accomplish, anyway?” he asked.
“Blew off a little steam. I figured you boys needed some close-up contact, see these guys eyeball to
eyeball. Us too. It?s good to see the enemy up close. Also to get it out in the open air, so there?s no
question about where everybody stands.”
Stick?s face curled up into that crazy-eyed smile and he shook his head. “You made it clear, all right.”
At that point Dutch stared past us in surprise.
“Well, I?ll be damned,” he said. “Look who finally blew in with the wind.”
I turned to check out the new arrival.
“You?re about to meet the Mufalatta Kid, Jake,” Dutch said.
The Mufalatta Kid was not what I expected. I had pictured a man smaller and leaner, almost
emaciated. I suppose because the Stick had implied as much. The Mufalatta Kid was a shade under six
feet tall and built like a swimmer. He walked loose, his hands dangling at his sides, fingers limp,
shoulders sagging from side to side, only the balls of his feet touching. No jewellery. The Kid was
dressed for yachting: a pale blue sailcloth shirt, jeans, and dirty, white, low-cut sneakers. All he
needed was a rugby shirt and a pipe. But what surprised me most was that he didn?t look a day over
sixteen. Even his pencil-thin mustache didn?t help. The Kid was well named—that?s exactly what he
looked like.
“Welcome home,” Dutch growled “I hope you had a nice trip.”
The Kid didn?t say anything, but he didn?t look too concerned about anything, either.
“Okay,” Dutch demanded, “what?s your story? We got World War Three going on here, and you drop
off the face of the earth.”
“I?ve been shagging Mr. Badass since Sunday morning, eleven am.” His voice was soft, dusty,
confident. I assumed Mr. Badass was Longnose Graves.
“You eyeballed him that entire time?” Dutch said.
“Until about thirty minutes ago. He?s been in a high-stakes poker game at the Breakers Hotel with two
horseplayers from California, some asshole from Hot Springs, Texas, in a Stetson hat who insulted
everybody at the table, a white pimp off Front Street, and a few fast losers. A Louisiana horse breeder
came into the game late today and Nose stayed around to clean his tank also. Fucker dropped fifteen
grand before he could wipe his nose.”
“Graves was the big winner, then?” I asked.
“That?s it. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
Dutch did the honors. Mufalatta had a handshake that almost crippled me for life. He stuck up his
nose at me upon learning I was a Fed. Another one to educate.
