Hooligans

such grins in your life.”

“How did they waste the shrimp company?” I asked.

“Just drove in, two cars of „em, pulled up to the front door, got out, and checked to make sure the

place was empty. Then they doused it with Molotov cocktails and tossed a couple sticks of dynamite

in the front door as they was leaving. Man, the place went sky high.”

We all stood there, staring across the street at the Church, wondering what to do next.

“If we?re going to arrest him, don?t we need a warrant?” I asked.

“Arrest them? Arrest who, man? Graves?” was the Kid?s amazed response. “The four of us are gonna

sashay in there and bust Nose Graves and maybe eight of the meanest motherfuckers south of Jersey

City? Us four? Shit, man. Death with honour, si; death by suicide, bullshit.”

“Then why don?t I just go in and have a talk with him,” I suggested.

Mufalatta looked at me like I was certifiable. Dutch chuckled deep in his throat, like he had just heard

a dirty joke. The Stick didn?t do anything; he stood there and pro and conned the idea in his head. He

broke the silence.

“Why?” he asked.

“He?s being suckered,” I said. “Maybe we can stop this craziness before anybody else dies.”

“Do tell,” said the Kid. “And you think he?s gonna give a royal shit what you think, man?”

“What?ve we got to lose?” I said. “Stick and Dutch, keep an eye on our front and back doors. The Kid

and I?ll go in and gab with Graves.”

“Absolutely crazy as shit,” the Kid said.

“I?ll second that,” said Dutch.

“Hell, why not?” the Stick said. “Sometimes crazy shit like that works.”

Dutch sighed. “Let?s get some moxie backup over here,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. “This isn?t the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. We just want to talk.”

“The man just blew up a business,? Dutch reminded me. “If he knows he was seen doing it, he?s not

gonna be too receptive to any chitchat with the cops.”

I shrugged. “Then we won?t tell him yet,” I said, and walked out the front door and across the street:

with Mufalatta legging it beside me.

“This is crazy, man,” he said. “This guy has no fuse at all, okay? No fuse, man. You light him up, he

blows all over the fuckin? place. They will hear it in West L.A. Shit, they will hear it in West Fuckin?

Berlin, is what they?ll do. You hear me talkin?, man? Am I just makin? my gums bleed for fun?”

“I heard you, Kid,” I said. “He?s got a short fuse.”

“No fuse, brother. None. N-o-n-e. None!”