“D?they learn it on The Lawrence Welk Show?” Braun asked.
“It?s called the singing rope,” I corrected. “The way it works, you take a rope, tie a knot halfway
down it, and tie a small stick in the end. The Arvies would come up behind their target, whip the rope
around his throat, catch the stick, and twist. The knot pops the main nerve in the back of the neck and
paralyses the mark. After that, all it takes is about sixty seconds or so to finish the job.”
“You like havin? the Feds do yer thinkin? fer yuh?” Braun asked. Cowboy Lewis made a growling
sound deep in his throat and
balled up his fists. Dutch laid a gentle hand on the big man?s shoulder.
“Anybody touch anything up here?” Chess asked.
The Cowboy shifted from one foot to the other.
“I used toilet paper when I phoned in it. No prints,” Cowboy said.
“Excellent, m?boy. I see you teach them right,” Chess said to Dutch.
“Yeah, all yuh gotta do now?s teach „em to talk,” Braun said.
“Cowboy, go downstairs, see what you can shake outta those dago coin-tossers,” Dutch said, probably
saving Braun a trip to intensive care. When Lewis was gone, Dutch said to Braun, “What?s your
problem, putz?”
“You and your special headquarters and shit,” said Braun. “So far looks t?me like all you?ve done is
fuck up.”
“You make a lot of noise for somebody with six unsolved murders in his lap,” Dutch said.
Braun said, “We got enough bodies downtown for one night.”
“Braun, you cry too much. You can?t see straight through all the tears,” Dutch said.
“Fuck you,” Braun said.
Tension crackled in the room. Chess broke up the witty repartee.
“Well,” he said, “if you two Shirley Temples are tired of goosin? each other, I?d like to get this pair
down on a slab and start work.”
“It ain?t my beat anymore,” Dutch said. “I get „em alive, putz here gets „em dead.”
“What?s your guess about the time, Doe?” I interjected, hoping to ease things a little.
“I?d guess—and I?m guessing, remember, don?t hold me to this—I?d guess they were both killed close
together, the girl first. Three to four hours ago, give or take.”
It was ten thirty-five.
The ME turned Logeto?s body over and the dead mobster lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the
ceiling with his tongue stretched out of his mouth. The corpse was nattily dressed. His tie wasn?t even
loose.
