“You goin? the wrong way.”
Behind me, I heard a car window whirring. I turned. Graves was a shadow in the back seat, a pair of
eyes eager for trouble. The bad end of a .38 peeking over the windowsill took my attention away from
his eyes.
A voice as soft as baby skin said, “Let him do his move.”
They thought I was going for a heist.
Before I could say anything, the Mufalatta Kid?s pickup roared out of the parking lot and skidded up
beside me, raising a small dust storm. When it cleared, Zapata and Mufalatta were there. I wondered
where the hell Zapata came from!
Zapata had his wallet in one hand and a police special in the other. The wallet was hanging open and
his buzzer was gleaming for all to see. Mufalatta was behind the door of the pickup, aiming his Cobra
at the limo.
“You sure know how to pep up a party,” said the Kid.
47
TITAN DEALS A HAND
The tension was broken by the appearance of another limo. This one was black and I had seen it
before, in front of the Ponce Hotel after Draganata was killed. I even remembered the license plate,
ST-I. It pulled slowly toward us until its headlights were shining between us and Uncle Jolly?s goon
squad. All weapons magically vanished. I heard Craves? window glide quietly back up.
“A lot of limos here tonight,” I said.
“Either one of these is a lot of limos,” the Mufalatta Kid said.
The driver?s door opened and a tall, rangy man in a county uniform got out. He wasn?t an inch over
six six and probably didn?t weigh more than two hundred fifty pounds. He walked with a decided
limp and there was about him a bug-eyed, almost haunted look. It was a look I had seen many times
before, eyes full of fear of what they might see next—or had already seen. He limped toward the front
of the car and leaned against the hood. He didn?t do or say anything, just leaned against the hood.
The goon squad turned like robots and marched back inside the arena.
“Luke Burger, the sheriff?s man,” said Zapata. “He?s only got one good leg but he can kick the shit
out of a rhino with it.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“What! heard,” said Mufalatta, “he was chasing a bootlegger on his hog, lost it going over South
River Bridge, took a header over the railing, and went through the roof of some public housing two
