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Skeet, and until a few hours ago, godfather to the Triad.
    “Tagliani was a classic Mafioso,” I said “His religion was family, friends, and hick everybody else;
    Tagliani‟s three daughters are all married to family capi. The Triad‟s respected in La Cosa Nostra.
    Nobody messes with them. At least nobody has until now.
    “Stinetto was Franco‟s executioner, the official enforcer for the outfit, and Tagliani‟s bodyguard. One
    of the few people Tagliani trusted. All the other capi were under Stinetto‟s direct command. Stinetto
    was an old-timer. He made his bones in the fifties, about the time Buggsy Siegel bought his. So what
    I‟m saying, they were both tough old pros. Taking them out together like that was ingenious and
    gutsy.”
    Dutch jumped in at this point. “Whoever pulled this off poisoned two guard dogs and got past three
    armed guards. Nobody laid an eye on him or them.”
    There was another face that was not on Dutch‟s board: Leo Costello, Mr. Clean, the consigliere of the
    outfit, summa cum laude graduate of Chicago Law School, mid-to late thirties, married to Tagliani‟s
    daughter Maria.
    “Costello was a major in Nam,” I said. “Adjutant general‟s office. He never saw combat, spent most
    of his time preparing court-martial cases. The man won‟t touch a gun, doesn‟t even hunt. He prefers
    the country club set to his own family.”
    “Mazzola put us on to him,” said Charlie One Ear. “Him and his friend.
    “Lou Cohen?” I asked.
    “The same,” said Flowers.. „Neither one of them changed their names.”
    “That sounds like him,” I said. “Costello avoids as much contact as possible with the rest of the mob.
    He doesn‟t have any shooters around him. And Cohen is a quiet, reclusive accountant. The money
    brains and the bagman for the outfit. The Lepers‟ve been trying to burn Cohen for at least ten years.
    Zip. But Costello may have to show his colors now.”
    “How come?” asked Zapata.
    “Because he‟s the most likely one of the bunch to take over as capo di tutti capi now that Franco‟s
    bought the farm. That‟s unless there‟s something we don‟t know,” I added.
    “Such as?” asked Dutch.
    “Such as somebody else in the family pushing the old man across and taking over.”
    “Oh,” said Dutch, “ that such as.”
    I went on, running down the list of felons who were now in residence in Doomstown:
    Johnny Draganata, the tough, no-quarter Moustache Pete from the old school, and professor and priest
    t all the Tagliani soldiers, the final authority on tradition and protocol; Rico Stizano, also known as
    the Barber, because that‟s what he had once been in Chicago, until he married Tagliani‟s sister. Now
    his speciality was gambling. A big family man. They all were.
    Tony Logeto, Tagliani‟s son-in-law, „as a cannon and a muscle man, married to Tagliani‟s oldest
    daughter, Sheila, and a specialist in loan sharking, extortion, and anything that required more muscle
    than brains. Logeto saw himself as big ladies‟ man. A lot of ladies apparently did too.
    “Anthony Bronicata is another old-timer,” I told them. “He‟s a onetime soldato with a lot of notches
    gun his gun. In dope circles he‟s known as the Peg, short for I1 Pegiore, which means the Worst, and
    that—in the trade—means don‟t mess with him. He‟s king pusher, pipeline to the street, and we‟ve
    never been able to put a finger on him for anything—possession, conspiracy, distribution, nothing.
    Bronicata‟s front is always a restaurant. The only good thing I can say about him is he mikes pretty
    fair fettuccine. You want him? If we can nail his ass, Lie‟s yours.”
    I had very little recollection of O‟Brian. In my mind I remembered him as a short little Irishman with
    a blustery red face and had teeth. Dutch‟s photo showed that lie had a pug nose and a go-to-hell smile,
    and his picture was the only pleasant one in the hunch, but I didn‟t let that fool me for a