of sense, y?know. Tagliani follows the same procedure every Sunday. There he is, in the car with only
Stinetto and the chauffeur, who couldn?t shoot the shit with the pope. An easy mark, yet the shooter
chooses to waste two guard dogs and blow up Turner and Sherman in the house.”
“It?s Tagliani and Stinetto,” Charlie One Ear said sedately. All that bought him was a dirty look.
“Salvatore,” Dutch went on, “who was your mark?”
“Stizano,” he said. “He?s home also. 1 left his place when you called us in.”
“Cowboy?”
“The playboy—what?s his name?”
“Logeto?” I suggested.
“Yeah, him. He?s home too.”
“Everybody?s home tonight,” Zapata said with a chuckle.
“Is any of this stuff from the past few weeks, from when you started watching these guys, is any of
this on paper?” I asked.
Dutch said, “We don?t make reports. You put it on paper and somebody can read it.”
“Like who?” I asked.
“Somebody, anybody,” he said vaguely.
“You know what burns me?” said Chino. “What fuckin? burns me is that these assholes have got
themselves watertight alibis and they don?t even know it.”
“Wouldn?t it be fun not to tell them,? Charlie One Ear said wistfully.
Dutch said, “Okay, Charlie, put your good ear to the ground, see if you can turn up something. The
rest of you, back out on the range; see if we can stop this daisy chain before it goes any further. If you
run across the Mufalatta kid, Kite Lange, or the Stick, tell them to get in touch. Any questions?”
There weren?t any.
As the gang started to disperse, Cowboy Lewis got up and walked straight toward me. He moved two
desks out of his way to get to me.
“It?s Jake, right?” he said.
“Yeah.”
He stuck out his hand.
“My name?s Chester Lewis. They call me Cowboy.”
“Right.”
“You want this asshole Nance, right?”
“Yeah, I want him, Cowboy.”
“Then he?s yours.”
