“At his place, about three hours ago. Pistols and a fire bomb. The woman was killed by the bomb.
Whoever scratched the other two knew what he, or they, were doing It looks like a couple of Petes to
me.”
“I want „u to stay with this,” he said.
“Good. F-low many have you made s far?”
“The whole mob‟s here except for Tuna Chevos and his gunslinger—”
“Nance,” I hissed, cutting him off. Anger roiled inside me at the mention of Turk Nance. We went
back a ways, Nance and 1, and it wasn‟t a friendly trip. “They‟re here too,” I said. “I‟ll give you
odds.”
“Maybe so, but this isn‟t a vendetta. Nance is just a tinhorn shooter. Forget him.”
“Right.”
“Forget him, Jake.”
“1 heard you”
“What are you so edgy about?”
“Oh, nothing at all. I‟ve been hound-dogging this mob for what, four, five years?”
“Closer to five,” he sighed.
“I‟m just a little burned that the iceman beat me to it.”
“Understandable. Just remember why you‟re here. I want information. Where are you now?”
“Morehead‟s war room.”
“A good man,” Cisco said. “A little short on procedure, maybe.” That was the understatement of the
year.
I said, “So far he‟s treating me like I just broke his leg.”
“Cautious,” said Cisco. “Give him a little time.”
“What happens if things pick up speed arid I need some backup?” I asked.
“Mickey Parver will help you,” he said.
“He the one they call Stick?”
“Right.”
“I felt a little like an idiot. How come I never heard of this guy before now?”
“Because you never read the weekly report, that‟s why,” he snapped. “He files a report every—”
I cut him off, trying to change the subject.
“Oh, yeah, I do seem to remember—”
“Don‟t bullshit me,” said Cisco. “You haven‟t read the weekly poop sheet since the pope was a
plumber.”
“How long‟s he been in the squad?” I asked, trying to avoid that issue.
“He‟s been in the squad for a year or so,” Cisco said, with annoyance. “You‟ll like him. He‟s young
and not too jaded yet. Please don‟t spoil him by getting lost out in left field someplace. He‟s a lot like
you, a lone wolf. You two can be good for each other.”
“I don‟t have time to baby-sit some—”
“Who said anything about baby-sitting? Did I say that?”
“It sounded like—”
“It sounded like just what I said. Don‟t stray off the dime, Jake. I want information, period. You‟re a
lawyer and you always stick to due process. I‟d like a little of that to rub off on Stick.”
“I got a feeling he‟s not going to get a lot of help in that respect from Morehead‟s bunch.”
“That‟s what I mean,” Cisco said. “Give the lad a little balance, okay?”
“What if I need some professional backup?” I asked.
“He wouldn‟t be in the Freeze if he wasn‟t first class, and you know it,” Cisco growled. “You get in
trouble, he‟s as good a man to have at the back door as you could ask. All I‟m saying is, if we do
happen to turn up a RICO case, I want it to be airtight. No illegal wiretaps, no hacking their
computers. Nothing that won‟t hold up in court.‟
“Yeah, okay,”! said.
Cisco couldn‟t resist throwing in a little jab.
“Maybe he can get you to file a report now and again, once a week or so, y‟know.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Dutch has a computer setup. You can tie directly into our terminal in Washington.”
“Right,” I said, and before I could move on to something else, he added sarcastically, “Maybe he can
help you a little in that area.”
“Sure thing.”
“Stick sent the „Tagliani photos up to me in his weekly report; that‟s how we made them.”
I was beginning to hate this kid they called Stick, already. He sounded like a miserable little eager
heaver.
“How long you in town for?” I asked.
“I‟m in town to say hello,” Cisco answered. “I head back to Washington tomorrow.
“Aw, and just when the fun‟s starting.”
“Somebody has to put food on the table. We‟re in the middle of the annual battle of the budget—
which reminds me, you‟re two months behind in your expense reports and you haven‟t filed a field
report for—”
“Tell me more about this Stick fellow,” I said, trying to avoid another issue.
Mazzola paused. “I want those expense reports,” he said. “Clear?”
“Right. You got „em.”
“Now, about Parver. Before he came with us, he was a D.C. plainclothes, then a narc, then he worked
on the D.C. mob squad. Before all that he did time in Nam. Army intelligence or something. He‟s
tough enough.
“Not too jaded, huh?”
Cisco chuckled like he‟d just heard a dirty joke. “I loaned him to Dutch. I don‟t think anybody else in
the outfit knows he‟s one of us. Dutch‟ll fix it so the two of you can pair up. You‟ll like him.
“Says who?”
“All the ladies do.”
“Great.”
“Sorry about Tagliani,” Mazzola said. “I know how long you been working on his case.”
“Well, saves the Fed a lot of money, [ suppose,” I said. “But it would have been nice to put the
bastard in Leavenworth with his brother.”
“One more thing,” Cisco said before hanging up. “You‟re not here to solve any murder cases. You‟re
h ere to find out if there were any outside mob strings on Tagliani and who holds them. That‟s number
one. We could have a classic case working here, Jake.”
“Morehead said something funny,” I told him. “He said, „I‟ve got the whole thing on tape.”
“What whole thing? You mean the Tagliani hit?”
“I guess so. He was evasive when I asked him.”
“Well, ask him again. You can fill me in at breakfast.”
“Sure.”
“I‟ll meet you in the hotel restaurant. Eight o‟clock suit you?”
“Nine might be better.”
“See you at eight,” he said, ending the conversation.
6
INSTANT REPLAY
When I got back to the Kindergarten, Dutch Morehead‟s SOB‟s were beginning to gather in the room,
One or two had drifted in. Dutch had a handful of photographs which he was about to pin on a
corkboard. A quick glance confirmed that the Tagliani gang was in Dunetown and was there in force.
Only two pictures were missing: Tuna Chevos and his gunman, Turk Nance. And as I told Cisco, I
knew they had to be in Dunetown somewhere.
“That‟s Tagliani‟s outfit all right,” I told Dutch. “All but two of them. Otherwise known as the
Cincinnati Triad. Mind if I ask you what put you on to him in the first place?”
“Ever hear of Charlie Flowers?” Dutch asked.
“Charlie „One Ear‟ Flowers?” I asked surprised.
“Could there be more than one?” he said with a smile.
“Everybody in the business has heard of Charlie One Ear,” I said.
“What‟ve you heard?” he asked.
Charlie One Ear was a legend in the business. It was said that he had the best string of snitches in the
country, had a computer for a brain, was part Indian, and was one of the best trackers alive. If rumor
was correct, Flowers could find a footprint in a jar of honey, and I told Dutch that.
“Ever meet him?”
“No,” I said, “I‟ve never met a living legend.”
“What have you heard lately?”
He asked it the way people who already know the answers ask questions.
I hesitated for a moment, then said, „Word is, he got on the sauce and had to retire.”