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“I think it was Little Angelo.”
“We’ll deal with Angelo later. Now, what’s this I heard about a hooch tunnel under the river?”
“I didn’t hear nothing about no tunnel.”
Bell said, “People tell me boats are old hat. And come winter, driving whisky sixes across the ice will be old hat, too.”
“Yeah, well, there oughta be plenty of business for everyone.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“I’m my boss.”
“What about the cable sub?”
Tony looked glad to discuss a topic outside his own business. “These dumb Polacks, they got a long rope and a crank. They sink the booze in the river in steel kegs. The rope drags it across the bottom.”
“From where?”
“Some island.”
“Where does it go?”
“Poletown.”
“Who runs it?”
“I told ya, Polacks from Poletown.”
“Poles from Poletown?”
“Yeah, except the Jaworski gang says it ain’t them. Lying bastards. They was speaking Polack.”
“Polish? Who was speaking Polish. The cable sub?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Speaking Polish? Or Russian?”
“Same thing, ain’t it?”
Bell exchanged glances with Dashwood and Tobin. Suddenly, there were two Dashwoods and two Tobins. It took a moment to realize that the shot that had creased his skull was giving him double vision. He blinked. There were still two of each detective. He turned to two Tonys.
“Tony, you say you don’t have a boss. If you did have a boss, who would he be?”
Big Tony Sana looked intrigued by the thought. He said, “Bosses come and go.”
“Let’s say one came.”
“Could be a bunch of guys.”
“Max Stern?”
Tony looked surprised. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Around. Could it be Max Stern?”
“Could be.”
