by Ingrid Thoft
“I’ll shoot you,” she told the heavyset, bleeding man.
“Fuck you,” he garbled, and spit shards of teeth out on the cushioned gym floor. The resistance band he’d used to strangle her lay at his feet, like a bright green party streamer.
Fina studied him. “You’re the dick who broke my wrist.”
His lip curled up in a sneer, and he lunged at Fina.
She pulled the trigger.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing this under normal circumstances,” Bev said, “but I find myself in a rather unusual situation.” She sat across from a man in his early sixties. He was trim, with gray hair and wire-framed glasses.
“I’m surprised to see you here, at my office,” the man admitted. He stole a glance at the family photo on his desk. It had been taken on his fortieth-wedding-anniversary cruise in Greece. His wife and kids were beaming at the camera.
Bev plastered a smile onto her face and worked to slow her breathing. “As I said, I’m here as a last resort, and I did come after regular business hours.”
The man considered her for a moment. He consulted a file folder open before him on his desk. “You said that before all this business he had a good record?”
“Exemplary. You couldn’t ask for a more caring or conscientious physician.”
“But his license was suspended?”
“Yes, but not revoked.” Bev mentioned the name of the attorney whom she was paying a king’s ransom to get Connor back in the American Medical Association’s good graces.
The man took a deep breath. “I can’t make you any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. We always need ob-gyns in the field.” He stood up and walked around the desk, anxious for the meeting to end.
Bev grasped his hand. “You don’t know how grateful I am,” she said.
He held the door open for her. “And Bev? It’s best that you don’t come to my office again.”
“Of course.” She looked down at her pumps. “When it comes to our children, we’ll do just anything, won’t we?” She met his gaze.
“I suppose,” he said, and waited for her to leave.
Bev started down the hallway and heard the door close behind her.
Groveling was not her strong suit.
Fina parked a few streets away from Mark’s unfinished house. She pulled down the visor mirror and looked at her reflection. There were ligature marks around her neck from the resistance band, and her left eye was speckled with tiny broken blood vessels. Fina reached back, pulled out her hair elastic, and let her ponytail fall loose around her face. Her phone rang.
“Where are you?” Frank asked. “Your guy’s on the move.”
“Where’s he headed?”
“West on the Pike.”
“Toward Wellesley?”
“Yup.”
“That’s where I am. Let me know where he ends up, and I’ll meet you there.”
Fina sat with the phone in her lap. She flipped the visor back up and reached for a half-full bottle of water in her cup holder. The water tasted musty, and swallowing made her neck ache, but she drained it anyway. She threw the empty bottle in the backseat and rooted around on the car floor. She kept extra clothes in her car in case she needed to blend in or stand out. A blue Patriots hat would provide some coverage for her face, but high heels, a little black dress, and a blond wig weren’t going to gild this lily.
Fina drove toward the junction of Route 9 and Washington Street. She pulled into a small shopping plaza and claimed an empty space. What might have been the last pay phone in America sat on the sidewalk. Fina got out of the car and dialed 911. She requested an ambulance be sent to Mark’s house, but hung up before the dispatcher could get any details.
As she approached her car, she noticed a Brigham’s sign glowing in the dark, and Fina looked through the front window to see a lone employee leaning on the counter, staring into space. She stepped into the over-air-conditioned shop and asked the clerk for a coffee frappe. He was a teenager, pimply and bored. He stared at her, his eyes like saucers, and then scurried off to fill her order. Goddamnit. She was scaring children.
Fina fiddled with her phone and listened to the whirring of the blender in the background. After a few minutes, the kid placed a sweating plastic cup in front of her and rang up the shake. She told him to keep the change before grabbing a straw and a spoon and taking the drink to her car.
After lowering herself into the car seat, she popped off the plastic top and dipped into the cup with her spoon. Her hand shook lightly. Probably low blood sugar, not the attempted strangulation or gunplay she’d just experienced. She slipped the icy mixture into her mouth and held it on her tongue.
The phone rang, and Fina jumped, causing the frappe to slop over the edge of the cup. She tucked it into the drink holder and sucked the excess off her hand. A bead of liquid dribbled down into her cast.
“Yes?” she answered.
“He’s just stopped in a parking lot in Framingham.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Nothing. Waiting, probably, to meet someone.”
“Can you give me the exact location?”
Frank gave her the details, and Fina felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She hung up the phone and stared at the illuminated dials on the dashboard.
All this time, she’d been led astray. What was wrong with her? She was always willing to believe the worst of people; why had her intuition failed her this time?
Fina jumped on Route 9 heading west. She obeyed the speed limit, not wanting to be questioned by a cop in her present condition, and eleven minutes later pulled into the office park a few cars away from Frank. Fina grabbed her frappe and climbed into Frank’s passenger seat.
He did a double take when he saw her. “Christ, Fina! Are you okay?”
“Never better. Do you think he knows he was followed?”
“I don’t think so. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Frank’s face was pinched with concern. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“I will, but not quite yet.”
“Fina!”
“Frank,” Fina pleaded. “I’m so close. I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to finish what I started.”
Frank shook his head. They sat in silence and watched Joe’s car. Fina fussed with her sticky hands, and Frank produced a pack of baby wipes. She was shoving a used wipe into a small trash bag when Joe got out of his car, looked around, and started walking down the aisle. He stopped after a few cars, looked around again, and climbed into a black Lexus sedan with the license plate MONT3.
“Fuck,” Fina groaned. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Frank watched her. Fina took a deep breath. “I’m going to go have a little chat.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Once I get in the car, I want you to call Cristian.” Frank had met Cristian on a few occasions and heartily approved. Fina gave him the number. She told him her message.
“And then?”
“Keep an eye on us. Call an ambulance if I end up bleeding.”
“You’re not helping my blood pressure. What if someone else ends up bleeding?”
“You can call it a night, I suppose.” Fina leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Cheer up. It’ll all be over soon.”
Fina climbed out of the car and pulled the cap down on her head. She approached the Lexus from the side and pretended to tie her shoe so she could get a look at the driver. His face was illuminated by the neon of the Zyxco, Inc. sign. She carefully pulled out her gun and crept up on the passenger side of the car. When she reached the door, she tapped on the glass with the gun and tried the door handle.
A strong blast of cold air tumbled out when she opened the door. Fina bent down and pressed the gun into the side of Joe Winthrop’s head.
“Get out,” she said.
&nbs
p; “What?! I don’t—”
“Get out of the car or I’ll shoot you.”
Joe looked at the driver and then scrambled out. Fina slipped into his spot and turned in the seat. She trained the gun on the driver’s head.
“Mark Lamont. Why haven’t you returned my phone calls?”
Mark reached for the travel mug in his beverage holder and took a slow sip. He put the cup back and stared out the windshield.
“Put the gun away, Fina.”
“I’d love to, but I kinda feel like I need it.”
“You don’t.”
“Really? I needed it with your goon back at the new house.”
Mark glanced at her. “I hope you didn’t do anything stupid.”
“For such a smart businessman, your hired help sucks. What a bunch of inept losers.” Mark didn’t respond. Fina kept the gun in her hand, but rested it on her thigh. “I thought we were on the same side.”
Mark was silent.
“I was going to ask why you’ve been gunning for me, but I think I know the answer.”
“You’re not good at minding your own business, are you?” Mark asked.
“I have been minding my own business, but it keeps overlapping with your business. I’ve been investigating Melanie’s murder, and for some reason, you found that threatening.”
Mark’s eyes bored into her. “You need to let this go.”
Fina shifted away from him in her seat. “I can’t. Bob Webber’s sighting of Melanie in the North End was fiction, right? Is that why you killed him? You were afraid I’d find out the truth?”
“Let it go, Fina.”
“You’d love that,” Fina sneered.
“In our world”—he put his hands up in a helpless gesture—“people get hurt. You know that.”
“Not my people!”
Mark adjusted the air-conditioning. “I have a lot of resources at my disposal. Don’t play chicken with me.”
Fina studied him for a moment. “Did Melanie find out that you were doing business with Bev Duprey?”
Mark stared out the windshield.
“Did she threaten to expose you?”
“The women in your family have big mouths. She should have shut up, just like you should now.”
“You could have let her walk away.”
Mark snorted.
“You could have called Rand. He would have dealt with her,” Fina said.
Mark sipped his coffee. “Not this time.”
“He would have,” she insisted.
Fina watched Mark. There was no tremble in his grip, no unsteadiness in his voice. She wished her own pulse weren’t racing, but maybe that was a sign of humanity, not weakness.
Fina took a deep breath, and something shifted in her brain. “Haley. Bev told Melanie about Haley. And then Melanie found out that you were one of Haley’s pimps, if only in name. She must have gone ape shit.” A bitter taste rose in Fina’s throat. “You’re right. Rand would have destroyed you.”
Mark looked at her and raised his shoulders in a tiny shrug.
“How could you be so fucking stupid?” Fina exclaimed. “Didn’t you know that Bev was tied up with my brother?”
“I didn’t give a shit that your brother couldn’t keep his dick in his pants! It was a business deal.”
“So the whole Haley part was a surprise?” She waved the gun in his face.
“Like I said, Fina, our world is small.”
“Not that small. Bev went after Rand on purpose.”
“Why would she give a shit about Rand?”
“Don’t you vet your business partners?!” Fina shouted. “Rand sued her son. He wrecked her son’s life, and she wanted payback. And you helped her by killing his wife.”
Mark glanced at his watch. “You need to forget this conversation.”
“Right.” Fina leaned toward him. She caught a whiff of sweat. “Just wait ’til someone hurts your kid.”
Mark grabbed Fina around the neck and squeezed. Her already tender flesh screamed in pain. Fina banged the butt of the gun down on his forehead and watched a gash unzip across his skin. Blood poured out. Mark swore and released his grip. Fina opened the door and jumped out of the car.
“I’ll kill you, too, bitch,” Mark said.
Fina ducked her head back into the car. “Yeah, good luck with that.” She slammed the door and watched him peel out of the parking lot. Frank pulled out of his parking space and drove up next to her. The passenger-side window lowered silently.
“Time for the hospital?”
“Almost.”
Frank sighed. “Do you need me to stay on him?”
“Nope. Did you reach Cristian?”
“Yes. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who finds you maddening.”
A smile flitted across Fina’s face, and she walked to her car.
Cristian climbed into her car in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot in Newton. He took one look at her and pulled her toward him into a hug.
“Ow,” Fina said.
“Sorry,” Cristian said into her neck.
Fina slowly loosened his hands from her and gently pushed him back into his seat. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I’m feeling a little fragile right now.”
“Let me see your face.”
“Cristian, I’m fine. Seriously.” She batted his hand away. “You’re acting like a mom. Not my mom, but someone’s mom.”
Cristian exhaled loudly. “You’re going to have to come down to the station. Pitney is ape shit.”
“Because I’m a better detective than she is?”
“Because you shot a guy and didn’t report it.”
“I did report it. Just not right away. Is she really going to argue with self-defense?” Fina gestured to her face.
“No, but things will go easier if you don’t make her wait around.” Cristian looked at the Brigham’s cup in the drink holder. “Did you get the frappe before or after you shot him?”
“I have to keep my strength up,” Fina responded defensively. “You don’t know the kind of night I’ve had.”
Cristian tipped his head back against the headrest. “Christ Almighty.”
“How about in the morning?” Fina asked. “Will that satisfy Pitney?”
“That’s pushing it.”
“I know, but I need to do a couple of things.”
Cristian pulled out his phone and dialed. Fina couldn’t make out the specifics of the conversation, but she could hear Pitney having an apoplexy on the other end. After a moment of back-and-forth, Fina grabbed the phone from Cristian.
“I’ll be in tomorrow morning,” she told Pitney.
“You need to come in now or I’m sending a black-and-white for you and disciplining Menendez.”
“Fine. I’ll come in now. I’ll have Scotty meet me there. I’m sure he’s already prepared the paperwork for the suit.”
“What suit?”
“Harassment for starters. You arrested the wrong man for Melanie’s murder.”
“There’s no proof of that.”
“What does proof have to do with anything!?” Fina hollered into the phone.
Pitney was silent. “If you aren’t here by six A.M., hell is going to rain down on you.”
“Let’s say eight A.M., and you’ve got yourself a date.” Fina hung up and handed the phone back to Cristian. “Eight A.M.” She gave him a weak smile. “Guess I’ll see you then.”
“We’ll be there all night. In case you change your mind.”
“That is a woman’s prerogative.”
“What are you going to do now?” Cristian asked. “You’re not going to shoot anyone else, are you?”
“Family business.”
Cristian shook his head. “That’s no guarantee th
at gunplay won’t be involved.”
A thin young woman with long, dark hair and big boobs walked in front of the car and pulled open the door to Dunkin’ Donuts. “Any word on Brianna?” Fina asked.
“We found some tweaker walking around with her underpants and cell phone.”
“Ta da! I didn’t kill her!”
“We never thought you did.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s so hard to keep track of what’s true and what’s leverage, isn’t it?”
Fina took hold of his face with both hands and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. “Off you go.”
Cristian returned the kiss and then climbed out of the car.
Fina knocked on the door and let herself in to Scotty and Patty’s house. Voices from a TV drifted down the hallway, and Fina followed them to the great room attached to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Fina said.
Scotty and Patty were sitting on the couch, her feet in his lap and a glass of wine in her hand.
“Hey,” Scotty replied, his eyes glued to the screen.
Patty smiled at her, and then her face sagged. “Now what?”
Scotty looked at his sister. “Jesus H. Christ.” He prodded Patty’s feet off his lap and hopped up. Fina walked toward him, and he put his hands on her shoulders while examining her face and neck.
“I’m fine.”
Patty reached for the wine bottle on the coffee table and poured a generous amount into her glass. “You could have a pickax coming out of your torso and you’d say you were fine.” She handed her glass over the back of the couch to Fina, who took a long slug of the cold chardonnay.
“We need to talk,” Fina said to Scotty. “Attorney client talk.”
Scotty gave her injuries another look. “What’s the other guy look like?”
“He’s shot.”
Patty snorted. “And Elaine still thinks you’re going to settle down and be a soccer mom? I love it.” She stood up and left the room.
