Donleavy and Charles Seaborn if I?d get him off the hook.”
“Otherwise?”
“He was going to kill us.”
Dutch squinted his eyes and looked down his nose at me.
“How?s that again?”
I had started another lie. I was getting pretty good at it by now.
“Let me give you the scenario, okay? Nance and Chevos were going to throw in with Bronicata and
Cohen, get rid of the rest of the family, and take over the town. Nance was the official shooter. I don?t
know the reasons—what difference does it make anyhow? There?s none of them left to disagree. Any
problems with that?”
Dutch humphed and shuffled his feet around a bit.
“How about Nance?” Mufalatta asked.
“He?s floating around in the bay,” I said. “Stick?s last official act.”
“We got the weapons? Any of that?” Dutch asked.
“They fell in the bay,” I said.
They all looked at each other, then back at Dutch, and then at me.
“How about the toot?” Zapata asked.
“In the mast of the sailboat that?s burning down there,” I said. “By now it?s either in the bay or turned
to charcoal.”
I looked at each of the hooligans in turn, waiting for comments. Only Dutch spoke up.
“It ain?t gonna work,” he said. “There?s holes in it.”
“Fuck the holes,” Salvatore said.
“It?ll work,” I said.
“How about Titan? Chief?”
“I?ll take care of that.”
“It?s some story,” Dutch said, shaking his head.
“You got a better one?” I asked.
Cowboy came back up the hill with Stick over his shoulder. He laid him on the grass away from the
building and started to take off his Windbreaker.
“Don?t do that,” I said. “Don?t cover him up.”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Whatever you say,” he replied.
“Anybody else got any problems with the story?” I asked.
“What story?” Cowboy asked. “I missed it.”
