“Too bad about all of them,” Dutch snapped caustically. “They were worth more to us alive than
dead.”
Dutch ran the tape back and played it again. We all leaned forward, hoping to hear something
significant, but there wasn?t much. I listened to the shots, counting them.
“That one, sounds like a dentist?s drill I make that some kind of submachine gun,” Zapata said.
Dutch played it again.
It was a chilling tape. Just when you think you?ve seen it all and heard it all, you run across something
like this, listening to three people die. Mobsters or not, it raised the hair on my arms.
“Definitely two guns,” Charlie One Ear said.
“That?s pretty good, Charlie. Stinetto?s gun was still in his belt when we found him,” Dutch said.
“Loaded and clean. The old man was light.”
“Pretty good shooting,” Chino ventured.
“Had to be two of „em,” said Salvatore.
“Or an ambidextrous marksman,” Charlie One Ear said.
“Fuckin? nervy one,” Zapata added.
“Any other ideas?” Dutch asked.
I kept mine to myself.
“Okay, now pay attention. We got a man here can maybe shed a little glimmer on the night?s
proceedings, so everybody just relax a minute. This here?s Jake Kilmer, Kilmer?s with the Freeze and
he?s an expert on this outfit.”
A moan of discontent rippled through the room.
“You wanna listen to him, or stay dumb?” Dutch snapped without a hint of humour in his tone.
The room got quiet.
And colder than an ice cube sandwich.
7
EXIT SCREAMING
The house was a two-story brick and stone structure nestled against high dunes overlooking the bay.
The backyard was terraced, rising from the swimming pool to a flat that locked like a child?s dream.
There was a gazebo and an eight-horse carousel and a monkey bar set and a railroad with each car just
large enough to accommodate one child.
Two men smoked quietly in the gazebo.
From high above, on top of the dunes that separated the house from the bay, the sound of the child
