Hooligans

THE COCKTAIL HOUR

I suppose the most spectacular view in town comes with the tallest building—that‟s if you have the

money to make the view worthwhile. Babs Thomas had them both and the taste to do it right. The

penthouse was like a glass box surrounded by gardens. Glass walls everywhere: the living room,

bedrooms, kitchen, even the bathrooms. Floor-to-ceiling drapes provided whatever privacy was

necessary, although the only danger of eavesdroppers seemed to be from low-flying aircraft.

The penthouse was lit by slender tapers, an effect both unusual and stunning, since the glass walls

reflected every flickering pinpoint and then re-reflected it, over and over, bathing the rooms in a soft,

yellow glow.

There were at least thirty couples there, Babs‟ idea of a few friends, all of them old-monied and well

pedigreed. I assume only a death in the family would have been a suitable excuse for missing the

soiree. That or, as in the case of Charles Seaborn, the bank examiners.

Babs, a vision in yellow silk wearing a white hat with a brim wide enough to roller-skate around,

swept over to me as I entered, pulled me into a neutral corner, and filled in my dance card for me,

advising me on who was worth talking to and whom to skip.

My top priority was to meet the remaining members of the infamous Committee.

Arthur Logan, the lawyer, was forty and looked sixty. Poor posture made him appear almost

humpbacked, his face was pinched into a perpetual frown, and his eyes were paranoiacally intense and

busy, like a man who expects to hear bad news at every turn. Ten minutes of conversation proved him

to be as senile in mind as in body, a man so fanatically conservative that even Calvin Coolidge would

have found him an anachronism. His wife, also singularly unattractive, appeared to have lost her chin

somewhere along the way. She complemented him by smiling and keeping her mouth shut.

On the other hand, Roger Suffer, the big-shot journalist, was just the opposite, the epitome of the

young man on the go. His handshake was painfully sincere, his gaze intense, his attitude open. He

talked to me for five minutes before he figured out I wasn‟t there to invest money in Dunetown, then

his gaze became less intense and began to wander from one female rear end to the other. His wife,

who let inc know she was the best tennis player at the club thirty seconds after we met, was busy

flirting with the men in the room.

Charming.

No wonder the city had fallen prey to Tagliani. Dutch had said it the night I arrived. Dunetown had

been entrusted to wimps. Were they involved with Seaborn and Cohen?

Doe caught me by surprise. I was ordering a drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and she

was standing there. My knees started to wobble again.

The big surprise was that Chief was with her.

He sat tall and erect in his wheelchair, and while time seemed to have taken its toll, the old man still

looked like everybody‟s grandfather ought to look, his white hair cresting a craggy face that was

indomitable.

I knew the Findley background well. I should have, it was a story I had heard repeated often enough.

Chief‟s grandfather, Sean, an Irish collier, had emigrated to Dunetown, won a waterfront tavern in a

card game and parlayed that into the city‟s first million. After that it was cotton, banking, real estate,

God knows what else. The same flint that had fired old man Sean had also struck wit and wisdom in

every crevice of Chief‟s face and his eyes were as fiery and intense as ever. Only his body seemed to

be failing him.

“Hello, Chief,” I said. “Been a long time.”

“Yes,” he said, “and a sad one.”

I knew the breed well enough to know that Chief would not mention Teddy or my unanswered letter.

Apologies come hard and infrequently to men like that; they‟re not prone to admitting mistakes. Or

maybe Chief just didn‟t see it the way I did; maybe he had just closed the book on that chapter.

“Doe tells me you‟re in government service,” he said, with obvious sincerity. “That‟s quite

admirable.”

That was the end of our conversation. A moment later someone pushed past me to pay homage to the

old warrior, and then someone else, and someone else, until I was gradually edged out of the circle.

Doe eased her way to my side. I could feel the sexual electricity humming around her. Time had not

changed one thing—they were still the lightning people.

“Where‟s Harry?” I asked.

“He cancelled out at the last minute. There was an accident at the track. Some horses were killed.”

“I know, I was there.”

“It must‟ve been just horrible,” she said, then added hurriedly, “Albert‟s coming in ten minutes to take

Chief home. I‟ll meet you out on the terrace after he leaves.‟ She turned abruptly and wormed her way

back into the circle of sycophants.

Suddenly I was alone and staring across the room at Sam Donleavy. I shouldered my way toward him

through the crowd, catching snippets of conversation along the way. The women cheeped like

sparrows, while the men sounded more like trumpeting elephants. Donleavy seemed relieved by my

company.

“It‟s hot in here. Let‟s step out on the terrace and get some air,” he suggested.

Lightning was playing in the clouds south of the city and the wind was jangling a delicate glass wind

chime near the door. You could feel rain in the air.

“We still on for lunch tomorrow?” I asked, by way of starting the conversation.

“Looking forward to it,” he said. “I heard about the Lukatis boy. A damn shame.”

“Yeah,” I said. “A tough break for his sister.”

“Do you think it‟s tied in to these other deaths?”

“I wouldn‟t know. The body‟s down south of here. The autopsy will be done there.”

“I see. Look, I want you to know that any help you give us in cleaning up this mess will be greatly

appreciated. Things have been happening so fast it‟s hard to assimilate them.”

“Yeah,” I said, “the pace has been breezy.”

“I suppose you‟re accustomed to such things.”

“Not really. Murder is always ugly, no matter where it happens or who the victim is.”

“Yes, I suppose. At any rate, if you need any help at all from me, just ask.”

“Thanks,” I said. After a decent pause I asked, “Did you know Tagliani?” I tried to sound casual.

“Yes. But as Frank Turner.”

“Were you social friends?”

“Not at all. I met with Turner on a couple of occasions to help him get oriented, but that was some

time ago.”

“And to size him tip?” I suggested.

He stared at me intently for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. “That, too.”

“So you knew him personally?”

“Not really; it was all business. I haven‟t seen him to talk to since he moved here.”

“When was that?”

“I couldn‟t say accurately. About three years ago.”

“Did you meet here in Dunetown?”

He nodded. “The first time we were supposed to meet at the old Beach Hotel, but it didn‟t suit him, so

we switched the meeting to Charlie Seaborn‟s yacht. The second time he had his own boat down

here.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Development ideas, other money interests. Later he put us on to”—he waved a hand vaguely in the

air—”several others.

“Bronicata, Chevos,” I said.

“Yes, only not by those names. You‟ve got to remember, he came very highly recommended. He had

development resources, excellent credit references, all in the name of Frank Turner.”

“And you never suspected who he really was?”

His face clouded up. “Of course not,” he said. There was a touch of indignation in his tone but he

tempered it quickly. “Look,” he went on, “we were looking for developers here. It was obvious the

track was going to change things, and Turner talked an excellent game. He seemed very civic-minded.

His development ideas were sound. We had no reason to doubt him.”

“I wasn‟t accusing you of anything,” I said.

“I know that. I just want you to understand, this is all very new to us. At worst we were guilty of

naiveté.”

Babs Thomas appeared in the doorway, tapping her foot.

“The party‟s in here,” she said sternly. “You two can talk football, or whatever you‟ve found so

damned interesting, some other time. And you, Sam, have a phone call. I think it‟s Charlie. You can

take it in the bedroom.”

“Damn” Donleavy said. “I‟m sorry. „We can finish this over lunch tomorrow.”

“Just one other thing,” I said. “Do you happen to remember the date „Tagliani came here the first

time?”

He thought about it for several seconds, then took out a business card and scrambled a number on the

back.

“No, but I‟ve got an old date book at home,” he said. “Here‟s my number. Give me a call about

quarter to eight and I can give it to you precisely. Don‟t wait until eight or you‟ll be out of luck. Dutch

Morehead usually calls me then. We talk once a week, keeps me in touch. He‟s very prompt and

we‟ve been known to talk for an hour or more.”

I thanked him, pocketed the card, and we started back inside. As Donleavy hurried off to take his call,

Stonewall Titan materialized from behind a potted plant.

“Hello, doughboy,” he said. “Don‟t miss a trick, do you? Just pop up everywhere.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” I said.

Titan looked at me, the candles igniting sparks in his narrowed eyes.

“You‟ve done it again, raised more hell, ain‟t you, son?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean your conversation with Harry at the track. That was a damn fool thing to do.”

“„time somebody levelled with him.”

“You‟re a bad penny, doughboy,” he growled. “You show up back here and within four days we got

somethin‟ akin to twelve homicides.”

He slashed at a potted plant with his cane.

“I haven‟t had two unsolved goddamn homicides at the same time in this county in forty damn years.

Now I got twelve!”

Donleavy came out of the bedroom, made his apologies, and left to await Dutch‟s weekly call, waving

good-bye as he did. It was seven fifteen. In another thirty minutes we could all leave.

“I‟ll give it to you again,” I said. “I didn‟t cause the homicides and murder isn‟t my game. It‟s not

why I came here and it isn‟t why I‟m staying.”

“I mean altogether I haven‟t had twelve unsolved homicides since I been sheriff,” he said, ignoring

my comments. “You understand my concern when we have twelve in the space of a couple of days?”

“Sure.”

“Sure? What do you mean, sure?”

“I mean sure, 1 understand your consternation.”

“Hot damn, college boy. Consternation. Well, listen close, because my consternation tells me you

know one helluva lot more about what the hell‟s goin‟ on than I do, and since this is my county, I

think it‟s time we shared whatever information you might have.”

I smiled. “And what would I get out: of it?” I asked.

“Your ass, in one piece,” he said flatly.

I laughed. “What‟re you going to do, Mr. Stoney, put out a contract on me?”

“It may be funny to you, doughboy—”

“That‟s not what I‟m laughing about,” I said, cutting him off. “I‟ve been under the impression we

were both on the same side.”

He ignored my comment and went right on making his point. “I‟m not without considerable influence

where it means something,” he said. „1 could have your tail bent till it hurts by just raisin‟ a question

or two about your conduct of this investigation.”

“I‟m sure you could.”

“What the hell‟s goin‟ on? What are you after, Kilmer?”

“I‟m looking for RICO violations, M. Stoney. You know that. Now, I could be wrong. Tagliani may

very well have inched in here without anybody knowing who he really was. But I‟ve got to know that

for sure.”

“No matter who gets hurt, that it?”

“I don‟t give a damn whose tombstones I have to kick over to get to the truth.”

“Or whose bed you sleep in?”

“Who are you really worried about, Mr. Stoney? Who are you trying to cover?”

“The integrity of my county,” he snapped.

I shook my head with disbelief. “You mean what‟s left of it, don‟t you?”

“You can be an irritatin‟ son of a bitch.”

“Probably. I didn‟t come here to run for Queen of the May.” His tone became more condescending.

“I don‟t wanna see things blown out of proportion, okay, doughboy? People make mistakes. It‟s

natural. We ain‟t all perfect.”

“I‟ll buy that,” I said. “I just want to make sure that‟s what they were—mistakes.”

“I‟m tellin‟ you they were.”

“Sheriff, I‟ll tell you everything I think. Not what I know, because I don‟t know that much. I think the

same gun killed Tagliani, Stinetto, and O‟Brian, possibly an American 180. I think the same gun was

used to kill Stizano and his bunch and Draganata, probably an M-16 equipped with a grenade

launcher. Whoever used them has a military background and killed Logeto and Graves‟ girlfriend,

Della Norman, using a garrotte that was fairly common in Vietnam. I think it was all done by one

person”

Titan pursed his lips and cocked his head to one side. “Not bad for someone who‟s game ain‟t

murder,” he said. “Why?”

“If I knew that, I could give you the killer.”

“Humph,” he snorted.

“Now I‟ve got a question to ask you. Who busted Tony Lukatis on the pot charge?”

“Why?”

“He‟s dead, that‟s why.”

“I know that. „They‟re doing an autopsy down in Glynn County right now. So what does Tony‟s

previous record have to do with anything?”

“Just curious.”

“The drug enforcement boys nailed Lukatis and his buddy.”

“Did they both do time?”

He paused for a second or two and shook his head. “The shrimper turned state‟s and got a suspended

sentence.”

“Was Lukatis running marijuana for Longnose Graves?”

Titan looked shocked. “Hell no,” he stormed. “Graves doesn‟t run dope. He may have a lot of faults

but that ain‟t one of them. Far as I know, Lukatis and his friend were freelancin‟.

“Where were they caught?”

“On Buccaneer Island, where the South River empties into Buccaneer Bay. Why are you so interested

in Lukatis?”

“Just trying to keep all the lines straight,” I said. “He and at least one of Graves‟ men were killed at

the same time. Don‟t you wonder why?”

He leaned forward and said, “I‟ll find out why when it‟s necessary.”

“You know what I think, Mr. Stoney?” I said. “I think you want to neutralize me and I‟m not sure

why. Like I said, I thought we were both on the same side.”

“I told you last night, I enforce the law my own way,” he said. “Be advised.” He turned abruptly,

elbowed his way through the chitchat, paid his respects to Babs, and left. She breezed back over.

“You‟re just the life of the party,” she said. “So far you‟ve talked to Chief Findley, Stoney, and Sam

Donleavy, and all three of them have left the party.”

“I do seem to have that effect on people, don‟t I?”

“Well, darling, Doe is still here. All is not lost.”

“I keep telling you—”

“And I don‟t believe a word of it,” she said, finishing the sentence, and went off to attend to

something.

1 stepped out onto the terrace but the rain had started, its first big drops splattering me, so I stood

under an awning, watched the thunderclouds gather around the penthouse, and listened to the wind

give the chimes a nervous breakdown and the rain grow to a steady downpour.

Doe moved on me slowly, stopping here and there to chat as she came through the room. Finally she

stepped outside and stood there, staring up at me.

“I‟ve called you and called you today,” she said, somewhat sternly.

“I don‟t spend a lot of time around the hotel,” I said.

“Come back to Windsong with me tonight,” she said in a half-whisper.

“You‟re crazy. What do you plan to do about Harry? He‟s—”

“He won‟t come out there. He stays at the townhouse during the racing season. He doesn‟t like to

make that long drive twice a day. Are you going to make me beg you, Jake?”

“Don‟t be silly.”

“I‟m spoiled, Jake,” she said with a laugh. “Nobody‟s ever denied that.”

“Nobody ever complained either.”

“I want to make love to you again I want it tonight. I don‟t want to wait a minute longer.”

“It‟s getting too touchy,” I told her. “Even Titan knows all—”

“I don‟t care about Stoney. He‟s my godfather; he should want what‟s best for me and if he doesn‟t,

the hell with him. We‟re talking about you and me and tonight That‟s all I care about. I want you. I

want to make up for twenty years.”

“In one night?”

She laughed again. “Well, it‟s a start.”

Bolts of lightning were duelling around us and the full fury of the storm lashed rain under the awning.

“Let‟s get inside,” I said.

“Not till you promise.”

“Promise what?”

“When you leave here you‟ll come out to Windsong.”

“I have to make a stop on the way,” I said, thinking about DeeDee Lukatis. I wondered whether Doe

knew that her ex-lover was dead. If she did, she was handling it very well. I decided that if she didn‟t

know, somebody else could tell her.

“How long?” she demanded.

“An hour.”

“Don‟t be late,” she said, wheeled away, and dodged back inside.

I waited for a minute or two before going back in. It was a futile gesture. Babs was watching intently

from across the room, like the linesman at a tennis match. I nodded and smiled my way back to her.

“It‟s not what you think,” I said.

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes, “you don‟t have to tell me a thing. I have two perfectly good eyes

in my head.”

“Don‟t make it sound like some damn intrigue,” I said.

“Darling, I just love intrigue. It‟s what makes life worth all the trouble.”

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