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the Stick?”
    He looked at me kind of funny, one of those “what year were you born” looks.
    “Not what, who. You know... the Stick. Parver. So far he fits right in.”
    I didn‟t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about and before I could pursue it any further, he
    picked up a bright red bullhorn, turned up the volume, and summoned his men to the back room.
    I took the opportunity to step into an empty office and call the hotel. They patched me through to
    Cisco, who was in the restaurant, eating. He had flown in from Washington to brief me on the local
    situation. Since it had changed radically in the last couple of hours, I didn‟t know what to expect.
    Cisco and I were friends in a remote kind of way. He was one of several shadows that wove in and out
    of my life, altering its course without ever touching me directly, our main connection provided by the
    telephone company. Iii the seven or so years I had known him, I had never seen the inside of his
    house, never met his family, and knew little about his personal tastes other than that he had a penchant
    for vitamins and health food. He also had an obsession about saving his hair, most of which was gone.
    It took him a minute to get to the phone.
    “Sorry to take you away from dinner,” I said. “1 would have called sooner but I‟ve been busy.
    „There‟s been a takeout. Tagliani, Stinetto, and Tagliani‟s wife.”
    “Yes, I‟ve heard,” he said in his flat, no-nonsense voice. “Any details yet?”
    “At his place, about three hours ago. Pistols and a fire bomb. The woman was killed by the bomb.
    Whoever scratched the other two knew what he, or they, were doing It looks like a couple of Petes to
    me.”
    “I want „u to stay with this,” he said.
    “Good. F-low many have you made s far?”
    “The whole mob‟s here except for Tuna Chevos and his gunslinger—”
    “Nance,” I hissed, cutting him off. Anger roiled inside me at the mention of Turk Nance. We went
    back a ways, Nance and 1, and it wasn‟t a friendly trip. “They‟re here too,” I said. “I‟ll give you
    odds.”
    “Maybe so, but this isn‟t a vendetta. Nance is just a tinhorn shooter. Forget him.”
    “Right.”
    “Forget him, Jake.”
    “1 heard you”
    “What are you so edgy about?”
    “Oh, nothing at all. I‟ve been hound-dogging this mob for what, four, five years?”
    “Closer to five,” he sighed.
    “I‟m just a little burned that the iceman beat me to it.”
    “Understandable. Just remember why you‟re here. I want information. Where are you now?”
    “Morehead‟s war room.”
    “A good man,” Cisco said. “A little short on procedure, maybe.” That was the understatement of the
    year.
    I said, “So far he‟s treating me like I just broke his leg.”
    “Cautious,” said Cisco. “Give him a little time.”
    “What happens if things pick up speed arid I need some backup?” I asked.
    “Mickey Parver will help you,” he said.
    “He the one they call Stick?”
    “Right.”
    “I felt a little like an idiot. How come I never heard of this guy before now?”
    “Because you never read the weekly report, that‟s why,” he snapped. “He files a report every—”
    I cut him off, trying to change the subject.
    “Oh, yeah, I do seem to remember—”
    “Don‟t bullshit me,” said Cisco. “You haven‟t read the weekly poop sheet since the pope was a
    plumber.”
    “How long‟s he been in the squad?” I asked, trying to avoid that issue.
    “He‟s been in the squad for a year or so,” Cisco said, with annoyance. “You‟ll like him. He‟s young
    and not too jaded yet. Please don‟t spoil him by getting lost out in left field someplace. He‟s a lot like
    you, a lone wolf. You two can be good for each other.”
    “I don‟t have time to baby-sit some—”
    “Who said anything about baby-sitting? Did I say that?”
    “It sounded like—”
    “It sounded like just what I said. Don‟t stray off the dime, Jake. I want