Malcolm opened the folder and looked at the mug shots clipped to the top sheet.
"Recognize him?" said Miles.
"Uh-uh," said Malcolm. "But the fucking name sounds sort of familiar."
"Cutter?" said Miles.
"Cutter don't recognize him neither," said Malcolm. Cutter had not even looked in the general direction of the photographs. He hadn't yet looked at Miles. He wasn't even looking at the roaring falls. "You bring us out here so early in the fucking day to look at a picture of some motherfucking honky?" said Malcolm.
"He just got out of"
"Kurtz," interrupted Malcolm. "That German for 'short, Miles, my man. This fucker short?"
"Not especially," said Miles. "How'd you know that 'kurtz' was German for 'short'?"
Malcolm gave him
a look that would have made a lesser man wet his pants. "I drive me a fucking Mercedes SLK, man. That's what the fucking 'K' in fucking 'SLK' stand for, asshole 'short. You think I'm a fucking illiterate, you bald college-boy asshole guinea-ass-licking piece-a-shit mouthpiece?" All of this was said without heat or emphasis.
"No, no," said Miles, waving his hands in the air as if shooing away insects. He glanced at Cutter. Cutter did not appear to be listening! "No, I was just impressed," Miles said to Malcolm. "SLK is a great car. Wish I had one."
"No wonder," Malcolm said conversationally. "Drivin' around that fucking piece of American pig-iron Cadillac shit you got."
Miles nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Yes, well, anyway, this Kurtz showed up at Mr. Farino's place with an introduction from Little Skag"
"Yeah, that's where I hear the fucking name," said Malcolm. "Attica. Motherfucker named Kurtz wasted Ali, leader of the Death Mosque brothers up in Cell-block D, 'bout a year ago. Mosque brothers put ten thousand out for whoever kill the white motherfucker, every nigger motherfucker in Attica sharpening shanks out of fucking spoons and angle irons. Even some of the fucking guards hot for the payoff, but somehow nobody get to this Kurtz motherfucker. If that the same Kurtz. You think it the same, Cutter?"
Cutter turned his grub white face in Malcolm's general direction, but said nothing. Miles looked at Cutter's pale gray eyes in that dead face and shuddered.
"Yeah, I think so, too," said Malcolm. "Why you showin' us this shit, Miles?"
"Kurtz is going to work for Mr. Farino."
"Mr. Farino ," parroted Malcolm in a mincing falsetto. He flashed his diamond tooth at Cutter as if he had made a profound witticism. Malcolm's laugh was deep, low, and unnerving. "Mr. Farino be a dried-up piece of wop shit with shriveled-up balls. Don't deserve no 'Mister' no more, Miles, my man."
"Be that as it may," said Miles, "this Kurtz"
"Tell me where Kurtz lives, and Cutter and me will collect the Death Mosque ten thousand."
The lawyer shook his head. "I don't know where he lives. He's only been out of Attica for about forty-eight hours. But he wants to investigate some things for Mr for the Farino family."
"'Vestigate?" said Malcolm. "What the fucker think he is, Sherlock Motherfucking Holmes?"
"He used to be a private investigator," said Miles, nodding toward the folder as if urging Malcolm to read the few pages in it. When Malcolm didn't, Miles went on, "Anyway, he's looking into Buell Richardson's disappearance and also into some of the truck hijackings."
Malcolm flashed his diamond tooth again. "Whoa! Now I see why you want us way up here in Honky Tourist World so early in the day. Miles, my man, you must've shit your three-pleats when you heard that."
This was the second time that Malcolm had mentioned how early in the day it was, Miles noted. He did not point out that it was after 3:00 p.m. He said, "We don't want this Kurtz to be messing with these things, do we, Malcolm?"
Malcolm Kibunte pursed his lips in mock solemnity and slowly shook his gleaming, hairless head. "Aww, no, Miles, my man. We don't want nobody messing around in what we could get our fucking lawyer head blown off for, do we , Counselor?"
"No," Cutter added in a voice lacking all human tone, "we don't, do we ?"
Miles literally jumped at the sound of Cutter's voice. He turned and looked at Cutter, who was still staring at nothing. It was as if the words had come from his belly or chest.
"How much?" said Malcolm, no longer playful.
"Ten thousand," said Miles. "Fuck that. Even with the Death Mosque ten, that ain't enough."
Miles shook his head. "This can't get out. No word to the Mosque brothers. We have to make Kurtz disappear."
"Dis-ap-pear," said Malcolm, stretching out the syllables. "Disappearing some motherfucker harder than just capping him. We talking fifty bills."
Miles showed his most disdainful lawyer smile. "Mr. Farino could call in his best professional talent for less than that."
"Mr. Farino ," minced Malcolm, "ain't calling in nobody for nothing, is he, Miles, my man? This Kurtz your problemam I right or am I right?"
Miles made a gesture.
"And besides, Mr. Farino's best professional talent can kiss my serene black ass and eat wop shit and die wop slow, they get in my way," Malcolm continued.