Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

“That’s it, Luccarella,” Necessary said. “So your forty percent share of the new net will be equal to eighty percent of the old.”

“That’s better,” Luccarella said softly, almost to himself. “That’s a hell of a lot better. You got a deal.”

“Almost,” Necessary said. “Almost we got a deal.”

“Now what’s the matter?” Luccarella looked at me. “Now what the hell’s bugging him?”

“Ask him,” I said.

“All right, goddamn it, I’m asking you!” It came out a yell and this time Luccarella heard it himself. “Sorry,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I gotta watch that. I just get too enthusiastic. I’m impatient, you know. My analyst says that there’s nothing wrong with being impatient. He said a lot of great men have been noted for their impatience. But it’s gotta be channeled, he says. It’s a type of energy and it’s gotta be directed. Now then, Chief, I’m gonna ask you again calmly. See how calm I am? What do you mean by almost we got a deal?”

“The word got around that Lynch was slipping so some of them came down to see if it was true.”

Luccarella gestured impatiently. “I heard about that. Dye here told me about it. Jimmy Twoshoes from Chicago and Sweet Eddie Puranelli out of Cleveland. Couple of others. They’ll forget about it when they hear Lynch’s out.”

“They’ve heard,” Necessary said.

“So they’ll get out.”

“They’ve heard something else.”

“What?”

“They’ve heard you’re slipping.”

I estimated that roughly $30,000 worth of analysis was destroyed by Necessary’s comment. Luccarella shot up out of his seat. “Me?” It was a scream this time, not a yell. “Who said I’m slipping? Who’s the sonofabitch who said it, Necessary?” He was stalking about the room now, knocking into furniture. He picked up an ashtray and smashed it against the wall. “Slipping, huh? Who said it, goddamn it? I’ll fix that sonofabitch. You think I’m slipping, Samuels? Did you tell ‘em I’m slipping?” He rushed over and grabbed the lawyer by his shirt front and jerked him from the couch. “What are you, a goddamned spy?”

“I never said—”

Luccarella dropped the lawyer, who sank back down on the couch. He spun around to face us. “You guys — you guys told them I’m slipping. You set it all up, I can tell. You guys are trying to fix me. You’re trying to get everything for yourself. I can’t trust nobody. I can’t even—”

“Shut up, Luccarella!” It was either Necessary’s harsh, slashing tone or my hangover, but it made me start. It also stopped Luccarella in mid-sentence.

“Bad, wasn’t it?” he said and hung his head like a scolded child. “I know what it is, all right. My analyst explained it all to me. It’s paranoia. That means that you think people are plotting against you when they’re not. He said lots of great men have had it and have gone on to live real useful lives.”

“It’s not paranoia this time,” Necessary said. “These guys think Swankerton’s ripe and they think you’ve slipped and they’re set to move in and move you out.”

“You can stop them,” Luccarella said.

“It’s not my job when you think about it,” Necessary said. “I can get my cut from them. They’ll give me a deal, just like you’ve done. But you already know the operation and that’s why I prefer to do business with you. Dye and me don’t want to spend our time breaking in the new help.”

“So it’s up to me,” Luccarella said in a quiet tone.

“That’s right,” Necessary said. “It’s up to you. All me and Dye can give you is our unofficial support. You’ll have that.”

Luccarella turned to Samuels. “Get on the phone and call Ricci. Explain it. Tell him to get up here and to bring a dozen with him. If he has to import a few, tell him he can pay top dollar.” He gave the instructions in a low, confident tone and for the first time I saw some reason for him to have risen as far as he had. “Now,” he added, and Samuels rose and hurried to the door.

Luccarella turned to Necessary and in that same, quiet, emotionless tone said, “I want all of their names and where they’re staying.”

“Sure,” Necessary said and told him. Luccarella didn’t seem to need to write anything down.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all I know about, although I’ve heard that some of them are moving their people in.”

Luccarella nodded. “I want this deal, Chief. I need it if you want to know the truth and I don’t care if you do or not. I’ve had a little trouble lately, but I’m getting that cleared up with the help of my analyst. He told me that I should trust people more. That I’m too suspicious. So I’m gonna take his advice. I’m gonna trust you and Dye. Bad things, real bad things happen to people who I trust and who then cross me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of you.”

“You take care of your end, we’ll take care of ours,” Necessary said.

“We’d still like to go over those books,” I said.

Luccarella pointed at one of the briefcases. “There’s a duplicate set in there. Take ‘em with you. It’s got everything — names, addresses, cash flow, everything. Lynch kept a good set of books, I’ll say that for him. He didn’t cross me either, so nothing bad’s going to happen to him. He just made a mistake. I can take that. But I can’t take being crossed by people I trust.”

“You’ve made that clear,” I said and picked up the briefcase.

Shorty stuck his head in the door. “What the hell you want?” Luccarella said.

“It’s for him,” he said, pointing at me. “It’s some chick on the phone called Thackerty. She’s all shook and says that she has to talk to him so I said I’d see.”

“I’ll take it,” I said and crossed to the telephone and picked it up.

“What’s the problem?” I said.

“It’s Orcutt,” she said.

“What about him?”

“You’d better get up here.”

“Up where?”

“His suite.”

“What about him?” I said again.

“He’s dead and they took away his face.”

Necessary hurried through the door to Orcutt’s suite first, followed by Sergeant Krone who had drawn his revolver. I came last, carrying the briefcase.

Carol Thackerty stood by the window that offered a view of the Gulf of Mexico but she wasn’t looking at it. She was looking at the skinny gray-haired man who knelt by Orcutt’s body. The gray-haired man rocked back and forth and crooned to himself. His hands were pressed together as if he were praying. A long-barreled revolver lay on the floor beside Orcutt. Two feet away from it was a wide-mouthed glass jar, the kind that will hold a pint of mayonnaise. I could smell the exploded gunpowder, but there was another, sharper smell that stung my nostrils. I didn’t know what it was.

Necessary moved quickly over to Orcutt and lifted the towel from his face.

“I put it there,” Carol said. “I came in and saw him and put the towel over his face.”

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want—” the gray-haired man crooned in a singsong voice and rocked back and forth some more on his knees.

Necessary beckoned to me and I went over to Orcutt’s body. He lifted the towel again. Carol Thackerty had been right; something had taken away his face. The nose was almost gone, and there was some bone visible and also some blood. Only the eyes were the same, and they contained no more in death than they had in life. Necessary dropped the towel back into place.

“You know him, don’t you?” he said, jerking a thumb at the kneeling man.

“Frank Mouton, candidate for the city council.”

Necessary shook his head and turned to Sergeant Krone.