. So finish it.”
”So I think Cherry McGee was sent in here by Tagliani to test the waters, find out if there was any local problem. Graves turned out to be a permanent problem for McGee, Then Uncle Franco decided to cool it. Now why do you think he backed off? It wasn't his style.”
”It's your story, boy, why don't you tell me.”
”Maybe he didn't want to attract any more attention. That's a possibility.”
”Obviously not one you favor,” he said sarcastically.
”No. ”
”And what's your notion, doughboy?”
”Maybe he was told to back off.”
t.i.tan never changed his expression but his knuckles got a little whiter over the cane.
”Now, who might do a thing like that?” he asked.
”I thought you could tell me.”
”Until this very minute, I never thought to connect the two together. ”
”It's just a thought,” I said. ”If Franco had been in bed with somebody in Dunetown, that somebody might have told him to cool it before the whole deal went sour.”
”You got a h.e.l.l of an imagination.”
”Not really. I can't imagine why the man that did McGee in is sitting over in that other limo and he's counting the take from the first fight, and the sheriff is sitting thirty feet away discussing modern romances.”
”I've known Luther Graves since he was a bulge in his mama's belly. What he does, he does honestly. He's like a snake-he only gets mean when you step on him. Like I told you, this is still a small town and it's still my job to keep an eye on it. If it's gonna happen anyway, I like to deal with people who are predictable.”
”You telling me he runs a straight game? Is that what you're saying?”
”However you care to put it.”
”Well, Mr. Stoney, it's been your county for so long I guess you can run it any way you want to.”
He looked over at me finally, a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth, his eyes still gleaming under s.h.a.ggy white brows.
”You probably got a little more brains than I gave you credit for,” t.i.tan said. ”Now I'll ask you a question. Did you kill 'em, doughboy?”
”Did I kill them?”
I had to laugh at that one. But I stopped when I realized he wasn't kidding. It was definitely something he had considered.
”I can get off right down there,” I said. ”That blue Ford.”
t.i.tan's man was still leaning on the hood.
”You avoidin' my question?”
”It's an insulting question, Sheriff. Besides I was with half a dozen other cops when two of the slayings took place and I was on an airplane flying down here when Tagliani and his party got iced. And besides that, I'm not in the killing business. Thanks for calling off the dogs, if you'll pardon the pun.”
I started to get out of the car.
”Just don't go around here actin' like Buffalo Bill or Pat Garrett or something. I got enough problems on my hands.”
I got out of the limo and leaned back in and offered him my hand. He kept his folded over the gold handle of his cane.
”Thanks for the ride,” I said.
”Take my advice about Doe Raines, one law officer to another,” he said, without looking at me. He pressed a b.u.t.ton and the window slid up. The conversation was over.
48.
SO . . . LONG . . .
The Kid was sitting in the front seat when I got in my car. As I was about to find out, he was the philosopher of the outfit.
”Okay I hop a ride back to town with you?” he said. ”We don't want you to get lost or something.”
”Where's your pickup?” I asked.
”I gave it to Zapata,” he answered. ”He put his bike in the back.”
”My pleasure,” I said, cranking up.
”Well,” he said, ”I din't hear no shootin' so I guess you two got along.”
”More or less,” I said.