Bruce DeSilva - A Scourge of Vipers

“Lucan Alfano.”

He looked at the photo again.

“ That’s Alfano? He looks sorta like Paulie Walnuts.”

“So you’ve heard of him, then,” I said.

“Fuck, yeah. Everybody in my line of business had heard of him.”

“Talk to him lately?”

“Of course not. He’s dead.”

“But you talked to him sometime in late winter, didn’t you?”

Whoosh slipped a deck out of his shirt pocket, shook out a Lucky, and set fire to it with a cheap disposable lighter.

“That bet you made against the Celtics?” he said. “It’s startin’ to look like it’s gonna pay off.”

“Here’s what I think happened,” I said. “Alfano needed muscle for a job in Rhode Island. He called up here looking for a name, and somebody suggested Mario. If Alfano had reached out to Arena or Grasso, they would have steered him to someone more reliable. Dickie Theresa, maybe, or one of the Sirica brothers.”

“So?”

“So the way I see it, Alfano must have reached out to you.”

Whoosh chose to ignore that.

“The Bruins are one-to-four to make it to the Stanley Cup round,” he said, “and you ain’t laid down a bet yet.”

“I like their chances,” I said. “Put me down for a nickel.”

“You got it.”

“Here’s what I don’t get,” I said. “You’re against legalizing sports betting, but Alfano was for it.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From a bunch of state legislators he tried to bribe.”

“Huh.”

“Why would you and Mario want to help somebody who was working against you?”

“If he was, it’s news to me,” Whoosh said. “What was his angle?”

“Apparently, he was working for Atlantic City gambling interests who want to swoop in after legalization and run the show.”

“The governor wants the Lottery Commission to take the bets.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but Alfano was trying to get the bill held up until she agreed to privatization.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. But what’s this got to do with Mario?”

“Alfano’s bribe offers came with a warning,” I said. “He told the legislators things would go badly for them if they didn’t play ball. I think the badly part was Mario.”

Whoosh stubbed out his cigarette and started another, taking the time to consider how much he was willing to tell me.

“Can we talk hyper- What’s that fuckin’ word?”

“Hypothetically?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Go on.”

“Let’s say Alfano did call me. He woulda been careful not to let on what he wanted muscle for, and I woulda been smart enough not to fuckin’ ask. And if he decided somebody needed to be tuned up, he never woulda told Mario why. He woulda just given him a name.”

“Okay,” I said. “I get that.”

“We done?”

“Not yet. Whoever sent Alfano must have sent somebody else by now. Any idea who?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Haven’t gotten any more calls from Jersey?”

“No.”

“You heard Phil Templeton got shot, right?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s one of the guys Alfano tried to bribe,” I said, “but he didn’t take the money. He called the state police instead.”

“So?”

“I think that’s why Mario shot him.”

“Aw, Christ. You sure it was Mario?”

“I can’t prove it,” I said, “but it’s more than a hunch.”

“The cops are looking at him for this?”

“I’m not sure if they’re on to him yet,” I said, “but they will be. There’s surveillance video of him picking Alfano up at the airport.”

“Shit. Is there anything solid connecting the kid to the shooting?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “They don’t know where Templeton was killed, and they don’t have the murder weapon. The shot was a through-and-through, so they don’t have the slug either. Looks like Templeton was grabbed at his house, but according to the Lincoln cops, none of the neighbors saw anything.”

“No prints?”

“None that point to the killer. At least that’s what my sources are telling me.”

“Okay then,” he said. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

With that, he pulled himself to his feet, shuffled into his storeroom, and returned with a box of Cubans for me.

“Think you could give me a hand with somethin’?” he asked.

“And what would that be?”

“I got no clue what odds to offer on the Vipers’ tryouts.”

“People want to bet on that ?”

“Hell, Mulligan. People bet on every fuckin’ thing. You know that. Besides, them stories you been writin’ have stirred up a lot of interest.”

“Huh.”

“Thing is, I don’t know whether any of the former college players have stayed in shape. And I got no feel at all for the playground guys.”

“You want me to figure the odds?”

“Be good practice for you.”

“In case I end up taking over.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Give me a second.”

“Take your time, and get it right.”

“At first, I figured the tryouts were just a publicity stunt.”

“But now you think they ain’t?”

“Coach Martin seems to be taking it seriously,” I said. “And a few of the players look pretty good. Do you know if the Vipers actually have a roster vacancy?”

“When the tryouts started, they had one open spot,” Whoosh said. “But from what I hear, Cartwright, the kid from Kent State who’s under contract with the Pistons, needs shoulder surgery and is gonna miss at least half the season.”

“Two spots, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’d make it even money that none of these guys make it.”

“With two spots open?”

“Right. There are still a lot of unsigned free agents out there, Whoosh.”

“Okay.”

“Of the ten players still left in the tryouts, I’d make Jefferson the favorite at two to one. I’d put Benton at four to one, Sears at six to one, and Krueger at ten to one. The rest of the guys have no shot, but I’d put them down at fifteen to one to generate some action.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I got a bunch of people wanting to lay down a few bucks on you making the team.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Most of them are broads, Mulligan. You know the type. Gals who decide what horse to bet on based on how pretty they look. I’ll put you down at twenty to one. Since you got no shot, that’ll make me some easy money.”

“Okay.”

“Want a piece of the action?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I’d hate to have anybody think I was doing something shady to influence the outcome.”

“Like playing matador defense against a guy you bet on?”

“That or breaking somebody’s arm.”

“Nobody but me will know you placed a bet.”

“Okay. Give me a nickel each on Benton and Jefferson.”

“Done.”

“About you taking over?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Best we wait to see how this legalization thing shakes out.”

“Understood.”

“And Mulligan?”

“Um?”

“I want you to know I didn’t see none of this shit about Mario comin’.”

“No?”

“If Alfano reached out to me, and I still ain’t sayin’ he did, he never mentioned anything about killin’. No way I woulda involved the kid in anything that heavy.”

“Maybe Alfano lied to you,” I said.

“Coulda, I guess.”

“Or maybe Mario was just supposed to rough Templeton up but couldn’t control his rage.”

“ Rage? It was just a job.”

“Templeton was gay,” I said.

“A homo? You fuckin’ sure?”