“So what the hell?s the plan, baby? Do we wait for you to tell us the truce is on or what?”
“I need a couple of hours,” I said.
“To do what?”
“Cool the situation down. Just stay low, that?s all you got to
He stroked his jaw with a large, rawboned hand that sparkled with a diamond ring as big as the house
I was born in. He started to chuckle in that whispery, gravel voice of his.
“I don?t believe this, y?know. I mean, me trustin? a fuckin? honky Fed. What?s your name, man?”
“Kilmer. Jake Kilmer.”
“Like the poet?”
“You read poetry?” I said.
“Why not,” he said. “1 got class.”
66
SHOOTOUT IN BACK O’TOWN
“Okay, you got a deal,” Graves said, offering roe his hand. “We?ll stay cool until you get Nance and
the rest of them off the street. But they come lookin? for trouble, Kilmer, forget it. I ain?t standing still
for any motherfucker.”
A phone rang somewhere in the darkness of the Church. It kept ringing persistently until it was finally
answered. A voice in the darkness said, “It?s for somebody named Kilmer. Is that either one of you?”
I stood up, followed by Graves? hard glance.
“I hope this ain?t some kind of stand-up, „cause if it is, man, you go down first.”
“Probably my broker,” I said, and followed a vague form back to the cash register. The phone was on
the wall, an old-fashioned black coin-eater.
“Kilmer,” I said.
It was Dutch. “Get your ass outta there now,” he told me.
“We?re doing fine here,” I said.
“Kite Lange just called central from his car He?s following Nance and two carloads of Tagliani
gunsels, and they?re headed your way.”
“Call in some blue and whites.”
“I?ve done that but you got maybe a minute to get out of there before shooting?s likely to start.”
“Goddamn it,” I said, “Nose has agreed to a cease-fire!”
“Then you better get your ass out here and tell that to your buddy Nance, „cause he?s about to come
around the corner.”
I slammed down the phone and stumbled through the darkness back to Graves? table.
