“He lives in the condos out on Sea Oat, just before you cross over the bridge to the Isle of Sighs.”
That gave Sam Donleavy an airtight alibi. I had talked to him at quarter to eight. Even the Stick at his
best could not have driven the distance from Sea Oat to town in less than fifteen minutes. To drive
both ways in twenty minutes was literally impossible.
“I?ve got something for you, Jake,” Charlie One Ear said, breaking into my reverie. “Stick asked me
to check out the Tagliani bank accounts. Three of those companies are foreign.”
“Incorporated in Panama?” I said.
“Now, how?d you know that?” asked Dutch.
“Protected corporations,” I said. “Which are they?”
“The Seaview Company, which owns the hotels; a company called Riviera, Incorporated, which does
maid and janitorial service for the hotels and other clients; and another called the Rio Company,
which is some kind of service outfit, although we couldn?t find out much about it. The Thunder Point
Marina and the Jalisco Shrimp Company are both owned by Abaca Corporation, which is a local
company. The restaurant is a proprietorship.” “Bronicata the proprietor?”
“Yep.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “They need a few legitimate businesses as part of the washing machine.”
Charlie One Ear, encouraged by my enthusiasm, left to see if he could dig up more facts.
Dutch?s beeper started bugging us and he went to check it out. He returned, both amused and
surprised.
“What now?” asked Stick.
“Everybody seems to be turning their cards up,” he said. “Nose Graves made a wreck out of the
Jalisco Shrimp Company not twenty minutes ago. Nobody?s hurt but he spread the place all over the
county. What?s left is burning.”
“Shit!” I said grimly. “It?s starting.”
“What?s starting?” said Dutch.
“What I?ve been afraid of,” I said. “Open warfare. If it?s not stopped, Harry Raines won?t be the only
innocent victim. I?ve seen a gang war up close, in Cincy. it isn?t pretty. It?ll make the Tagliani
massacres look like a harmless warm-up.”
That put a crimp in the conversation for a moment. Then Dutch reached in his pocket and took out the
tape recorder I had hung on Harry Raines? bed.
“I almost forgot,” he said. “I retrieved this for you.”
“Anything on it?” I asked.
“I haven?t checked,” he said.
