Hooligans

NUMBERS GAMES

I awoke to soft sunlight, filtering through gauze drapes, and the smell of fresh coffee. Sometime

during the night DeeDee had slipped a pillow under my head and draped a blanket over me, but! still

felt like I‟d been stretched on the rack.

She was wearing a plain black silk dress and her long hair was gathered in a bun at the back of her

head, quite a departure from the previous night. Either way, she was a knockout. She put a tray with

orange juice, toast, and coffee on the table in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight. This should give you enough strength to go back to the hotel and clean up before

you meet.. what‟s his name?”

.

“Mickey Parver. Everybody calls him Stick but don‟t ask why, it‟s too early to talk.”

The Juice was ice cold, the coffee strong and hot, and the toast wasn‟t burned. I wolfed it down while

she sat across from me and had her second cup.

“1 want to thank you for last night,” she said. She sounded almost embarrassed.

“For what, almost getting you killed?”

“I mean later, after that. It‟s the first time I‟ve slept in days. And thanks, too, for. . . listening to me

ramble.”

“Better watch out,” 1 said. “Your inhibitions are showing again.”

“I only wish there was some way I could repay you.”

There it was, the perfect opening. It was time to play cop again. I sipped a little more coffee. It was

tough coming out with it.

“Maybe there is,” I said finally.

She was pleased at the prospect. “Really?” she cried. “What? Anything!”

I sipped at my coffee for a moment or two, trying to phrase it just right, but that never works. No

matter how I put it, it was going to come out wrong in the end.

“You might want to think about this,” I said.

“Think about what?”

“What I‟m about to ask you.”

Her smile started to fade.

“You know a man named Cohen who banks at the Seacoast?” I asked.

“Yes. Not personally, just as a customer of the bank.”

“Does he come in often?”

“Usually every day. Why?”

“Do you handle his account?”

She cocked her head like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.

“No,” she said. “Mr. Seaborn handles it personally.”

There it was. The connection. My pulse picked up but it still didn‟t prove anything. “Is that

customary? I mean for the president of the bank to handle an account personally?”

“He does it on several major accounts, if that‟s what the customer wants. What‟s this about, Jake?”

“I need some information,” I said. “It will be kept totally confidential, I promise you that. There‟s no

danger of anyone ever finding out where it came from. It will only be used by me to dig up some

background information.”

Her forehead furrowed into a deep frown.

“What is it? What do you want?” she asked. Her tone was becoming more formal.

“I need the access number for the bank‟s computer, and Cohen‟s account number or numbers.”

She was shocked. For two full minutes she stared at me in disbelief, then she lowered her eyes to the

floor.

“So,” she said, “we both wanted something.”

There was no response to that. It was true.

“If it‟s at all risky I said, but her stare killed the sentence while it was still in my mouth.

“Isn‟t giving out that information a felony?” she asked.

“Only if you‟re caught.”

“Seems to me somebody said that to Tony once.”

I was prepared to take whatever abuse she might throw my way. It was a rotten thing to ask, a rotten

position to put her in. Had it not been for her concern over Tony and my promise to try and help, I

could never have broached the subject. I‟m sure all of that was racing through her mind.

“Look,” I said, “if you don‟t trust me, forget it. I‟m still going to get a line on Tony for you, if it‟s

possible.”

“Thanks for telling me that, anyway,” she said. She stared at the floor some more. I decided to push it.

“There are laws that make it possible to put people away,” I said, “people who deserve to be put

away, if we can prove their money is earned illegally. I believe Cohen is a money man for the Mafia.

That‟s who tried to kill us last night.”

She looked up sharply, her concern tempered by curiosity.

“It isn‟t the first time they‟ve tried to put me away,” I said. “I have a bullet hole in my side as a

memento from their last try.”

She kept staring without comment, making me work for it.

“Would you like to hear how they make their money? Or what they do to people who get in their

way?”

“I got a hint of that last night,” she said, getting up and taking the tray back to the kitchen. When she

returned, she said, “Come on, I‟ll take you to the hotel.”

She didn‟t say anything else. She got her things together and checked the door to make sure it was

locked when we left. Just a couple of normal folks heading off for the daily grind. In the daylight her

street was like a picture from an eighteenth-century history book. I almost expected to see Ben

Franklin strolling by with a kite or Thomas Paine ranting on the street corner. It didn‟t seem possible

that Front Street was only a few blocks away.

DeeDee didn‟t say a word on the way to the Ponce. When we got there she turned to me, her face

tortured with anguish and anxiety.

“I know how to reach you,” I said. “I‟ll call, even if I don‟t hear anything definite.” I started to leave

the car.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

She sat for a minute longer, then shook her head. “I can‟t do it,” she said. “I owe a lot to Charles

Seaborn, and somehow what you‟re asking seems like an affront to him. When Tony got in all that

trouble, some of the directors at the bank wanted Mr. Seaborn to fire me. They felt it gave the bank a

lad image. He stuck by me through it all, never said a word or asked anything more of me than I

usually gave. I didn‟t even know about it for months. Lark found out and told me. I‟m sorry, but what

you‟re asking d feel as if I‟d done something to him personally.”

“My mistake,” I said. “I never should have asked.”

“I‟m glad you did,” she said. “I‟m glad you felt comfortable enough to ask me. I‟m just sorry I feel

this way.”

“Loyalty‟s a rare commodity, don‟t apologize for it,” I said. “I‟ll be talking to you.”

“Thanks again,” she mumbled as I got out of the car. I watched her drive away and went into the

hotel. The Stick was sitting in the lobby reading the morning paper.

“This is a terrible hour to be getting in,” he said drolly. “What‟ll the neighbours think?”

“You know what you can do with the neighbours,” I snapped.

“Uh-oh. Get out on the wrong side of the bed?”

“I never got into bed.”

“Ah, that‟s the problem.”

I glared at him and suggested breakfast in the room to save time. “I need a shower,” I growled.

We went to the room and I ordered food. I needed more than the toast and coffee DeeDee had

provided. Then I got Dutch on the phone and gave him a quick report on the night‟s activities, not

wanting him to hear it from anybody else. In the excitement at the movie theatre I had forgotten to tell

him about my meeting with Harry Nesbitt. I started off with that, finishing with the shootout at

Casablanca.

The latter got him fuming.

“I‟ll have Kite pick up that son of a bitch Nance now,” he growled.

“Won‟t do any good. He‟s probably got a dozen people who‟ll swear he was six other places at the

time.”

“So what do we do, ignore it?”

“For the time being,” I said, “When we get him, I want to get him good—and I want it to stick.”

“What do you want to do about Nesbitt?” Dutch asked. “It doesn‟t sound like his info on Nance was

too swift.”

“Maybe Nance went around the bend,” I said. “I can‟t imagine Costello or Chevos pulling a stunt that

stupid the way things are.”

“Why not?” the Stick cut in. “If he‟d nailed you, they could‟ve written you off as another victim.”

“I made a promise to Nesbitt and I‟d like to keep it,” I told Dutch. “Can we find a couple of honest

cops who‟ll smuggle him down to Jax and stick with him until his plane leaves?”

“I‟ll take care of it,” Dutch said. “Let me know when you hear from him.”

“Thanks. Stick and I are working on some other things. I‟ll catch up with you later.”

He rang off and I gave Stick the license number of the black Pontiac. He called the DMV while I

showered and shaved.

The license plates were hot, stolen a Few hours before Nance and company came calling on me.

“Shit,” 1 growled, “the way this day is starting maybe I ought to go back to bed and start over.”

A bellhop who didn‟t look a day over fifteen showed up with breakfast. The phone rang and I

answered it, trying to eat, talk, and put fresh clothes on at the same time.

“Good morning, darling.” Doe‟s voice was as soft as lambskin and husky with sleep. “Sleep late?”

I looked over at Stick, who was back into his newspaper, then turned my back to him and dropped my

voice an octave.

“Yeah. A late night. A lot happened.”

“1 thought about you all day and all night.”

“Me too,” I mumbled.

“It was torturous being with Harry after the other night.”

I made a dive for the safe spots, but stopped before I got there. I thought, Why does it scare me when

it‟s what I want to hear?

“That‟s understandable,” I answered.

“Are you under the covers? I can hardly hear you.”

“My partner just stopped by for breakfast,” I half whispered.

“Ah, so that‟s it,” she purred. “Well, I‟ll let you go. I just wanted to hear your lovely voice before I

got up. I want to lie here and think about you. Please make it happen again soon. God, how I miss

you.”

“Well, that‟s good,” I said awkwardly.

She laughed. “What a silly thing to say,” she replied. “I‟ll be staying at Windsong for a week or so,

alone. Harry‟s staying at the townhouse. I‟m coming out here after the party tonight.”

“Party?”

“Babs‟ cocktail party, you goose. If you miss it, she‟ll kill you— that‟s if I don‟t do it first. See you at

six. Thank you for coming back, Jake. I love you, my sweet.”

“Uh, yeah, me too.”

She hung up.

I cradled the phone and turned around to finish dressing. A minute crept by before Stick said, without

looking up from his paper, “You really got it bad. You can hardly talk to the woman.” Before I could

protest, he held his hand up and closed his eyes.

“Please, don‟t insult me by telling me that was your insurance man.”

“That‟s right, it was my insurance man,” I said with mock irritation.

“She wants to crawl all over your bones, right? It‟s always like that the morning after.”

“How come you reduce everything to a cliché? Maybe this is different.”

“It‟s different, all right. I‟ll give you that in spades, friend. It is unique. Her old man owns the town,

her husband runs the town, you‟d like to put him in jail, at least for murder if nothing better pops up,

and you tell me it‟s different! That‟s the understatement of the year.”

“It‟s only a problem if I make it a problem.”

“You‟ve already made it a problem, putz! What in the flick do you call a problem if this isn‟t one?”

“Dunetown. There‟s a problem.”

I finished dressing and ate another piece of soggy toast.

“Okay,” I blurted, “it‟s a problem. She‟s rooted too deep, man. I haven‟t been able to get her out of

my mind for twenty years. I keep thinking it was the best shot I ever had. I want another crack at it.

I‟m stuck on what could have been instead of what is.”

“Aren‟t we all,” Stick said, with surprising bitterness. There was another pause before he added, “I

think I missed something. The part about the price you have to pay. Or did you leave that out?”

“I don‟t know the price. That‟s the big question.”

“I don‟t know what could have been,” Stick said. “Want to run that by me?”

Now there was a rueful occupation—thinking about what could have been. But if I couldn‟t trust

Stick, who the hell could I trust? Suddenly I heard myself laying it all out for him, starting from the

day Teddy and I became football roommates at Georgia and ending on the day I got the kiss-off from

Chief. I didn‟t leave out anything I threw it all in—heart, soul, anger, hurt, all the feelings that my

returning to Dunetown had dredged up from the past.

“Jesus, man, these people really fucked you over!” was his response.

“I‟ve never quite admitted that to myself,” I said. “I look at Raines, I think, that could have been me. I

look at Donleavy, I think, if Teddy were still alive, that could be me. Every time I turn around the past

kicks me in the ass.”

“You‟re one of the ones that can‟t stay disconnected,” he said seriously. “It‟s not your nature. But

you‟ve been at it so long you can‟t break training, you‟re afraid to take a chance. Like in Nam, when

you‟re afraid to get too close to the guy next to you because you know he may not be around an hour

later. It‟s an easy way to avoid the guilt that comes later, being disconnected is.”

“Is that all it is, Stick? Guilt?”

“Like I told you the other day, it‟s guilt that gets you in the end. Shit, you‟re overloading your circuits

with it. You got guilt over the girl, you got guilt because you want to pin something on her husband,

guilt because you‟re losing your sense of objectivity, guilt because of her brother. What is it about

Teddy? You keep circling that issue. You talk about him all the time, but you never pin it down.”

I finally told him the story. It was easy to talk to him; he‟d been there, he knew about the madness, he

understood the way of things.

There were days when time dulled the sharp image of that night, but they were rare. A lot of images

were still with me, but that one was the most vivid of all. It was a three-dimensional nightmare, as

persistent as my memories of Doe had been. The truth of it was that Teddy Findley didn‟t die in

combat or anywhere near it. He might have. There you have it again, what might have been. Teddy

and I didn‟t have a very rough time in Nam until a few weeks before we were scheduled to come back

to the World. Until „Tet, when the whole country blew up under us. Hundreds of guerrilla raids at

once. Pure madness They pulled us out into Indian country and for the next six weeks we found out

what Nam was all about, We got out of it as whole as you can get out of it and finally got back to

Saigon. Teddy was a little screwy. He scored a couple of dozen Thai sticks and stayed stoned for days

on end. He started talking about the black hats and the white hats.

“I got this war all figured out, Junior,” he said one night. “What it is, see, we‟ve always been the

white hats before. We‟re supposed to be the good guys. But over here, nobody‟s figured out what we

are yet. Are we the white hats or the black hats?” He said it the way the good witch in The Wizard of

Oz said, “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

There was this compound in Saigon run by the military. They called it Dodge City because the man in

charge was a major named Dillon. It looked like Dodge City, a hell-raisers‟ paradise, a place to blow

off steam; a couple of blocks of whorehouses and bars controlled by the military for our protection.

But the MP‟s couldn‟t be everywhere. Sometimes things went a little sour. One night we smoked

enough dope to get paralysed and we headed down to Dodge and we ended up in a whorehouse. It

was nothing but a hooch divided up by screens. You could hear GI‟s humping all over the place.

“Let‟s get about five or six of „em,” Teddy said. “Have a little gang bang.” It wasn‟t for me. I wasn‟t

that stoned and I still had a little Catholic left in me. So he went behind one screen and went into the

next stall. He started kidding me; it was like being in the same room.

“How‟s the foreplay going, Junior?”

“Will you shut up!”

“Having a problem?”

“Yeah, you!”

He started to laugh and then the laugh turned into a scream and the scream turned into a muffled cry

that sounded as though he were underwater. I jumped up and smashed through the screen.

The girl was gone already. It was a fairly common trick. She had a single-edge razor blade held

between her teeth when she kissed him, cut off his tongue with the razor and, while he was gagging in

his own blood, slit his throat for closers. He died in my arms before I could even yell for help. I don‟t

remember what the girl looked like; all I remember is that it could have just as easily been me instead

of Teddy.

“I knew what it would do to Doe and Chief Findley, finding out he died like that,” I told Stick,

finishing the story. “I forged a set of records saying he was killed in action and I forged a

recommendation for a Silver Star and the Purple Heart for him. The captain didn‟t give a shit. He

acted like he didn‟t even notice

it.

“Then I wrote the letter telling them how Teddy had died in action, that it was quick, no pain. I don‟t

know which is worse anymore, Teddy‟s death or the lie. Reducing it all down to a fucking piece of

paper like that.”

Stick sat there for a long time after I finished, smoking and staring at his feet. It was not a shocker;

that kind of thing was common. Just another day in paradise.

Finally he started shaking his head. “Man, you have really done a number on yourself, haven‟t you?

What‟s the big issue here? You told a lie and made your best friend a hero. Big fuckin‟ deal.”

“It‟s what it represents. Somehow Nam should be more important than that.”

“Nam was a fuck-up. It‟s like a scar on your belly. You cover it up and forget it; you don‟t paint it

red, white, and blue. You‟re one of those steel-covered marshmallows, Kilmer old buddy. You‟re a

sitting duck for the vultures. You know what I say? Forget the lie part. Stick to the story; nobody

wants to bear the truth anyway. Shit, pal, I say fuck the obstacles, go for it. Could be your last

chance.”

He lit a cigarette and went back to his newspaper, and then threw in, “Just put her old man in the joint,

that‟ll solve all your problems.”

“That‟s a shit thing to say.”

He dropped the paper on the floor and looked up at me. I‟m just being honest. The perfect solution for

you is to have Raines turn out to be the brains behind the killing and Nance the actual shooter. That

way you nail „em both in one whack. You get even and you get the girl. It‟s the perfect ending.”

“Incredible,” I said. “Those are great opinions.”

“You just figured out the price,” he told me.

“Yeah, business as usual,” I said, and there was a lot of acid in my tone.

“If it‟s business like last night,” Stick said. “Count me in every time.” It was obvious that he had said

all he had to say about my personal problems.

“Thanks for sparing me your tales of conquest,” I said.

“Speaking of business, I got a little for you. Let‟s get to the number one problem, okay? 1 don‟t like

to brag, anyway. I was up and at the Warehouse by eight. We got good news, we got bad news, and

we got some in-between news.”

“Gimme the good news first,” I said.

“The good news is that Kite‟s finally got Nance in view. The bad news is that he didn‟t make contact

until about three a.m. Otherwise he might have been a witness to your little party over there on the

waterfront.”

“It‟d be nice to know what he‟s been doing for the past two days,” I said.

“Kite‟s working on it. Also Charlie One Ear has some information on who owns what in town and

Cowboy Lewis is hot on Cohen‟s trail this morning. So what got your day off to such a lousy start,

besides the fact that your head‟s not screwed on right?”

“First of all, I hurt a very nice lady,” I said.

“What‟d you do, turn her down?”

“Worse, I asked her to break the law.”

“Oh, is that all? Murder, bank robbery, what?”

“The bank‟s computer code and Cohen‟s bank account numbers,” I said.

He didn‟t bat an eye. I might have said I asked her to get me a glass of water, for all he seemed to

care.

“Did she do it?”

I shook my head. “The lady has more integrity than I have,” I said.

“Well, Lark hasn‟t got any such notions,” Stick said, with that strange smile of his. “Here‟s the rest of

the good news.” He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a slip of paper, and handed it to me. There

were two numbers written on it. Lark had drawn a smiling face behind the second one.

“Are these the bank‟s computer access numbers?” I asked excitedly.

“And the numbers for the Tagliani account.”

“This is incredible! Are you sure they‟re correct?”

“I trust the lady all the way.”

“The lady‟s got one hell of a memory,” I said.

“There‟s a little more to it than that. Guess who the computer operator at the bank is.”

“You‟re kidding!”

“She has a master‟s degree in mathematics and computer technology from Emory University. I may

be in love. A dame looks like that with all those smarts, shit, I might even think about early

retirement.”

I was impressed with the information, but even more impressed that he had asked for it.

“How the hell did you know I was after these numbers?” I asked him.

“Lark told me you went to Casablanca to meet DeeDee, so I figured you must be after something,” he

said. “It wasn‟t hard to figure out what it was. Hell, I can put one and one together and get two almost

every time.”

“Now that I‟ve got them, I‟m not sure what to do with them,” I said.

“Have you forgotten I spent six months slaving over a computer when I joined the Freeze? I know

what to do with them.”

“Can you access the code and get into the bank‟s main terminal?”

“I can hack into anything,” he said with a grin. “I‟m the magic man, remember?”

My palms got sweaty thinking about what we could come up with. For the first time since arriving in

Dunetown, I felt we were getting close to something important. The information wouldn‟t stand up in

court, but it could lead us straight to the bad seeds.

“You want to tell me what you want, specifically?”

“I‟m not sure. But I am sure Cohen‟s the bagman and he deals only with Seaborn at the bank. DeeDee

did tell me that. They‟re using the bank for a washing machine, I know it. That bank account should

tell us something.”

“I agree with you about Cohen. Lark says he usually makes cash deposits once a day. Big ones.”

“Does she know how much?”

“No, but she checked the daily deposit tape once out of curiosity and it was in six figures.”

“What! Jesus, Stick, we‟re on to something. Just maybe we can get them this time.”

I whistled through my teeth and we laughed and slapped each other on the back and acted like a

couple of high school kids. If Lark was right, Cohen could be moving as much as halfa million dollars

a week or more through the Tagliani accounts.

“It had to be shielded in some way,” Stick said. “That kind of money activity attracts the Lepers like a

petunia attracts a hummingbird.”

I said, “It also means Seaborn has to be involved.”

“So you want to go fishing?”

“Yeah. What I‟m really looking for is a Hollywood box, some kind of payoff account.”

“That the tax boys won‟t tumble on to?” the Stick said.

“Right.”

“That‟s been tried before by experts.”

“Well,” I said, “there‟s always somebody who thinks he has a better mousetrap.”

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