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off.
    “Right,” I said with more than a little acid. I decided to let him blow off a little steam.
    “Okay,” he snapped, “let‟s put it this way. At first we tried workin‟ with the IRS, but cooperating with
    the Leper Colony is no different than loanin‟ your watch to Jesse James. They‟re either young turks
    just out of college, in it so they can learn how to beat the system and get rich, or they‟re misfits none
    of the other agencies‟ll touch. Either way, it‟s every man For himself. Like workin‟ in a patch of
    skunk cabbage.”
    “No argument,” I said.
    “A bunch of pfutzlukers!” he bellowed.
    “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Whatever that means.”
    “If I broke half the laws they do, I‟d be doing time.”
    “Life plus twenty, at least.” Now it his turn and I let him rage on.
    He leaned over me, jabbing his chest with his thumb. “1 wouldn‟t let one of „em in here, not if he
    showed up with a court order and the entire Marine Corps to back „em up!” he roared. “And the
    Feebies aren‟t much better! All they wanna do is make nickels in Washington. If it looks good on the
    daily report and they can get a press conference out of it, that‟s all they care about. Ask them for a
    little help, you get senile waitin‟ for the phone to ring.”
    “I‟ve had the same experience,” I said with sympathy.
    “Dipshits and robots!” he said. Now his arms were in the act. He was waving them around like a
    symphony conductor. “Bastards steal our information, make deals that sown our cases, violate civil
    rights, and we get the enema. They always ride off with the chick in the end.”
    I nodded agreement. He was running out of steam.
    “All my boys get is to kiss the horse at the fadeout, know what I mean?”
    “Sure.” Pause. “How about you?”
    “How about me what?”
    “You feel all you get out of them is to kiss the horse?”
    He stopped and stared me up and down and then he figured it all out and started to laugh.
    “Aw, hell, pal,” he said, “I been around so long I‟m glad for all the kissin‟ I can get, even if it‟s a
    horse‟s ass.”
    “Okay, Dutch,” I said quietly. “I‟m not looking for any fadeout kisses. If these people are looting your
    town, I‟ll help you put them away. All the Freeze wants out of it is information. Connections. How
    they operate. How did they infiltrate the town? Who did they have to buy? How are they connected
    with the other mobs? No conflict, okay?”
    “We‟ll just play it by ear,” he said, still coy. It was like kicking a brick wall.
    “Shit, if that‟s the play, that‟s the play,” I said with a shrug.
    “You‟ll do fine. You got a hair up your ass just like the rest of
    “I just do the best I can,” I said, throwing in a little humility.
    “According to your boss, that‟s pretty damn good,” he said.
    “Far as I‟m concerned, if we get enough to make a case against somebody, it can go state or federal,”
    I said. “My style is give it to whoever has the strongest case—and the best prosecutor. I get a little
    crazy when somebody walks on me”
    “That‟s fair enough,” he said. “Who doesn‟t?”
    “What kind of DA do you have?”
    “A woman. Her name‟s Galavanti and she‟s meaner than a three-day hangover.”
    “On us or them?”
    He smiled. “On everybody. You put a case on her with holes in it, you‟ll hear language would turn a
    lifer purple.”
    “Good. Maybe we can help each other.”
    “Thing of it is, I never heard of your bunch until a couple months ago. This guy Mazzola shows up
    one day outta the blue, buys me lunch, gives me the same buck and wing you‟re givin‟ me.”
    Mazzola was Cisco Mazzola, my boss in the Freeze. He had told roe Dutch Morehead was a man who
    said his piece and I was beginning to believe him.
    “Which you sneezed off,” I said.
    “Not exactly. For starters, be put something in the pot.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like the Stick.”
    “The Stick? What‟s