pyramid of fingers through cold gray eyes, the way you stare at a waiter in a restaurant when he
forgets your order. I got the message. “Screw the buddy-buddy humour, hotshot,” he was saying.
“Show us what you got.”
“You guys can rehearse your act later,” Dutch said, throwing a wet towel in the works. “If we listen,
maybe we can learn something. Did all of you forget that part of our deal was to keep organized crime
out of this town? Look what we ended up with.”
They all eyeballed me.
“Not him,” Dutch growled, “the pfutzluker Taglianis.”
Dutch never swore in English, only German. 1 doubt that any of his gang knew what the hell he meant
most of the time. Nobody ever asked, either.
“Go on,” he said to me. “Keep trying.”
“Look, this gang up here on the wall is no penny-ante outfit and they didn‟t come here for the waters.
They came here to buy this town. I been after these bastards since the day I joined the Freeze.”
“So what d‟you want outta all this?” Cowboy Lewis asked.
“I‟ll tell you what I want,” I said. “The RICO anti-crime laws refer to any monies earned from illegal
sources as ICC,” I said, “which stands for ill-gotten gains.”
That drew a laugh from Charlie One Ear. “Ah,” he said, “the wonders of the government never
cease.”
“What‟s RICO stand for?” Lewis asked, seriously.
“Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations—gangland fronts,” I said.
“ICC simply means the kiwash they make from dope, gambling, prostitution, extortion, pornography..
. all the LCN‟s favourite tricks. The LCN has to wash that money, and it isn‟t easy. So they invest in
legitimate businesses—even banks—to clean it up. RICO gives us the power to bust them if we can
prove that any business depends for its support on ICC. If we can prove that, we can confiscate their
money, their businesses, their equipment, their yachts and Rolls-Royces and all the rest of their toys.
And we can also make cases against the racketeers and everybody connected with them. That goes for
legitimate businessmen, politicians, or anybody else that gets in bed with them.”
Zapata piped up: “Do we get credit for this course?”
“Yeah,” Salvatore chimed in. “When‟s the final?”
More laughter.
“Give him a chance,” Dutch snapped.
“Okay,” I said, “let‟s forget the bureaucratic bullshit. Here‟s what you‟re dealing with. In the Freeze
we spend most of our time working with the locals, tying known LCN racketeers to ICC, and the ICC
to legitimate sources that have been corrupted. That‟s what I‟m after—I want to know how they got
their hooks into Dunetown and who they had to buy to do it. I‟m not interested in making individual
cases for prostitution or gambling or even homicide. Anything I get that can help you in those areas is
yours.”
“We‟ve heard that song before, old man,” Charlie One Ear said caustically.
“Enough of this true-and-false crap,” Dutch said. “Let‟s get to the meat and potatoes.”
I gave them a brief history of the „Triad, very brief so they wouldn‟t fall asleep.
“Franco Tagliani was very cautious,” I said. “Before we nailed Skeet, Franco had made quite a name
For himself. He was a big shot in Cincy. He contributed to the, ballet, symphony, local sports teams,
everything including the humane society. He loved animals. Everybody‟s lovable old Uncle Franco,
right? When we dumped Skeet, we figured Franco would have to come out of the closet, so we started
a matrix on him. What we call a link analysis. We charted every scrap of information that came our
way that related to the Triad, even the most insignificant stuff. Bits of bullshit from snitches,
restaurants they frequented, social gatherings, weddings, pals, acquaintances, habits, police records,
vacation trips. Hell, we even had Interpol checking on them when they left the country. It all went on
the matrix, and we kept refining it, and finally we ended up with this.”
I took a chart out of my briefcase and pinned it on the wall.
CINCINNATI TRIAD
“There it is,” I said. “The Cincinnati Triad. Anybody thinks they came here for their health should g
back to school.”
No grumbling this time. I had their attention.
I started down the list while I was still ahead, beginning with Franco, once the consigliere, the legal
brains, for Skeet, and until a few hours ago, godfather to the Triad.
“Tagliani was a classic Mafioso,” I said “His religion was family, friends, and hick everybody else;
Tagliani‟s three daughters are all married to family capi. The Triad‟s respected in La Cosa Nostra.
Nobody messes with them. At least nobody has until now.
“Stinetto was Franco‟s executioner, the official enforcer for the outfit, and Tagliani‟s bodyguard. One
of the few people Tagliani trusted. All the other capi were under Stinetto‟s direct command. Stinetto
was an old-timer. He made his bones in the fifties, about the time Buggsy Siegel bought his. So what
I‟m saying, they were both tough old pros. Taking them out together like that was ingenious and
gutsy.”
Dutch jumped in at this point. “Whoever pulled this off poisoned two guard dogs and got past three
armed guards. Nobody laid an eye on him or them.”
There was another face that was not on Dutch‟s board: Leo Costello, Mr. Clean, the consigliere of the
outfit, summa cum laude graduate of Chicago Law School, mid-to late thirties, married to Tagliani‟s
daughter Maria.
“Costello was a major in Nam,” I said. “Adjutant general‟s office. He never saw combat, spent most
of his time preparing court-martial cases. The man won‟t touch a gun, doesn‟t even hunt. He prefers
the country club set to his own family.”
“Mazzola put us on to him,” said Charlie One Ear. “Him and his friend.
“Lou Cohen?” I asked.
“The same,” said Flowers.. „Neither one of them changed their names.”
“That sounds like him,” I said. “Costello avoids as much contact as possible with the rest of the mob.
He doesn‟t have any shooters around him. And Cohen is a quiet, reclusive accountant. The money
brains and the bagman for the outfit. The Lepers‟ve been trying to burn Cohen for at least ten years.
Zip. But Costello may have to show his colors now.”
“How come?” asked Zapata.
“Because he‟s the most likely one of the bunch to take over as capo di tutti capi now that Franco‟s
bought the farm. That‟s unless there‟s something we don‟t know,” I added.
“Such as?” asked Dutch.
“Such as somebody else in the family pushing the old man across and taking over.”
“Oh,” said Dutch, “that such as.”
I went on, running down the list of felons who were now in residence in Doomstown:
Johnny Draganata, the tough, no-quarter Moustache Pete from the old school, and professor and priest
t all the Tagliani soldiers, the final authority on tradition and protocol; Rico Stizano, also known as
the Barber, because that‟s what he had once been in Chicago, until he married Tagliani‟s sister. Now
his speciality was gambling. A big family man. They all were.
Tony Logeto, Tagliani‟s son-in-law, „as a cannon and a muscle man, married to Tagliani‟s oldest
daughter, Sheila, and a specialist in loan sharking, extortion, and anything that required more muscle