Hooligans by William Diehl

and decide how much they can milk them for. When the
    well‟s dry, they reach a settlement. When I left, I was so disgusted I almost threw up. I wandered
    around the hill for a while, then went down and joined the police force.”
    “But you felt good about it,” he said, flashing that crazy smile again.
    “No, I felt like shit if you want to know the truth,” I admitted to him. “Three years in law school and I
    end up driving a blue and white.”
    The Stick listened to the music for several seconds and finally flicked the switch off. I looked above
    us, up to the top of the dunes.
    “Up there,” I said.
    We huffed and puffed through the sand to the top of the sharp embankment and found ourselves
    staring at the ocean far below. It twinkled in the moonlight.
    “What‟re we looking for?” the Stick asked.
    “You were in the army,” I said. “What makes a discharge when it‟s fired and another one when it
    hits?”
    “Mortar?”
    “Too close.”
    He snapped his fingers. “Grenade launcher.”
    “It fits,” I said.
    We checked the trajectory from the hill to the pool. The terrace could be seen only from the very edge
    of the dune. It didn‟t take us long to find a scorched place in the grass on the back of the dune with a
    smear of gun grease behind it.
    “Right here,” I said. “Whoever killed the old man lobbed his shot from here, right onto the terrace. He
    couldn‟t even see him; he lined up his shot with some point on the pool and it blew up right in the old
    man‟s lap.”
    1 flashed the light around the dune, looking for footprints.
    “There,” the Stick said, pointing to several depressions in the side of the dune leading toward the
    ocean.
    We looked closer.
    “Looks like Bigfoot,” the Stick said. The depressions were fairly shallow and about the size of a small
    watermelon. There was no definition to them.
    I pointed the light to the hard sand at the bottom of the dune. The tide was almost full. Ridges of foam
    lay near the foot of the dune.
    “Great,” I said. “The tide‟s in. There goes any tracks on the beach.”
    “Knew what he was doin‟,” the Stick said. “A blind shot like that and the timing was perfect.”
    “This took a little planning. He had to know the setup. He knew when high tide was. And with those
    two goons down there, he only had one shot. Confident son of a bitch. We better not make too many
    tracks; forensics may turn something up.”
    “One Ear,” the Stick said.
    “Right. Let‟s get him over here.”
    We went back down and told Lundy what we had found and he sent two men and a photographer up
    the hill.
    “Those two gorillas up there may need some medical assistance, too,” the Stick said. “They give you
    any shit, book „em for assaulting an officer.”
    Lundy‟s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Yeah, thanks,” he said with a touch of awe.
    “I‟m goin‟ inside,” said the Stick. “See if 1 can raise Charlie One Ear.”
    I joined Dutch, who was leaning on the corner of the house gnawing on a toothpick. He was obviously
    impressed.
    “You guys weren‟t gone long to be so busy,” he said with a
    I looked at my watch. It was past ten and my stomach was telling me it hadn‟t been fed since noon.
    “I‟ve gotta fill Mazzola in and get something to eat,” I said. “Then I‟m calling it a night.”
    “I could use some food too,” the Stick said, rejoining us. “Charlie‟s on his way and not too happy
    about it. I told Lundy to keep people off the bill.”
    The Stick produced a small tan calling card.
    “You ever need me,” he said, handing me a card, “my home number‟s on the back. There‟s a machine
    on it. If it rings four times before it answers, I‟m there, just takin‟ a shit or a shower or something.
    Leave a number, I‟ll usually get back to you in a coupla minutes. If it answers after one ring, I‟m out.”
    “Meet us at the Feed Mill,” Dutch said to Stick. “Jake can drive down with me.”
    I was grateful for