lifer purple.”
“Good. Maybe we can help each other.”
“Thing of it is, I never heard of your bunch until a couple months ago. This guy Mazzola shows up
one day outta the blue, buys me lunch, gives me the same buck and wing you?re givin? me.”
Mazzola was Cisco Mazzola, my boss in the Freeze. He had told roe Dutch Morehead was a man who
said his piece and I was beginning to believe him.
“Which you sneezed off,” I said.
“Not exactly. For starters, be put something in the pot.”
“Like what?”
“Like the Stick.”
“The Stick? What?s the Stick?”
He looked at me kind of funny, one of those “what year were you born” looks.
“Not what, who. You know... the Stick. Parver. So far he fits right in.”
I didn?t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about and before I could pursue it any further, he
picked up a bright red bullhorn, turned up the volume, and summoned his men to the back room.
I took the opportunity to step into an empty office and call the hotel. They patched me through to
Cisco, who was in the restaurant, eating. He had flown in from Washington to brief me on the local
situation. Since it had changed radically in the last couple of hours, I didn?t know what to expect.
Cisco and I were friends in a remote kind of way. He was one of several shadows that wove in and out
of my life, altering its course without ever touching me directly, our main connection provided by the
telephone company. Iii the seven or so years I had known him, I had never seen the inside of his
house, never met his family, and knew little about his personal tastes other than that he had a penchant
for vitamins and health food. He also had an obsession about saving his hair, most of which was gone.
It took him a minute to get to the phone.
“Sorry to take you away from dinner,” I said. “1 would have called sooner but I?ve been busy.
„There?s been a takeout. Tagliani, Stinetto, and Tagliani?s wife.”
“Yes, I?ve heard,” he said in his flat, no-nonsense voice. “Any details yet?”
“At his place, about three hours ago. Pistols and a fire bomb. The woman was killed by the bomb.
Whoever scratched the other two knew what he, or they, were doing It looks like a couple of Petes to
me.”
“I want „u to stay with this,” he said.
“Good. F-low many have you made s far?”
“The whole mob?s here except for Tuna Chevos and his gunslinger—”
