Hooligans Part 18

"How would you know that?"

"I know everything, darling. It's what I do, remember? I'm the town snoop."

"I thought you said Raines had a wonderful family."

"I didn't say he had a happy one. Raines is married to politics and Doe doesn't play second fiddle well at all."

"People seem to think she married well."

"Tom Findley couldn't have picked a better man for the job."

"Christ, you are b.i.t.c.hy."

"I like Doe," she said, ignoring the slur. "She's very honest. Not too bright, though, do you think?"

"I don't remember. When I was in college I thought everybody was brilliant but me."

"She had an affair, you know."

I leaned over toward her. "I haven't heard a word about her since Teddy died, okay? I am not hooked into the Dunetown hot line."

"You're really not going to ask who she had the affair with?"

"Nope. "

"It was Tony Lukatis."

"No kidding. Little old Tony, huh?"

"You're much too blase to really be blase, I know it. I know all the tricks. Listen, we have name entertainers coming out to the beach hotels now. I get some big-time gossip. They all try to act blase, too, but it doesn't work-and they've been at it forever. Tony Lukatis was the guy. The golf pro at the country club. His father was the manager."

My memory jumped back to that summer like the ball bouncing over the lyrics of a song at an old-time movie matinee.

"Nick?"

"Ah, you do remember."

"I remember Nick. I don't remember Tony."

But then suddenly I did remember him, a little kid with incredibly curly hair who spent most of his time on the putting green when he wasn't caddying. He must have been fifteen or sixteen that summer.

"Aha, I see recognition in those green eyes."

"Yeah, he's younger than she is."

"The best kind, darling."

"He had a sister."

"Dierdre . . . DeeDee?" Babs pressed on.

"Skinny little kid, used to hang around the club?" I asked.

"Skinny little kid? I can tell you haven't see her in a while."

"What's she doing these days?" I asked, trying to seem interested.

"She's Charlie Seaborn's secretary-Seacoast National Bank."

"Did Raines know about the affair?" I tried not to sound too interested.

"Not so you could tell."

"What happened?"

"Poor little Tony. Rumor has it he decided to get rich quick and got mixed up in some pot smuggling. He went to prison for five years. I've lost track of him since. It almost killed DeeDee."

The conversation was cutting close to the bone. I decided it was time to ease on out.

"You've been a lot of help," I said. "I've got to get moving but I owe you a drink."

"You better believe you do, dearie," she said. "You know how to get in touch. And if you don't, I will."

I headed out of the restaurant, feeling like I had barely averted disaster.

No such luck.

20.

HIDE AND SEEK.

Stick was hiding behind the morning paper in the lobby of the hotel when I left the restaurant. He flashed that crazy smile of his when I spotted him.

"Not bad, not bad at all," he said. "Doe Findley and Babs Thomas for breakfast. And I was afraid you'd get lonely."

"Strictly business," I said.

"Hey," he said, spreading his arms out at his sides, "I never doubted it for a minute."

"I'm sure you have my social calendar filled for the day," I said. "What's up?"

"A little war conference with the troops."

"You mean they're speaking to me?"

"They're thinking about it," he said, leading me out the door. His Black Maria was hunched down in the loading zone, like it was looking for trouble.

"Why don't I take my car?" I suggested. "In case we have to split up."

"No worry," he said, opening the door for me. "I'm your tour guide for the day. It was a raffle. I lost."

"Keep it under ninety, will you?" I asked as I got in.

"It stutters under ninety," he answered.

"Fine, let's listen to it stutter for a while."

He took me to a bright, airy place in a row house overlooking the river. It didn't look like a restaurant; it was more like having coffee in someone's living room. The place was about five minutes away, hardly time for the Maria to get up to speed, for which I was momentarily thankful. I was sure I wouldn't be that lucky for the entire day. Zapata, Salvatore, and Flowers were seated at a table in the back.

"Hey, Mildred," Salvatore yelled across the room as we entered, "two more javas."

They all stared at me as I approached their table.

"What's the matter, is my fly open?" I asked as I sat down.

"Sorry," Charlie One Ear said. "We haven't seen you in the daytime."

"What you see, gentlemen, is a ruin," I said. "Give me a couple of days to get some sun. I look much better with a decent night's sleep and a little color."

"It's the fluorescent lights in the Warehouse," Charlie One Ear joked. "They give everyone a ghastly pallor."

"Well," I said, smiling at everybody, "thanks for not judging me on first appearances."

"Yeah, you're welcome," said Salvatore.

"Y'see what it is, Kilmer, we decided to throw in with you," Zapata said. "On a temporary basis, see what happens."

"Gee whiz, I don't know what to say," I replied sarcastically.

"'Thank you' will be fine," said Charlie One Ear.

"Thanks again."

"Our pleasure," Charlie One Ear replied. "Now, just what specifically is it we're looking for?"

"What I need," I said, "is connections."

"Like such as?" Chino Zapata asked.

"Like maybe a hooker who's been bending her heels in Louisville, suddenly shows up here. Chances are, she's on the circuit. The mob moves them around like that."

"How about pimps?" Charlie One Ear queried.

"Sure, the same thing. Maybe I can tie a pimp to some outfit in Cincy or Chicago. Next step is, who's he working for? How did he get here? Pimps don't move from town to town. What I mean is, they don't free-lance. They move when the heat's on. They usually work for the man. He tells them where to go."

"So what's different about Dunetown?" Salvatore said. "That's pretty common, isn't it?"

"What's different is that the Tagliani family is here," Stick threw in.

"Right," I said. "If I can make a connection between here and someplace else, that's the start of an interstate case. If I can tie it to Tagliani's mob, that's part two. If I can prove it, then I can take it to the Justice Department. That's three, and then it's their problem. Anything else I lay off on you guys. I'm not here to make collars, okay?"

"All that is by way of telling us you're looking for out-of-town talent, correct?" Charlie One Ear said.

"Right. I'd also like to know the names of companies owned by the Triad. Where they bank. Who they do business with. What kind of straight businesses they're into."

"That's a little outta our line," Zapata said.

"The key man is the accountant, Cohen," I said. "He's the bagman. Unless he's changed his MO, he makes three or four pickups a day, never at the same spots. He carries a little black satchel, like one of those old-fas.h.i.+oned doctor's bags, and it's probably full of cash. That's the skim, the money they need to wash."

"The IGG," offered Charlie One Ear.

"Correct."

"This is street money, right?" Stick said, playing along with me. "Gambling, prost.i.tution, dope, that kind of thing."

I nodded.

"So why don't we just grab the bag away from the little s.h.i.+t and take a look?" Zapata suggested.

"For one thing, he's probably got four or five cannons escorting him," I said.

"Yes," Charlie One Ear said snidely. "It's also against the law. It's called robbery. One to five for first offense, which might not be applicable in your case."

Zapata looked at him and laughed.

"They don't usually put their swag in the bank," Salvatore offered.

"I agree," I said. "But Cohen's a crafty son of a b.i.t.c.h. He may have something worked out at the bank."

"They're in cahoots?" Zapata asked.

"Not necessarily," I said. "He may be depositing in several different accounts or putting it in a safe deposit box. The bank doesn't have to be involved."

I was trying to be honest about it, but I couldn't help wondering whether Charles Seaborn, president of the bank, and a member of the Committee, knew Cohen personally. And if so, whether Sam Donleavy knew that Seaborn knew Cohen. And whether Raines knew that Donleavy knew that Seaborn knew Cohen. It was time I faced up to the facts. I wanted Raines and Donleavy to be up to their necks in it, because if things had gone differently and Teddy were still alive, I would have been in Donleavy's boots. I didn't want to feel that way, but coming back to Dunetown had stirred old emotions that I thought were long dead, and the lies, the hurt, the resentments, were as visceral as fresh wounds. I could taste the blood. So there it was. What can a man do?

"We should maybe talk to Cowboy," said Salvatore, breaking up my train of thought. "He s.h.a.gged the little weed for a couple days. "

"Good," I said. "If we can put together enough evidence to show cause, we might find a judge who'll let us look into their bank accounts or let us have some wiretaps."

"Kite Lange can handle that," said Zapata.

"He means legal wiretaps, el r.e.t.a.r.do," said Salvatore.