A matter of time

would wholesale them to Detroit for Canadian whiskey. Detroit girls came here, then went to Chi. And so on. Sometimes they went the other way. Clothing factory work was usually the hook. Sometimes they got suspicious. That's why they needed a couple of guys along.

'This time there was merchandise both ways. Torrio's people had gotten onto some good counterfeit. They were going to bring back twenty Gs to, what you might say, test market. If it went, they'd buy in. They didn't tell O'Brien. Wanted to see what he'd do around that much cash.'

While O'Lochlain paused for more spaghetti and coffee, Cash reflected that the man's theys were sometimes hard to follow. But Tommy had always been reluctant to name certain names.

'What he did was knock Burke in the head and jump the train while it was pulling into Union Station.'

'And?'

'They put a thousand on him; a G and a half for recovery.'

'Anybody collect?'

'No. Not even when they went to twenty-five and opened the contract. Not a whisper. The G-men never got him either. Their people on the inside were watching for him. He just disappeared, Rookie. Like Judge Crater. They figured his girl friend got him, same as the bulls.'

Cash asked the date. Perfect fit. O'Brien had jumped the train in the morning. The screams at Miss Groloch's had been heard that afternoon.

'Did you know him well enough to finger him if he walked in here right now?'

'Yeah. I'll tell you, Rookie, I was hoping I'd be the guy who collected on that one. I owed him.' But he wouldn't go into detail.

'Want to come look at the stiff we've got?'

'No.'

'Hey. I paid. Give me a break.'

'Sure you did. On the expense account. Okay. But I don't like morgues.'

Cash grinned, thought, I can see why. You're afraid they'll realize they've overlooked you and yank your card out of the living file.

'Good,' he said. 'Maybe we'll stir something up. I haven't had a row about being on the pad for years.'

'Rookie, I'm out of it. Everybody knows that.'

'And you were saying that before I was born.'

O'Lochlain smiled, downed another cup of coffee. 'Kojak you're not.'

The lean black attendant was getting used to it. 'Twenty-three again?' he asked, pulling the card.

'Right.'

'How long's this guy been there?' O'Lochlain asked.

'Since March fourth.'

'Christ.'

'They pumped him full of something. They're kind of in a tight spot. Can't get rid of him.'

'Oh, Christ!'

The attendant had rolled out the corpse. Cash glanced at O'Lochlain. 'What?'

'It's him. The sonofabitch. Only it can't be, can it?' He stared, stared.

Cash felt like the Hindenburg, after. Down in flames. There was just no way to keep that bastard from being Jack O'Brien. 'You know anybody else that might remember him?'

He shrugged. 'Looking for an out, Rookie?'

O'Lochlain was quick. He had seen the whole problem without being told.

'You won't get it from me. I know it's impossible, you know it's impossible, but you park my butt on the stand, I'm going to say it's him. That's how it hangs. Sorry.'

'You're sorry? You don't have to live with it.'

'Are you finished with me? I'd better make a Mass. I feel the need coming on. You know, when you called, I figured you was going to be after me about Hoffa.'

'Hoffa?'

'Sure. Every cop in the country is after every guy that's ever been even remotely connected, trying to make a name by being the guy who finds out what happened. Going to be some heat on over that one. Hope the guys who did it got paid off in suitcases full of money.'

'I haven't been paying much attention. He asked for it.'

'Yeah.'

As they walked down exterior steps to where O'Lochlain's driver had parked his limo in a No Parking zone, the Irishman asked, 'You got any angles?'

'Not that I can believe. Either it's O'Brien and he's been moved fifty-four years, without damage, or it's not, and nobody in the whole goddamned country knows who he is.'