Hooligans

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. Nobody „as 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 washing 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 fuckin‟ hog‟s head right down to the ground and holds him there. Tough motherfuckers.

I got a hundred down on that one.”

“You do this often?”

“Every week. Better than horse racing. The reason I picked the place, nobody‟ll ever go with me. So I

know I ain‟t meetin‟ unexpected company, see what I mean?”

The owners retrieved their animals arid 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 yet 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 pissant!” he screamed.

“So let‟s get on with it,” I yelled to Nesbitt. “This isn‟t one of my favourite 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 didn‟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? 1 drive on out the highway ahead of you, see, wait at [he, place, at Benny‟s.

You pass it goin‟ in. I was there when you come by. It was exactly five to eleven.”

“So?”

“So I couldn‟t of killed him. Shit, 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 bullshit 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 Benny4s arid wait

until you leave. I didn‟t have time to nix him, for Chrissakes.”

One of the dogs let out the damnedest 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‟. Nobody 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 shit creek if I turned the time around a little, wouldn‟t you?”

“Where you think I am right now? Up shit creek without the proverbial, no less, is where I‟m at.

Everybody‟s on my ass, okay? The locals, the Fed, the Tagliani family, what‟s left of them. I mean, I

got everybody on my ass but the fuckin‟ marines.

“Somebody threaten you?”

“I don‟t have to hear from the pope, pal. I was O‟Brian‟s chief button. My job was keepin‟ him alive.

I flicked 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 hell‟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. Shit, 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. Shit, you need help, dreamin‟ up a story like that. The whole fuckin‟ 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.”

“Shit, 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 badass and all that, but I don‟t see him and Chevos

doin‟ that. Look, I‟m tellin‟ you, except for that local nigger 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 closet 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 fuckin‟ hippopotamus. Then you went over and

talked to two other birds..

He rambled on, filling in details as they came to him, things nobody 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 assume 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 shithouse.”

“Look, I know I‟m probably on the shit 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‟1] let you out of town without a hassle?” 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. Hell, 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?”

“1 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?”

“Hell, 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?” 1 asked.

“You sure got a one-track mind.”

“Yeah, and right now I‟d like to get on that track and get the hell out of here.”

“Like I said, what d‟ya wanna know?” he asked.

“Everything you know.”

“It ain‟t that much.”

“How about narcotics?”

“I don‟t have nothin‟ to do with dope”

“How about Chevos?”

“Look, what do you want? All I‟m askin‟ is a fuckin‟ ride out of town. This ain‟t the Inquisition. I

can‟t turn anybody up. That ain‟t what this is about.”

“Did I ask you to turn anybody up, Harry? You‟re making me play twenty questions here, that‟s all.

We‟ve never done business before. What‟s the game?”

“Look, I don‟t know what you want to know. One thing I don‟t know is who iced these people.”

“Start from the beginning. The first time you came down here from Cincy,”

He thought about it while I watched the activity in the ring. Finally he said, “1 come down here four

years ago. It was Tagliani, Costello, Cohen, that‟s all. I was one of the old man‟s soldiers at the time.”

“What happened?”

“Nothin‟. We was gonna stay at this old hotel out where the Strip is now, but it was rundown. We

coded up on this guy‟s yacht.”

“What guy?”

“I don‟t remember his name.”

“Was he local?”

“Yeah. A Doomstown johnny. I think he was in the banking business, like a big shot. Look, you

wanna know the truth, it was the two guys you were talkin‟ to at breakfast.”

“Seaborn and Donleavy?”

“1 just don‟t remember that, I ain‟t good on names.”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?”

“I never did that. It was none of my business. On the way back, though, Tagliani tells Costello he

thinks this guy is gone around.”

“You mean they made some kind of a deal with him?”

“That‟s the impression I got. In fact, I know it. We all got accounts in his bank.”

“What bank?”

“Seacoast National.”

“You all have accounts in the same bank?”

“Sure. We get paid automatically. Every Friday, you can book on it. It goes in automatically.”

“And that‟s the whole family?”

“Anybody I know about.”

“Did you come down again with Franco?”

“One other time. We stayed on the same yacht. That time it was only the older guy, not the one looks

like a wrestler, and he brought this other bozo with him. Short fellow, skinny. Looked to be maybe

thirty-five to forty.”

I felt like kicking myself for not knowing anything about Sutter and Logan. They were the two

members of the Committee I was still in the dark about. I didn‟t know what they looked like, how old

they were, nothing except their names and what they did. Sutter was the media man and Logan was

the lawyer.

“Could his name have been either Logan or Sutter?” I asked.

“His name coulda been Mussolini for all I know,” Harry whined.

“And you didn‟t overhear any of their conversations.”

“I couldn‟t listen to that stuff, Kilmer, you know that. It‟s see nothin‟, hear nothin‟. Besides, at the

time I didn‟t have no idea what was going down. Hell, I still don‟t for that matter.”

The fact that Seaborn entertained Tagliani on his yacht was still not an indication of any wrong-doing.

It was his job as a member of the Committee to size up big investors. But if Seaborn was washing

money for Lou Cohen, that was a different ball game. Then the meetings on the yacht became

pertinent testimony.

I decided to change the subject.

“What do you know about Cherry McGee?” I asked.

“He‟s dead,” Harry said.

“I know he‟s dead. Before that.”

“He was a pistol over in Covington, did free-lance work for Draganata back when Bannion tried to

elbow in.”

“So McGee was working for the Triad when he came down here?”

“I don‟t know that for sure. Nobody seemed too upset when he got blown away, though.”

“When did you move down here?”

“With O‟Brian. I was one of the kid‟s wedding presents. So I came with them. Nine months ago,

maybe.”

“The house was already bought?”

“Yeah, that was also a wedding present.”

“So what was the reaction when Tagliani was iced?”

“Well, you know I been through a couple wars. When somebody in the family takes one, the first

thing happens, everybody gets together, tries to figure out the who and the why. They did it at

Franco‟s place the next day, the day of the wake.”

“What happened?”

“It ended up nothin‟. It didn‟t make sense. Both Franco and Draganata had got it by then. Everybody

else was Freakin‟ out. They didn‟t think anybody even knew who they were. They started talkin‟

about you.”

“What about me?”

“That you‟re sweet on Raines‟ old lady.”

“Who said that?”

“Costello, maybe.”

“So

“Costello says you‟re bad luck. There‟s a big hate on for you over there. It‟s why I was nervous for

O‟Brian to meet with you. They say you took down Skeet and then set fire under them in Cincy,

which is true.”

“So?”

“So Chevos says maybe he should take care of it and Costello says no, no Fed killing and besides,

Nance fucked it up once before and Nance gets really pissed, like bad enough, he could have taken

Costello‟s head off. Couple of us, we had to take them apart. Anyway, it blew over. Later Costello

tells Nance he‟s sorry, it‟s all blown over, and Chevos says maybe they can use this thing with the

Raines broad to bring you down.”

“What‟d Costello say?”

“He says he‟ll think about it and Chevos says you‟re a jinx. He says, „A black cat runs across your

path, you kill it, one way or another.‟ That‟s his exact words arid Costello repeats himself. „I‟ll think

about it,‟ he says.”

“Is there paper on me?”

“Not that I heard, just the beef is all. Jesus would you look at that.”

The two dogs were locked together in the centre of the pit. Blood was splashed on the pit walls, the

dirt floor, everywhere. The hog dog was no longer a pit virgin. Its face was shredded. I wanted to get

out of there.

“Anybody in the mob got a beef against the Taglianis?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Anybody inside got a hard-on for them?”

“Hey, it ain‟t like that, man. I told ya, everybody‟s happy.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

“Well . . there‟s one more thing I can give you. I heard something about a big coke shipment that‟s

coming in. Mucho kilos.”

“Well, what about it?” I demanded.

“All I know, there was some stuff comin‟ in from down south. Out of the country. I know this because

some of our girls are into snow and it‟s been short.”

“And..

“And the boat‟s late. Not to worry, is the word. Could be a storm or something. If it got busted, we‟d

already know. You guys brag about shit like that.”

“Maybe that‟s where Nance went, to bring the load in.”

“What about Nance?”

“He‟s gone underground. We‟ve been looking for him since Monday.”

“I don‟t know anything about that,” Harry Nesbitt said.

Down below, the fight had gone against the hog dog. The old warrior had it by the throat and was

snarling for the first time. You could tell it was almost over for the little pit virgin. His one leg was

dangling like it was broken and his throat was spilling blood.

“I‟m leaving,” I said to Nesbitt. “When do you want to leave town?”

“An hour ago.”

“Okay, I‟ll see what I can do. I mean, I‟ll do the best I can. I don‟t know what the hell you gave me

for this, but I‟ll talk to somebody and that somebody‟ll talk to somebody else and we‟ll get it together.

It may be tomorrow morning before I can swing it. You got a place to flop?”

“Yeah. Early tomorrow, huh?”

“You call me first thing.”

“Seven be okay?”

“Doesn‟t anybody in this town sleep past dawn?” I said.

But his attention was already back on the dogs. As I started down the tiers toward the door, the referee

stepped in and ended the fight.

The little hog dog was finished. He dragged himself by one good leg toward his master and collapsed

in the dirt, his tail wagging feebly. He looked up pitifully at his owner.

I turned away again and didn‟t see the owner take a .38 out of his belt and hold it down between the

hog dog‟s eyes.

The shot startled me. I whirled around and drew my Magnum without thinking. It took me a second or

two before I got the gun back out of sight.

Too late.

The giant at the door saw the move. As I got outside I heard his deep voice drawl, “Hey, boy.”

I kept walking. I walked straight toward Longnose Craves‟ limo.

“Hey, you with that hotshot pistol. Talkin‟ to you, boy.”

I stopped a few feet from the limo and turned around. Two friends had joined him. Just as big and just

as ugly.

“Want something?” I asked in the toughest voice I could dredge up.

“That was some kind of move there inside,” the giant said. “Like the old O.K. Corral.”

“It‟s a nervous tic,” I said. “Happens all the time.”

“You needa get it fixed.”

“I‟ll keep it in mind.”

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 hell 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