“The thing of it is,” the driver said, “he didn’t okay it.”

“He okayed it,” Cogan said. “I told you who I was gonna use. He knows it just as good as I do, Steve’s gonna go out and do what he thinks you want him to do. You tell him what you want, he’s gonna listen, he’s gonna go out and do what he thinks you want. Don’t matter what you say. And, he okayed it, he had you call Dillon and he had you see me. Now cut the shit. It’s not gonna make any difference anyway. We gotta hit Trattman and the man knows it.”

“I don’t understand that,” the driver said. “I thought you believed him.”

“My friend,” Cogan said, “I do. It don’t make a bit of difference. Once before, Trattman did something, right? And he was lying. He was blowing smoke up the man’s ass.”

“Correct,” the driver said.

“This time,” Cogan said, “this time Trattman didn’t blow no smoke.”

“And he got beaten up,” the driver said, “very badly beaten up.”

“But we’re sure, this time,” Cogan said. “This time, last time we thought we were sure and we weren’t. This time we are.”

“Correct,” the driver said.

“Now,” Cogan said, “the guys that go to the games, they’re not sure. Well, they are sure. They’re sure Trattman’s got a license, because he can do it and nobody does anything about it. So that’s the same thing. So what do you think they’re gonna do? You think they’re gonna go the games?

“And never even mind them,” Cogan said, “what about the guys on the street? Whaddaya think they think, huh?”

“I’ve got no idea,” the driver said.

“They think,” Cogan said, “they think: Trattman. He did it before and he did it again. And he lied about it before and nobody did nothing, and now he did it again and all he got was beat up.”

“He could’ve died,” the driver said.

“Because he stuck out,” Cogan said. “This’s his second time, the way they see it, the second time he did it. The first time you do it and if nobody catches up to you, great. The second time you can do it and somebody whales the shit out of you.”

“If that’s what they think,” the driver said.

“Counselor,” Cogan said, “take my word for it: that’s what they think.”

“Ahhh,” the driver said. “But still, he really didn’t do anything.”

“It’s his responsibility,” Cogan said. “He did it before and he lied before and he fooled everybody, and, I said it to Dillon, I said: ‘They should’ve whacked him out before.’ And Dillon agreed with me. Now it happened again. It’s his responsibility for what guys think. On the street it’s Trattman, nothing but Trattman. Gets fifty, fifty-two thousand, whatever it was, he got about the same, he hadda split something, okay, but he got about the same the last time. And now they break his jaw. He’s hurt and he’s out what the kids cost him and he’s clipped guys that trusted him about eighty thousand, and he’s still walking around and everybody knows he did it.”

“He didn’t do it,” the driver said. “Not this time, anyway.”

“That’s not what everybody knows,” Cogan said. “There’s lots of guys that’d drink milkshakes for a year, if they got caught, for that kind of dough, they had their jaws wired shut. Shit, we’re gonna have kids waiting in line, knock them fuckin’ games over, they open up again. You got any idea how many wild-ass junkies there are around? If he gets away with this, well, we might as well just forget it, once and for all, and just quit.”

“I still don’t know,” the driver said. “I see what you mean, the public angle, and I don’t take issue with what you say about the other people. But I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about this, with a man who didn’t do what everybody thinks he did, when I suggest that.”

“Tell him,” Cogan said, “ask him, where the guys come from, in the games. Not from the street. They don’t care, Trattman got beat up. They’re not gonna come in, is all. Trattman did it before, Trattman did it again. Trattman’s through, and he can’t do nothing else. Except get laid. He’s good at getting laid. Otherwise he can’t do nothing for us. We lose nothing there.

“Tell him also,” Cogan said, “the guys onna street. They think the same thing, and they’re gonna take what they think and nobody else’s games’re gonna be safe. He’s hurt. Big deal. You hit a game and it’s big money and the worst they do to you, they beat you up. The kids’ll start their own union. We’re gonna have nothing but guys running around for a while, knocking down doors worse’n cops, and then after a while there’s not gonna be no games, no games at all. ‘Goin’ to a game? Right. Save yourself some time. Go inna room, put your hands up, throw the cash onna bed, you get home early and the wife’s glad and you didn’t take no chances, getting yourself shot.’ Guys’re not gonna go for it, and there’s no two ways about it.

“Counselor,” Cogan said, “go talk to the man. Trattman’s gotta be hit, and you put it up to the man, he’ll agree with me right off. Give it a try. You don’t do it? Forget about the money. He made a mistake.”

“A long time ago,” the driver said. “He made a mistake a long time ago.”

“He made two mistakes,” Cogan said. “The second mistake was making the first mistake, like it always is. That’s all you get, two mistakes. Tell the man.”

“If he agrees with you,” the driver said, “assuming that. You can hit Trattman?”

“Yeah,” Cogan said.

“How about this Amato fellow?” the driver said. “He seems like the leading candidate to me.”

“He’s right up there,” Cogan said. “Not yet. Wait’ll we do Trattman. It’ll make him easier, we do that. But sooner or later, yeah.”

“Can you handle?” the driver said.

“Right now,” Cogan said, “probably not. Not the way things are right now.”

“Who?” the driver said. “He knows people, of course, but he always wants to know who was suggested by the fellow I talk to.”

“I got a couple things in mind,” Cogan said. “That one, I got to think about that one, and I got to make sure. Maybe, maybe we’re gonna need Mitch.”

“He does this kind of thing?” the driver said.

“Let’s think about Trattman for now,” Cogan said. “Later on, we can start to think about what guys do. But yeah, Mitch’s been at it a long time. One of the best.”

“IT WAS FUCKIN’ BEAUTIFUL,” Russell said. He sat on the trunk of the GTO and Frankie leaned against a parking meter. The car was parked in front of the Chicken In the Box on Cambridge Street in Boston.

“We leave inna middle of the night, for Christ sake,” Russell said. “I said to him: Tor Christ sake, Kenny, we’re gonna have to drive inna daytime sooner or later, there’s no way we’re stoppin’ anywhere with what we’re gonna have in there. So why the fuck’re we leaving when we oughta be in bed?’

“ ‘Well,’ he tells me, ‘see, we gotta do it this way. I wanna get the hell at least onna Jersey Pike before it gets light. Too many fuckin’ cops around here, heard about fuckin’ dogs missing. See a couple guys, earful of dogs, they’re maybe gonna get around to stopping us, see what we got to say.’ But cops other places, they didn’t hear nothing about dogs, nobody told them anything. ‘And besides,’ he says, ‘I did this before. First part of the trip’s really something. So, we start inna dark.’

“Then he shows up,” Russell said. “See, I couldn’t sleep. He told me: ‘Get yourself six, seven hours in the afternoon, you can. We got about sixteen hundred miles in front of us. Last time, took me almost three days. So it’d really help, you get some sleep, all them dogs inna car and everything.’

“Okay,” Russell said, “I try it. I get up. I eat. I sit around. I let my fuckin’ dogs out. I let my fuckin’ dogs in. I feed my fuckin’ dogs. That’s another thing he tells me. ‘When’ve you been feeding them dogs? At night, probably.’ I tell him, yeah, just before I go out, the horsemeat and the fuckin’ meal. Keeps them nice and quiet. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says, ‘feed them, lunch instead. Dogs don’t know the difference. I want them dogs have a good shit for themselves, before we get them inna car. Also, now, I want you to give them something, all right?’