“Moral fiber,” said the Stick.
“Sure,” Dutch snickered, and went on. “About two years ago this outsider, Cherry McGee, moved into
town with a bunch of roughnecks and decided to take some of the action. First he tried easing Nose
out. When that didn?t work, he tried buying Nose out. Still no dice. So then McGee decides to burn
down one of Graves? clubs, to show Nose he was serious. A mistake.”
Stick chimed in with a character observation.
“Graves has great comeback talent,” he volunteered. “Going against him was no different than McGee
jumping off the Bay Bridge and thinking he could fly.”
Dutch continued, “McGee did something uncharacteristic. He dropped a frame on Graves. Extortion.
And it washed. Graves did a deuce off a nickel in Little Q.”
“Little Q?”
“Felony Disneyworld,” said the Stick. “A very hard-time joint in this state—or any other for that
matter.”
“When Nose comes out, he comes out like a Brahman bull comin? out of the chute,” said Dutch.
“Did he keep the business while he was gone?” I asked.
“It was nip and tuck. The trip cost everybody. In the end it was a trade-off—three of Graves? boys
vent down in the street; a couple of McGee?s shooters ended up in the swamp.”
“Is it still going on?”
“Not since McGee and his top gun got their brains handed to them, wham, bam, just like that,” said
Dutch.
“Hey, Chief, it?s the phone for you,” Chino yelled from across the room. “It?s Kite Lange, babblin?
like Niagara Falls.”
“Excuse me,” Dutch said, and dashed for the phone.
“Who?s this Mufalatta Kid?” I asked the Stick.
“Black cop, out from New Orleans. He?s very good. Moves easy on the range. A real cool operator,
but make him mad, you got a ton of bad nigger on a hundred-and-fifty-pound frame.”
Dutch?s “Schmerz!” could be heard for miles. The room got as quiet as a prayer meeting. Then he
said it again, this time louder and, to everyone?s shock, in English. “Holy shit!”
He slammed down the phone.
“Somebody just blew up Johnny Draganata in the family swimming pool while Lange was sittin?
shiva half a block from his house,” the Dutchman bellowed.
The war room sounded suddenly like a hen house.
