Hooligans Part 39

There was only the wind, rattling the dried-out palms.

A bird crying.

Somewhere, far on the other side of the park, a car driving lazily past on the way to the beach.

And the sizzling wires dangling in front of the theater.

46.

DOGS.

Harry Nesbitt was sitting up in the back of the arena, in a corner under a burned-out light. I stopped a couple of rows below him and checked out the crowd. n.o.body was interested in us; they were concentrating on the two dogs getting ready for the first fight. One was a dirty gray pug, its lacerated face seamed with the red scars of other battles. The other, a white mutt, part bulldog, was fresh and unscathed and an obvious virgin to the pit.

Two men, obviously the owners of the dogs, were on opposite sides of the pit but not in it, and they seemed to be was.h.i.+ng the dogs down with a white substance. One of the men reached over and nipped the bulldog's neck.

I moved up and sat down next to Nesbitt.

"I wasn't sure you'd show," he said.

"I'm a real curious fellow," I said. "Besides, I like your pal Benny Skeeler."

"Yeah, what a guy."

"What are they doing?" I asked, nodding toward the arena.

"Checking out each other's dogs. That white stuff there, that's warm milk. They're checking for toxics in the dog."

"Why's that one guy biting it on the neck?"

"Tastin' the skin. Some claim they can taste it if the dog's been juiced up."

He pointed down at the small bulldog.

"Lookit there, see that little no-hair mutt down there, looks like a bulldog only uglier."

"I really don't like dog fights, Nesbitt."

"Call me Harry. Makes me feel secure, okay?"

"Sure, Harry."

"Anyways, that ugly little bowser, that's called a hog dog. You know why? Because they use them kind of mutts to hunt wild boars. The dog grabs the boar by the ear, see, and he just hangs on for dear life, pulls that f.u.c.kin' hog's head right down to the ground and holds him there. Tough motherf.u.c.kers. I got a hundred down on that one."

"You do this often?"

"Every week. Better than horse racing. The reason I picked the place, n.o.body'll ever go with me. So I know I ain't meetin' unexpected company, see what I mean?"

The owners retrieved their animals and took them into the pit. For the first time the two animals were aware of each other, although they were tail to tail across the arena. Hackles rose like stalks of wheat down the back of the scarred old warrior. The bulldog hunkered down, sleeked out, his lips peeled back to show gum and tooth.

Neither of the dogs made a sound, no growling, no barking. It was eerie.

The betting was done. The crowd grew quiet, leaning forward on the benches.

The referee, a lean man with a warty face and a jaw full of chewing tobacco, whistled between his teeth and the place was silent.

"Gentlemen," warty-face said, "face yer dogs."

I turned away, looking over at Nesbitt, who was wide-eyed, waiting for two dogs to tear each other to pieces.

"So let's get on with it," I said.

I heard the referee cry, "Pit!"

The crowd went crazy. The dogs still did not bark. I was to learn later that they are trained to fight without a sound. It conserves energy.

My companion was really into it. He was on his feet. "Get 'im, ya little p.i.s.sant!" he screamed.

"So let's get on with it," I yelled to Nesbitt. "This isn't one of my favorite things here, with the dogs."

"You know what's goin' down, man. Do I look like I wanna end up a chopped liver sandwich?" he said, without taking his eyes off the pit. He was almost yelling so I could hear him above the crowd.

"Okay, speak your piece," I said.

"Look, Kilmer, I din't have nothin' to do with Jigs gettin' pushed across."

"What are you telling me for?"

His speech came in a rush. He was talking so fast he almost stuttered.

"I'll tell you why, see. Because I was eyeballin' you in the restaurant up until you left. You had breakfast with a couple of guys, then you talked with a couple of other guys, then you went down and got your own car, okay? I drive on out the highway ahead of you, see, wait at the place, at Benny's. You pa.s.s it goin' in. I was there when you come by. It was exactly five to eleven."

"So?"

"So I couldn't of killed him. s.h.i.+t, I talked to him on the phone right after you finished breakfast. "

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you talk to him?"

"Look, I don't trust none of this, okay? I mean, O'Brian says he wants to bulls.h.i.+t with you. Lay off, he says, I promised him I'd be alone. It's one on one, he says. So I keep an eye on you when you come down in the morning, I call to tell him where everything's at, he says go to Benny's and wait until you leave. I din't have time to nix him, fer Chrissakes."

One of the dogs let out the d.a.m.nedest sound I ever heard. It was a cry of agony that seemed to go on forever. My eyes were drawn to the pit.

The old fighter had the little hog dog by the thigh and was shaking his head while the newcomer was trying desperately to back away.

"He's got my boy fanged," Nesbitt said.

"What's fanged?"

"Bit right through his thigh and impaled his own lip. He can't let go, that ugly one can't."

The referee cautiously approached the fighting animals and took a stick and started prying the old warrior's jaws loose. I'd seen enough.

"Look, can we go outside and talk? This definitely is not my thing."

"Weak stomach?"

"Yeah, right."

"They take a little time out here, when the ref has to use the breaking stick like that."

"So what'd O'Brian say when you called him?" I asked.

"Nothin'. n.o.body was around. Some shrimpers, a guy trying to make city marina in a sailboat. That was it."

"What time was that?"

"You left at ten-oh-five."

"You'd be up s.h.i.+t creek if I turned the time around a little, wouldn't you?"

"Where you think I am right now? Up s.h.i.+t creek without the proverbial, no less, is where I'm at. Everybody's on my a.s.s, okay? The locals, the Fed, the Tagliani family, what's left of them. I mean, I got everybody on my a.s.s but the f.u.c.kin' marines . . . "

"Somebody threaten you?"

"I don't have to hear from the pope, pal. I was...o...b..ian's chief b.u.t.ton. My job was keepin' him alive. I f.u.c.ked up. You think I'm gonna get a second chance? O'Brian was family, he was son-in-law to old man Franco."

"Maybe that's what they wanted."

"What the h.e.l.l's that mean?"

"I'm talking about supposing somebody wanted Jigs out of the way, somebody big in the family. Supposing they put it to somebody to ice Jigs. And this somebody rigs the whole thing to provide himself with a perfect alibi-like me, for instance. s.h.i.+t, Harry, what do you take me for-"

"Hey, you think I done O'Brian in? You think I done that thing? C'mon. And the family put my nose to it? Come on. s.h.i.+t, you need help, dreamin' up a story like that. The whole f.u.c.kin' family's getting aced one on top of the other, you think it's one of them behind it?"

"Why not? This is quite a plum, Doomstown. Be a nice place to control."

"s.h.i.+t, you think this is an inside job, you're on the wrong trolley."

"How about Chevos? Or Nance?"

"That's family!"

"Not really."

"There ain't any bad blood there. Everybody was happy until the Tagliani knockover. Everybody had their thing."

"It's happened before, y'know. Somebody gets greedy. Like that."

"Not this time, pal. I mean, that Nance, he's a bada.s.s and all that, but I don't see him and Chevos doin' that. Look, I'm tellin' you, except for that local n.i.g.g.e.r there wasn't any problems."

"I still don't trust you, Harry," I said. "You could've dragged me all the way out to this pasture to try to get me to fix yourself up an alibi."

He was sweating. The dogs were at it again but he had lost interest. He was mine for now. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and leaned closer to me, whispering over the bellowing crowd.

"What d'ya want to know? Uh, the guys with you, one was the size of a semi, the other one was missing an ear . . . uh, you had a feast would choke a f.u.c.kin' hippopotamus. Then you went over and talked to two other birds . . . "

He rambled on, filling in details as they came to him, things n.o.body would have thought to tell him. He was a very observant man.

"Okay," I said, cutting him off, "so maybe for now I choose to believe you. You got something to trade? This is your party, so I a.s.sume you want something, and since Christmas is long gone, I figure you got something to throw in the pot. Otherwise we wouldn't be out here in this s.h.i.+thouse."

"Look, I know I'm probably on the s.h.i.+t list. I can't take a chance on leaving town if I'm gonna get busted. The Triad has got people all over the state on the payroll, man. I get busted, the boys'll hear about it, y'know, like yesterday. I won't make it to the South Carolina border, fer Chrissakes."

"That's what you want, a guarantee the law'll let you out of town without a ha.s.sle?" I asked with surprise.

"Once I'm loose, I'm okay," he said. "I got some friends in Phoenix. I'll take a moniker. But I can't take a chance, see, some dumb flatfoot, pardon the French, turns me up down here."

"Why don't you drive?"

"It's their car, their credit cards. I left the car in a downtown parking lot with the cards locked in the dash, sent them the keys. I'm breaking as clean as I can. h.e.l.l, I was even afraid to tap my bank account, y'know? It's all set up by the company."

"So you're tapped out, too?"

"I got a small stash, get me where I'm goin'. Look, I'm not askin' for anything except a ride and some company to Jacksonville. They can put me on the plane, that's it. Am I on the suspect list, Kilmer?"

"h.e.l.l, I think I'm even on the suspect list."

"I need some cover, man, to break out. Whad'ya say?"

The crowd noise surged and I was compelled to look down in the pit. The little dog, the hog dog, had the old warrior by one ear and was dragging it across the pit.

"See what I mean," Harry cried, forgetting his troubles for the moment.

"What's to trade?" I asked.

"You sure got a one-track mind."

"Yeah, and right now I'd like to get on that track and get the h.e.l.l out of here."

"Like I said, what d'ya wanna know?" he asked.