Hooligans

homicide?”

“On the way,” he said with a roll of his eyes, adding, “What did it this time, a flamethrower?”

“Small caliber, very likely a submachine gun,” I said.

“How do you figure that?”

“He?s got a row of. 22?s from his forehead to his chin so perfect the line could?ve been drawn with a

straightedge. My guess is, the first couple of shots knocked his head back. The gun was firing so fast

it just drew a line right down his face, zip, like that.”

I drew an invisible line from my forehead to my chin with a forefinger.

“Some gun,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “There?s only one weapon I can think of that fits the bill.”

“Well, don?t keep us in suspense,” said Dutch. Salvatore began to show signs of interest. He stopped

staring into space long enough to give rue the dead eye.

“The American 180. Fires thirty rounds a second. Sounds like a dentist?s drill when it goes off.”

“Like on the tape of the Tagliani job,” Dutch said.

“Yeah, just like that. I figure whoever aced him came in by boat and whacked O?Brian when he came

out of the cabin. Two of the slugs went through his head; they?re in the back wall.”

“So what does all that mean to us?” Dutch said.

While the coroner was studying the bloodstained holes in the back wall of the cabin, his men were

shooting pictures of O?Brian?s body from everywhere but underwater.

“Chevos owns boats,” I said. “It?s his thing. I?ve heard he lives at the Thunder Point Marina. Where

would that be from here?”

Dutch pointed due east. Thunder Point was a mile away, a misty, low, white structure surrounded by

miniature boats.

“You really want to pin this one on Nance, don?t you?” Dutch asked.

“Maybe.”

“Look, I got nothing against headhunting; sometimes it can get great results. You got something to

settle with that sheiss kopf it?s okay with me.”

The coroner dug the two bullets out of the wall and went back across the bridge to shore.

“Maybe he?s holed up on a boat,” I said.

“That?s assuming he knows we?re looking for him.”

“Well, hell, I make a lot of mistakes,” I said.

Dutch put a paw on my shoulder. “Aw, don?t we all,” he said, puffing that discussion to bed. He

strolled up and down the deck of O?Brian?s shack, berating himself, like an orator grading his own