moving large sums of money.”
“You got another idea?” asked Dutch.
“Yeah. Maybe he?s skimming a little off the top for himself.”
“If he is, he?s got more guts than I give him credit for,” said Dutch.
“Or he could be working it with Costello,” I said.
“Wouldn?t that be sweet, to catch them in the middle like that,” Charlie thought aloud. “We could
probably get a whole chorus of canaries out of it.”
“That?s if he?s playing games,” I said.
“Cowboy?s on him again today,” Dutch said. “Maybe he?ll turn up something new.” Then his
eyebrows went up. “I?ll be damned,” he said. “Speak of the devil. See the two guys that just walked
in? The one that looks like a football player and the jellyfish with him?”
The two men sat down at a corner table and immediately began to jabber like two spinsters gossiping.
One was Donleavy. The other one was as tall, but slender, and older, probably in his mid-forties, with
wavy, graying hair that framed a weak, flaccid face. His manicured hands jittered nervously as he
talked, fiddling with the bits of toast on his plate the way a spider fiddles with a fly. Both of them
looked like they spent a lot of time in the sun.
“The one on the left is Donleavy,” said Dutch. “The bird in the navy blue suit is the banker, Charles
Seaborn. From the looks of things, they?re having a lovers? spat.”
“I think I?ll just stir the pot a little,” I said.
“What are you going to do?” Dutch asked nervously.
“Just introduce myself” I said, patting his shoulder as I rose. “I?m not going to bite anybody.”
I strolled across the restaurant toward the table where Donleavy and Seaborn were bickering over
breakfast. Donleavy saw me from the corner of his eye. He kept talking, but it was obvious that he
sensed I was heading their way and he didn?t want to be disturbed. As I reached them, he looked up
angrily, trouble clouding his brown eyes.
“I?m Jake Kilmer,” I said before he had a chance to explode. “I think it?s about time we met.”
He wasn?t sure what to do. The anger in his hard features was suddenly replaced by a wide grin, a car
salesman?s grin, the kind that makes you want to count your fingers after you?ve shaken hands.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he suddenly babbled, and jumped up. “Of course.” He pumped my hand and
introduced me to Seaborn, who looked like he?d just bitten his tongue. Seaborn offered me a hand that
was as clammy as it was insincere.
It was obvious that neither of them was overjoyed at meeting
“I?d like to have a talk with you,” I said to Donleavy, “whenever it?s convenient.”
