“I bet you would love to get with her?” Jocko said to Mikey.
“Sure, boss,” Mikey said.
“It would never happen,” Jocko said. “She may be domestic help, but she is way out of your league. You're too ugly.”
Despite the fact that Mikey could break Jocko in two like a twig, he accepted Jocko's insults. Jocko was the boss, and Mikey understood his place. It wasn't like he could file some sort of grievance with the labor protections board.
Jocko stood and walked over to the picture window. He looked out at the Atlantic Ocean. Seagulls swooped over Sandy Cove. Without turning back toward Jax and Mikey he said, “Do you think the Hurley kid is ready?”
“I'm not sure, boss,” Mikey said. “He's doing a good job shaking down college kids. He's tough enough to handle the guy on his own.”
Jocko turned back and looked at the twins. “See that he does,” he said. “Or we will be having a little conversation with Mr. Aaron Hurley.”
“Yes, boss,” Mikey said.
Jocko turned back toward the window. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets as he considered the ocean waves. Jax and Mikey realized their business was concluded. They got up and let themselves out. The Range Rover was waiting to take them back to Boston.
CHAPTER 7
AARON HURLEY
AARON HURLEY PASSED the joint to Tina Ross. She took a drag and closed her eyes, lost in the moment.
“Good stuff, right?” Aaron said to her.
“Good stuff,” Tina said, nodding her head slowly. She sat back on the couch and took another drag.
“Hey, don't hog it,” Aaron said.
Tina handed the joint back. There was a knock at the door. More like a pounding. Aaron got up and looked through the peephole. He turned to Tina and said, “Take a walk.”
“Why?” Tina said. “Who is it?”
“Just take a walk,” Aaron demanded.
Tina shot him a look that said she was pissed, but she got up and stormed out of the living room. She glared at Aaron as she walked down the hall. He heard the bedroom door slam shut.
Aaron opened the front door. Jax and Mikey pushed past him and stepped inside the tiny apartment.
“It smells like a skunk died in here,” Jax said.
Aaron put out the joint. “What do you guys want?” he said as he closed the door.
“We've got business to discuss,” Mikey said.
“So talk,” Aaron said.
Aaron was a big kid at six feet two inches and two hundred pounds of muscle. He was pretty tough for nineteen but had more brawn than brains. Not that Jax and Mikey were scholars, but they certainly had more street smarts than Aaron. They found his tough guy act around them fairly amusing.
“Boss wants you to take care of somebody,” Mikey said as he surveyed the apartment. It was small but nice. And close to the Boston College campus. Daddy's money had set Aaron up nicely.
“Who?” Aaron said.
“Brad Whitcomb,” Mikey said.
“Okay. How much does he owe?” Aaron said.
“I don't think you understand,” Mikey said. “This isn't a collection job.”
“It's a send-a-message job,” Jax said.
“So I rough him up a bit?” Aaron said.
Mikey and Jax shook their heads.
“Then what?” Aaron said.
“You need to take care of him the way we took care of Jack Murphy,” Mikey said.
“They guy whose body they found in the dumpster?” Aaron said.
“Yep,” Jax said.
Aaron sat down on the couch with a blank look on his face. “You guys killed him?”
Jax and Mikey laughed.
“Shit,” Aaron said.
“This is the business we are in,” Mikey said. “Guys either pay up or end up like Jack Murphy. But in Murphy's case, he was stealing directly from Mr. Scarpelli.”
Aaron stood and held his hands out in front of him. “Look, guys, I didn't sign up for this.”
“You signed up for whatever the boss says you signed up for,” Jax said.
“And the boss says you are signed up to take care of Brad Whitcomb,” Mikey added.
“No way,” Aaron said, shaking his head. “I'm not killing anybody.” He started pacing around the living room.
“You getting nervous or somethin'?” Mikey said.
“I agreed to rough some guys up a little, to get them to pay their debts, but not this.”
“Sometimes a black eye or a broken arm ain't enough,” Mikey said. “Some guys need to be made examples of.”
“I want out,” Aaron said. “I'm no killer.”
“There is no getting out, kid,” Mikey said. “When you are in with Jocko Scarpelli, you are all the way in.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” Aaron said as he paced back and forth.
“Look, kid, we like you. Don't we Jax?”
“Sure thing, Mikey.”
“And we would hate to have to knock you around for disobeying an order from Mr. Scarpelli,” Mikey said. “So why don't you do the smart thing and take care of this. If you don't, we will. But then we will have to put a beating on you.”
Aaron's eyes shifted frantically between Jax and Mikey. The twins grinned like Cheshire cats.
“You do understand we can beat you down, right?” Mikey said as he stepped toward Aaron
Aaron swallowed hard and sheepishly nodded his head. He neither felt nor looked very tough at the moment. Truth be told, he was a scared kid. Jax wondered if he might wet himself.
“We will not hesitate to do so,” Mikey said.
Aaron nodded again. He felt sick to his stomach and thought he might hurl. But puking on Mikey would only make it worse. Aaron willed himself to not toss his cookies.
“Brad Whitcomb works at the Snake Pit,” Mikey said. “I'm sure you know him.”
Aaron looked at Mikey and nodded.
“Good,” Mikey said. “You've got twenty-four hours.”
“How . . . how do I do it?” Aaron said, his voice cracking.
“Doesn't matter,” Mikey said. “Just make sure it can't be traced back to you. Jocko's other clients will be aware it is punishment. But there can't be any evidence for the cops. Got it?”
“Sure,” Aaron said.
“Make certain of it,” Jax said.
“We'll be back in twenty-four hours,” Mikey said. “To check in on you.”
Mikey opened the front door to the apartment. Jax stepped out in front of him. Mikey lingered at the door a moment. He turned to face Aaron. “Oh, by the way, don't even think of running,” he said. “There isn't anywhere you can go where we can't find you.”
Mikey stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 8
DREW PATRICK
I TOOK A BITE OF MY bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. Crumbs from the croissant flaked onto my desk. Dash sat at my feet with eagle eyes fixed on every bite I took.
“If you're good, I'll give you a piece when I'm done,” I told him. His floppy ears perked up, and he tilted his head. I'm not sure how many words he recognized, but I was certain he understood the general gist of what I was saying. Many mornings we played out a similar scene.
I followed another bite of the sandwich with a sip of coffee. The two-handed breakfast. Sandwich in one hand. Coffee in the other. An efficient way to scarf down breakfast on a busy morning.
As fast as I was eating, I was not fast enough for Dash. He whimpered and nudged my leg with his snout.
“In a minute,” I said.
I took a few more bites, followed by another sip of coffee. I left a respectable piece of sandwich for Dash. I handed it to him. He inhaled it. I think he liked the Cherrywood Smoked bacon part the best. Hard to tell. It was gone so fast.
“That's it. All gone.”
Dash checked the floor to make sure nothing was missed. When he was satisfied all was clear and another sandwich wouldn't appear, he trotted over to the couch and hopped up. He circle
d once and plopped down on the Red Sox blanket in his corner of the couch. He let out a sigh and put down his head. A few minutes later he was snoring.
I turned to my computer and performed an Internet search on the names Aaron and Hancock Academy. Not the most detailed of search phrases, but sometimes you get lucky.
There were results for an Aaron Hurley and Aaron Vasquez. That didn't mean there weren't more Aaron's associated with Hancock Academy, but I took what the Internet would offer. I'd either have the Aaron we are looking for or might be able to eliminate two names.
The results at the top of the search page were for Aaron Vasquez. He was a star baseball player. A pitcher. And he had impressive stats.
I wondered if the Red Sox scouts were looking into him? I figured they had to be. The kid was smoking batters just four miles from Fenway Park. While I wanted to locate the Aaron Tina was dating, there was a part of me, the selfish baseball fan, who hoped this kid wasn't him.
A look at a few more search results and I had my answer. Aaron Vasquez was a senior at Hancock the current academic year, so not the Aaron I was looking for. I could hold on to hope he might make the show and pitch for the Red Sox one day.
I scrolled to the first search result for Aaron Hurley. I discovered he had been a star football player at Hancock Academy. There were several articles about how his size, strength, and sure hands as a tight end had many saying he was the next Rob Gronkowski. Aaron was now attending Boston College on a football scholarship.
A picture of Aaron Hurley from the sports section of a newspaper matched the picture of Aaron and Tina in the Boston Public Garden. Articles and interviews revealed nothing about the Aaron I had been hearing about for this case. There weren't even any tabloid articles about the handsome, rich, star athlete living on the wild side. No bad boy revelations to be found.
What gives? I asked myself. While you can't believe everything on the Internet, the articles I came across didn't strike me as fake news or as presenting a particularly biased view of the kid. Yet Tina's friends seemed to affirm Bonnie Ross' and Rachel's suspicions about him.
And the facts were that Tina's rebelliousness, bad grades, and dropping out of school all happened after she started dating Aaron Hurley. Coincidences like that are rare. A direct correlation was far more likely.
I figured it was possible his family had enough money and connections to keep negative stories about Aaron out of the press. But I found it hard to believe in our social media age it was possible to keep everything quiet.
The only other explanation I could think of was that Aaron Hurley was not using his real name at the Snake Pit. The Snake Pit crowd weren't exactly into sports. It would be relatively easy for Aaron to use a fake ID and not be noticed. In fact, that made sense. The Snake Pit is a twenty-one and over club. Like Tina, he would need a fake ID to get in.
Okay, I thought to myself, that can explain the lack of media coverage about Aaron's darker side, but it didn't answer why the darker side. Or how dark it may be.
Why would a kid with the level of talent he possessed end up being so reckless? The pressure of performing at such a high level? Teen angst? His natural state well hidden from the world?
He wasn't the first star athlete to find trouble. While I hadn’t been hired to help Aaron Hurley, I wanted to believe he wasn't a lost cause. Determining why he acted as he did might help him find a way out of the trouble he was in.
I was hired to gather evidence on who Tina is dating and where they are living together. That I can deliver on. I also signed myself up to help convince Tina to turn things around. To do all I could to get her away from bad boy Aaron Hurley.
But there was nothing preventing me from trying to help both Tina and Aaron. Perhaps it was a fool's errand. But I'd rather be a fool than regret never having tried.
CHAPTER 9
HANCOCK ACADEMY IS an exclusive prep school located on a campus of stately old buildings just a few blocks from Boston College. I called Rachel and asked if she had any connections with the guidance counselors at Hancock. She did. I then asked if she could put in a good word for me and help arrange a meeting. She did that as well.
I pulled up to the main gate at Hancock and stopped at the guard house. Through the rod iron gates were lush green lawns and perfectly kept flower beds. Ancient and impressive trees were in keeping with the stately buildings and provided ample shade for much of the campus.
A middle-aged guy emerged from the guard house. He wore a security guard uniform with a light gray button-down shirt and dark gray slacks with a black fabric stripe running down the outside of each pant leg. The guard was average height and carried a spare tire for a stomach. He had a friendly round face topped with thinning salt and pepper hair.
“Can I help you?” the guard said. On the left side of his shirt was a metal badge stamped with the word 'Security.' Above his right breast pocket was a nameplate that stated his name was 'Bernard.' I wasn’t sure if Bernard was his first or last name.
“Name is Drew Patrick,” I said as I handed him my business card. “I'm a private investigator here to speak with Ms. Grace Moore.”
He looked at my business card. I figured he was impressed with the quality card stock and ink.
“You have a license?” he asked.
I presented him with my private investigator license issued by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. He inspected it for a moment and seemed convinced of its authenticity. He handed it back to me.
“So, a real life private detective,” he said.
“In the flesh,” I said.
“Name is Rick. Rick Bernard.” He extended his hand and we shook. “Been on the job here for twenty years, don't think I've ever had a private eye come around.”
“A first time for everything,” I said.
“I guess so,” Rick said. “You have a big case you are working on?”
“They're all big to my clients,” I said.
“I guess they would be,” Rick said. “You get many interesting cases?”
“Interesting is relative. But I mostly enjoy what I do. Figuring things out. Helping people.”
“You get a lot of cheating spouse cases?” Rick said.
It seemed more a question of general interest rather than personal inquiry.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“I love detective books and shows,” Rick said.
“Real life detectives are a little different,” I said.
Rick looked at my very ordinary car. I'm sure he was thinking it was no Ferrari like Magnum, PI drives.
“So, is Mrs. Moore expecting you?” Rick said. Maybe the luster of my being a private detective was wearing off for him.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Rick offered a slight nod of his head. “Okay, then,” he said. “Let me give her a buzz and tell her you're here.”
“Before you do,” I said, “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
Rick seemed interested in me again. Being questioned as part of an investigation, even if I didn't drive an expensive sports car, seemed to hold an appeal.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
“You've been here twenty years,” I said, “you must be a pretty good judge about students who attend Hancock.”
“Besides being mostly rich, stuck up, brats?” Rick said.
“Besides that,” I said.
“I guess,” he said.
“And you would be aware of any students causing trouble?”
“In most cases, yeah. But we don't really have troubled kids here. In case you haven't noticed, this ain't exactly some rundown inner city school.”
“I did notice,” I said. “It's like an old English estate in there.” I observed with a tilt of my head toward the campus.
“The Queen of England would be jealous,” Rick said.
“So you don't have a lot of hard luck cases or seriously troubled kids,” I said. “That would make any troublemakers stick out all the more, right?”
>
Rick nodded in agreement, but didn't offer anything more.
“Any student in particular come to mind?”
I didn't want to lead with Aaron Hurley. If he was bad news, Rick would remember him without being prompted. That's part of what I wanted to find out. Did Aaron Hurley have a troubled side that the outside world didn't seem to know about?
Rick scratched his balding head. My detective's intuition told me it was not about searching to remember a particular student, but, rather, what he should say about that student.
“There is one student who stands out,” Rick said after a few minutes. “But I'm not sure how much I can say.”
“I understand,” I said. “How about I ask a few more questions about the student and you can tell me if I'm on to something or not?”
“I suppose that could work,” Rick said. “As long as I don't have to give his name. And you didn't get any of this from me.”
Rick gave me a small clue without even thinking about it. We were talking about a male.
“I'll keep you out of it,” I said. “You have my word.”
Rick thought for a moment, then nodded.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Did this student get into any trouble over drinking or drugs? Even light recreational use of pot?”
“A few times,” Rick said. “The school kept it quiet. Kid's parents made sure of it by throwing their weight, and money, around.”
“Not to mention the kid we are speaking of was a noted athlete?” I said.
Rick considered my question. He smirked. It was answer enough.
“What was his reputation with the female population at the school?”
“They all wanted to date him,” Rick said.
“Rich, good looking, star football player?” I said.
Rick smiled and wagged his finger at me. “I see what you did there Mr. private detective. Very smooth.”
“Smooth is my middle name,” I said.
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