Read Online Dead Pigeon by William Campbell Gault - Free Book Online Page B

Callahan.”
    “I remember you,” she said, “and I’m sure he’ll be home to you. But I had better ask him first.”
    A few minutes later he was at the door, a short, broad man in gray flannel slacks and a cashmere pullover.
    “My favorite Ram,” he said, and looked past me at the car. “When did you buy that?”
    “Many years ago. I was driving a rented car last time I was here. Where’s the Duesy?”
    “Getting rebored. New rings, pistons, and valves, the whole bit. Come in.”
    We walked through an immense living room and off that to a long hall that led to his office at the rear of the house. I sat on the same chair I had sat on last time and he sat on a small couch.
    “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
    “A man named Arnold Gillete.”
    “What about him?”
    “Well, I had a couple of tangles with his muscle man and I don’t know why. This Gillete—I wondered if he could be—you know—”
    “In the Family?”
    I nodded.
    He smiled. “You’re still skating on thin ice, aren’t you?”
    “Okay. I’ll go quietly.”
    “Arnold Gillete,” he said, “is not one of ours. Maybe if he gets a little richer and a little smarter, he might be some day. Who is this muscle man who’s been bothering you?”
    “A man named Tim Tucker, known to the video world as Terrible Tim Tucker.”
    “That freak? That wrestler?”
    I nodded.
    “He must have a death wish. Are you sure he is working for Gillete?”
    “He’s living with him in Studio City.”
    “And what do you want from me, a word of caution to Gillete?”
    “No. I don’t want him alerted. It’s possible he had a friend of mine murdered. That’s why I’m in town.” I smiled. “But I wanted to make sure I wasn’t getting into water over my head.”
    “Don’t bullshit me, Brock. To use Chick Hearn’s line, you’d fight King Kong on a ladder. How are Mrs. Puma and her boy doing these days?”
    “Very well. She’s got a good job as a legal secretary and the boy is in his second year at Cal.”
    He sighed. “That Joe, what a shoddy operator he was. And you almost got yourself killed trying to find his killer. What was he to you?”
    “He was one of ours,” I said. “You should be able to understand that.”
    “Dear God!” he said. “The Sam Spade Syndrome. What was it that writer from the Times called you?”
    “A self-anointed knight in tarnished armor.” I stood up. “Thanks for what you told me.”
    “You’re welcome. And let me know if you need any help with Gillete.”
    “I will,” I lied.
    One thing I had to admit about the Mafia, they policed their own ranks. The same could not be said about all those prestigious brokerage houses now being investigated by the Feds.
    Peter Scarlatti represented the new breed in the Family tradition. The original vindictive Sicilian madmen had relied on terror. Peter’s peers took a more rational businessman approach. Money was their goal, not mayhem.
    If Gillete got rich enough he might be invited to join the Family. But not Terrible Tim Tucker: he was an anachronism that they could not afford. And he wasn’t Italian.
    I could think of no reason for Gillete to have me on his hit list. That had to be Tucker’s personal vendetta. Why? Because I had questioned his cousin? If Bay had told the truth about their current relationship, that couldn’t be the reason.
    If, if, if … Somewhere in the morass of lies I had been told there had to be some seed of truth, some contradiction that would point a finger. Patience, I told myself.
    There was a message for me at the hotel. Arnold Gillete had phoned and asked that I phone him back any time before five o’clock.
    Which I did from the room. He had just learned, he told me, about my second encounter with Tucker. He assured me it would not happen again.
    “Did you find out what his beef is with me? I never met the man until I came to your house.”
    “And refused to tell him your name. I told him, as long as he was working for me he was on my