“Your silent partner,” Moran said. “Who you talking about, Scully?”

Moran saw Nolen’s fuzzed gaze shift to Rafi and return to stare at him. Nolen shook his head from side to side. The drunk being secretive. But Rafi was even drunker and didn’t notice; he was eating his ice. Nolen pulled himself out of the sofa, took Rafi’s glass from him-Rafi still holding his hand up, cupped-fixed another rum and Coke and put the glass back in Rafi’s hand. Nolen stumbled sitting down. They were both in bad shape.

Moran could not see Jiggs Scully bringing these two into the game. Unless he had a special use for them.

“We’re gonna publicize Mr. de Boya’s past sins,” Nolen said and gave Moran a stage wink, obvious enough to be seen in the back row, “unless he comes across with a generous piece of change… Isn’t that right, Ché?”

“ ‘Less he pays,” Rafi said.

“Tell George what the man did,” Nolen said, “when he was in charge down there.”

“What he did?” Rafi said. “He was the head of the Cascos Blancos, he sent out the death squads to get people he don’t like or people who talk against Trujillo. He take them to La Cuarenta in Santo Domingo for the torture. Sometime he take them to Kilometer Nueve, the army torture place at San Isidro.”

“Tell him what de Boya did to people,” Nolen said.

“Well,” Rafi said, “he like to sew the eyelids to the eyebrows and put them in a light. He like to beat them with Louisville Sluggers. He like to put acid on them sometimes. He like to castrate people. He like to take the nipples and pull them out and cut them off with scissors.”

Moran said, “Is that what happened to you?”

“No, no, he do that to girls. Cut the nipples off. Men he cut everything off with-how do you say it, these big tijeras?”

“Shears,” Nolen said.

“Yeah, chears. Cut off your business with them. I had a uncle that happen to. Then when General de Boya finish with them he have them killed and thrown from the cliff into the sea to be eaten by the sharks. You want to find out what happen to somebody, you ask, nobody knows. They say he’s gone to Boca Chica to visit the tiburones, the sharks. Or sometime to Monte Cristi. That was twenty years ago-the sharks still come looking for General de Boya to feed them. He like to put ants on people, too.”

Rafi rolled his eyes back.

“I don’t like to think about it.”

“Have a drink,” Nolen said. The answer to most things.

Rafi took a drink. “I don’t feel so good. Maybe I go lie down; I’m feeling tired.” He stood up unsteadily, spilling some of his drink.

Moran watched him. He wanted to get up but didn’t have the energy; the scene was depressing. He watched Rafi shuffle into the bedroom, Nolen calling after him, “Don’t throw up on the floor, Ché. You hear? Go in the baño.”

He said to Moran, “I don’t know what it is about them, partner, those people just don’t hold the juice.”

Moran watched Nolen pour himself another scotch.

“What’re you gonna use him for?”

“He’s our spray painter, man. You see his work?”

“But he doesn’t know Scully.”

“Jiggs wants to see how he works out first. So I told Rafi we got a guy on the inside, but he doesn’t want his identity known just yet.”

“I don’t imagine he would,” Moran said. “All right, what’s the deal? What’re you going after?”

“Jiggs says he told you.”

“Come on, this isn’t your kind of a thing.”

“Is that right? Tell me what I’m saving myself for. It’s the best part I’ve read for in ten years. Shit, I don’t even have to act tough.”

“He’s using you,” Moran said.

“Jesus, I hope so. I need to be used, man.”

“You know what he asked me to do?”

“I sent you to him, didn’t I, for the interview?”

“Come on-you know what he wants?”

“Yeah, he wants you to ask your lady where her husband hides his cash. What’s hard about that? Shit, call her up right now.”

“Jesus Christ,” Moran said. He drank down his scotch and sat back. “How does he know… Hey, you listening?”

“Yeah, I’m listening. What?”

“How does Jiggs know she won’t tell her husband what’s going on? How does he know I won’t tell him?”

“Well, shit,” Nolen said, “because I told Jiggs you’re my bud, we see eye to eye. I said sure, George’s the old Cat Chaser, we served down in the D.R., man. I told him it was me almost put out your lights with the one-oh-six and Jiggs got a kick out of that. He sees the humor in life, everybody busting their ass trying to score off each other. I told you he’s a funny guy and I was right, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s funny,” Moran said. “But I still don’t understand. Why would he trust me? Tell me a story like that?”

“I just told you. And you want the husband out of the way, don’t you? Jesus Christ, or else I came in late and missed something.”

“Look,” Moran said, trying to keep Nolen’s attention. “You listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening.” Pinching the roach, sucking his cheeks in with a sound like the north wind.

“I’m not in it,” Moran said.

“What happened?” Nolen grunting the words as he held his breath. “You change your mind? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I never was in.”

Nolen expelled smoke in a long sigh. “Well, Jiggs says you gave him a hell of an idea. He told me. Make the man run and head him off at the pass. I said to Jiggs, I told you he’s good, he’s a fighting leatherneck. Jiggs says he didn’t think much of the idea at first, frankly, ‘cause what if the man took off in his boat? Jiggs doesn’t like to have anything to do with boats. He goes, ‘I don’t want no parts of them fuckers.’ He gets seasick he goes out. But then, hey, with the dock gone the man can’t bring his boat in, can he? He runs, he’s got to go by car. And when he does, Jiggs says he’ll be way ahead of him… He likes you,” Nolen said.

Aw shit. Moran felt heavy, out of shape, and the scotch wasn’t helping at all. He said, “Nolen?”

“What?”

“I’m not in. I didn’t give Jiggs anything. You understand? What he’s doing, he’s using you. I don’t know for what, but when he’s through he’ll dump you. He can’t afford not to.”

“We made a pact,” Nolen said. “Us against them.”

Moran tried again. He said, “You told me who he works for, what he does for a living, right? He leans on people. He breaks their bones. Isn’t that right? That’s what you told me.”

“He used to.”

“Okay. But does he sound like the kind of guy you can trust? You can put your life in his hands?”

“Jiggs says we’re his kind,” Nolen said. “He’s sick and tired of the guineas and the spics raking it in, taking everything, guys like de Boya sitting on top. Look at the guy. He’s a fucking death squad all by himself. And he’s married to your lady. What more like incentive you want, for Christ sake?”

“Don’t call her my lady, all right?”

“What should I call her?”

It annoyed him, “my lady.” He never liked the expression; but that was something else. “Think a minute,” Moran said. “What if somebody else put Jiggs up to this and he’s playing a game with you?”

“That’s it, man, a game.” Nolen was half-listening. “It’s us against them. Shirts against the skins, man. They’re swarthy fuckers, but they got white legs… if you know what that means on the basketball court can figure it out.” He gave Moran a feeble grin. Then came alive again. “We’ll get little Loret some pom-poms, she’ll be the cheerleader. Muerte a de Boya, Fight! The old locomotive. M-U, M-U, M-U-E-R; T-E, T-E… What do you think? Get her a short little red and white pleated skirt…”

“Where’s Loret?”

“Jesus, that’s right. She hooked up with some guy at the Fontainebleu, guy in the lounge smoking a cigar. She gives him the eye, says excuse me, going to take a leak and I haven’t seen her since. I know, you told me. But don’t say it, all right? I hate guys like that. Have to rub it in.”