The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Us?” I pointed at Jerry and then myself.

  “Yeah. If Captain Lockett doesn’t have any objection, you and I, Alex, are going to visit this pawnshop in Malden.”

  “I get it. We can’t wait for the perfect bust.” Lockett turned and called out a name, waving the detective back over. “I need four uniforms and two detectives to back up our FBI colleagues, Molloy and Troutt. They’re going to visit our favorite pawnshop in Malden.”

  They quickly decided for the locals to get a search warrant—it was always faster than the federal approach working through the assistant U.S. Attorney. Lockett said she knew a judge who could turn it around in thirty minutes, if she called in a favor. And she did just that while we stood there.

  I took the couple of minutes to try to wrangle my thoughts. I was almost seething at the notion of not running the show, of not personally doing what my instincts told me I should. The brisk air filled my lungs, which helped clear my mind, and I started to see a benefit. For whatever reason, Jerry wanted me close by, and that only helped my side gig—to try to determine if my boss was abetting a known terrorist.

  “Let’s make sure we trade notes,” Nick said into my ear.

  “Of course,” I said, holding my gaze on Jerry, who was speaking with Lockett.

  “Jerry’s never been like this before, so try not to let it disrupt that mind of yours. When you’re on, there’s no one better.”

  I turned to my right. “Today must be National Suck-up Day.” I gave my partner a wink. “Thanks, man. It’s just that…” I inhaled, as my eyes drifted over to the smoky remnants of Pescatore’s car, a few firefighters still walking around it to ensure the fire didn’t restart. I really wanted to share everything with Nick. If I had to rank the people I knew based on trust, Nick would be right up there with Ezzy, as long as they didn’t talk about their health issues.

  “Something is on your mind. Something unrelated to the bombings,” Nick said as a statement. He took hold of my arm and ushered me back a few steps. “What’s really bothering you, Alex?”

  “You’re not pissed by Jerry’s meddling? And Drake’s all up in Jerry’s business. It’s just not cool and not effective,” I said, shuffling my shoe on the concrete as sirens still blared all around me.

  “Of course I am. I don’t care for change. Not having you around as my partner is like forgetting to wear my underwear.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “Nice visual, partner. Tighty-whities or boxers?”

  “You’ll never know, Ms. Troutt.”

  “That’s for damn sure.”

  “Good deflection, by the way,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t play coy. I realize you just changed the topic. It’s okay. You can tell me what’s on your mind in due time. But I can see this is significant. I’m watching you, Troutt.” He grinned while pointing two fingers at his eyes then at mine. Then he walked off, pausing for a second to snap his right leg out like a whip. He was trying to pop his knee to relieve the pressure again. Why doesn’t the guy give up already and just go see a damn doctor?

  Not five minutes later, Lockett gave us the signal that her team had secured the search warrant and would meet us a block down from Pescatore’s employer.

  “Let’s roll, Alex.” Jerry shook the captain’s hand and marched toward his FBI-issued Impala. I started in that direction.

  “Alex.” Small stepped in front of me. “I know you’re busy saving the world and all, but, uh…would you like to have coffee some time?”

  Nick’s effort to temporarily reduce my stress level had just evaporated into thin air. It felt like someone was inflating an impenetrable balloon just behind my eyes.

  “Sorry if I’m putting you on the spot. It’s just that we never get to talk about normal stuff. And I think we’ve got a little in common.”

  I couldn’t imagine what, but didn’t want to debate it.

  “Can you take a maybe?”

  “I guess,” he said with a grin. “Although you might need to interpret what that really means.”

  “Alex, you coming?” Jerry shouted, one leg in his car.

  I held up my hand and started walking that way, brushing against Small’s upper arm. It felt firm, if not muscular. “I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now. You’re a nice guy—at least that’s the impression I get.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  We drew farther apart. Our arms stretched toward each other until our fingertips connected for a second. It felt oddly exciting, as a tingle sprinted through my limbs. For a brief moment, all the killing and spying and political posturing fell off my shoulders, and I felt as light as a butterfly.

  “Alex?”

  “Tell you what. I’ll call you when this is all over. Maybe we’ll do coffee. Maybe we’ll do something else.”

  His eyes lit up, and he looked like he’d just scratched off the winning number on his lottery ticket. I felt flattered.

  “Cool,” is all he said. He held my gaze for a few seconds, and then I jogged up to Jerry at the car.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he asked, getting behind the wheel, shifting into reverse.

  “None of your business.”

  “Which means it should be my business.”

  “Jerry, you’re delusional.” Growing weary of his large thumb providing pressure on my life, I was purposely direct and unfiltered.

  “Eh. You’re right. I know I’m sticking my nose in your business.”

  He laid on his horn, jerked the car left in front of a cop holding up traffic, then floored it.

  I grabbed the dash, keeping my head from smacking into the window or Jerry’s lap. I’d rather dig glass out of my scalp.

  The car righted itself, and the wheels stopped screeching rubber. I blew stray hairs out of my eyes and let Jerry’s comment sink in. He’d just admitted he’d crossed the line. How un-Jerry like.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “For what, admitting I’m wrong? It’s something that Tracy pointed out a while ago. I’m like every other guy. I mess up, but at least I’m trying to get better.”

  “That’s saying something.”

  Jerry used a single finger to spin the wheel to the left, even though he’d barely reduced his speed, and the tires whined against the dry concrete. “Tracy’s the best thing that ever happened to me. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t put her foot down occasionally.”

  “Yeah?”

  He glanced my way, then patted his belly. “She’s busting my balls to get one of those head-to-toe physical exams. You know the kind where you’re wearing a gown with no back for hours.”

  He shook his head, and one of his necks swayed like a waterbed. “I told her no way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not now, Alex. Too much shit hitting the fan. I can’t dodge the crap with it coming at me this fast.”

  I nodded, glancing out the window as Jerry hooked a quick left on West Third. I wondered if the key source of the flying dung didn’t sit one floor up at One Center Plaza but instead was his internal guilt for cavorting with Shaheen.

  “Where you going?”

  “Just avoiding as much traffic as possible. Believe me, we want nothing to do with the bypass at this time of day.”

  “You know every inch of Boston like it’s your living room.”

  “I should. Grew up right here in Southie.”

  We passed a swath of row homes, most of which needed new paint jobs. I noticed a chain-link fence in one of the yards had been trampled, and muddy tire marks were visible.

  “You’ve never talked much about Southie, especially when you were younger.”

  He rubbed his mouth. “It wasn’t the best of times, that’s for sure.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Unemployment was high. Lots of discontent. There was a thug on every corner ready to take your money or use you for some illegal deal. I had to learn how to survive at a pretty young age.”

  “Must have been
tough on you…on your parents.”

  He kept his eyes straight ahead and mumbled acknowledgement, but didn’t seem interested in traveling down memory lane.

  “You have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Older sister and younger brother.” He coughed out a couple of chuckles, creating a ripple of waves through his jowls.

  “An old memory?” While I have two kids of my own, I grew up an only child, and I still recall the ever-present feeling of wanting that bond with a sibling. Brother, sister, older or younger, it made no difference to me. Someone who I knew would have my back, possibly right after they squirted toothpaste in my ear.

  Jerry rubbed the side of his jaw. “I can’t tell you how many fights I got into trying to protect the virtue of my big sis, Janet.”

  “Was she a beauty?”

  “Oh yeah, and she knew it.” He glanced my way with a raised eyebrow. “But it was partly because Ma got Janet a modeling gig in a local store, where they model clothes in the store window. Holy crap, all my buddies, and even quite a few who weren’t, would go out of their way to walk by the store and gawk at my sister.”

  “Kids will be kids.” The more Jerry spoke, the more I could hear his accent grow thicker.

  “Well, one of those wise guys got two of his Neanderthal friends to go up to the window one day, right when Janet was putting on a little show for the store’s management.”

  He shook his head and wiped his face. “Oh God.”

  “What happened?”

  “Too much. First, those three wise guys dropped their drawers and mooned the whole crowd. That started a big ruckus. I was just around the block and, within a minute, word got to me about what happened. I ran like hell to get over there, thinking I was Janet’s protector and all. Shit, I was maybe thirteen, and she was sixteen. So I tear around this corner ready to rip some guy’s head off, and I see this one tall asshole standing there. I jump off the curb with everything I have—”

  “So you could run like the wind and leap a tall building with a single bound?” I enjoyed ribbing my boss.

  “I was half of me back then, maybe a third,” he said with another chuckle, patting his belly. “And I was quick as a lightning bug.”

  “So did you take down the Hulk?”

  “Clotheslined that son of a bitch right across the neck. It was the perfect connection, and it felt great.”

  I nodded.

  “Up until his buddies picked me up by my belt loop and dragged me two blocks over in the alley behind their house and beat the snot out of me.”

  “Ouch. Were you okay?”

  “Not until my buddy showed up out of nowhere. He was like freakin’ Batman, swooping in out of the shadows. Actually, he wasn’t much of a buddy before that night.”

  “What was he, then?”

  “The kind of kid that got in trouble a lot.” He shifted his eyes to me one more time.

  “Look out!” A truck had just blown through a stop sign.

  Jerry hit the brakes. We rocked to a stop as he pressed his middle finger against the window. “The asshole didn’t even look my way. I think he had on headphones.”

  “And blinders,” I said, exhaling, glad I’d seen the truck before he rammed right into the side of our car.

  Jerry slowly regained speed as I noticed a couple of kids in their tiny front yard throwing a baseball back and forth. Neither wore a glove.

  “So you were talking about Batman saving your ass?”

  “Oh, yeah. He sure did. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but he had the disposition of an alley cat.”

  “But how did he take on three guys?”

  “Attitude and a chain that could take off a limb. He barked at those guys like they were his bitches. Then he backed it up by flailing this massive chain against the leader’s knee. That guy dropped to the ground like he’d been shot in the kneecap. He whimpered and begged forgiveness while the other two ran away.”

  “Damn.” I’d heard through the rumor mill that Jerry’s upbringing had been troubled.

  He nodded.

  I thought about my next question for an extra second, but I decided it was now or never. “Was that the beginning of the Jerry Molloy gangster era in Southie?” I gave him a knowing smirk, hoping my use of sarcasm would soften the edges of my real question.

  As the Impala pulled to a stop at a red light, Jerry slowly shifted his eyes toward me. His lips didn’t budge.

  “What?” My voice pitched higher as I scrunched my shoulders. “Just curious if you adapted to your surroundings and did what you needed to survive, or save face.”

  A horn honked from behind us. He glanced in his rearview and punched the gas. “I was no altar boy. I got in my fair share of scrums and was tempted into doing a lot worse.”

  “Like?”

  “Robbing a liquor store, running drugs for a local dealer, breaking into a beauty parlor—”

  “Wait, you and your Southie gang wanted to break into a beauty parlor? For what, to give each other perms?”

  He gave me another confused look. “Two things. One set of guys wanted to get their hands on all that dye. Said it could be used for graffiti.”

  “Nice. Stealing hair dye to scrawl misspelled curse words all over the railroad track bridges.”

  “Actually, this one guy had quite an artsy eye. He made it out of the hood and went on to have his own studio in New York.”

  “What about the other thing at the beauty parlor?”

  He raised both arms to the top of his head, and I quickly lunged for the wheel.

  “Chill, there, Alex,” he said, extending his arm.

  Jerry’s knee started to steer the wheel as I hovered about two feet from the wheel, wondering if I could trust it, or him.

  “Showing off?”

  “Just a little trick I learned years ago when I was in school and had a driving paper route. Anyway, you know those cone-shaped hair dryers?”

  “I’ve actually been in one.”

  “Yeah, well, couple of guys thought they’d look really cool as Halloween costumes. Go figure.”

  “Right. Go figure.”

  “They said it would be wicked awesome.”

  I chuckled inwardly at Jerry’s intonation, morphing “awesome” into three elongated syllables.

  The tires drummed across two sets of railroad tracks, and the neighborhood went from questionable to straight-up.

  “Do you look back at those times with a little more fondness now?”

  “Not really. We could have been killed a dozen times over.”

  I returned my gaze to the window as Jerry finally drove the Impala out of Southie, heading north toward Malden on Route 1. I spotted the Charlestown Navy Yard off to my right, a flurry of boats and ships in some type of choreographed dance. We crossed one of the countless bridges in the area where two rivers come together, Chelsea River on the right and Mystic River on our left.

  “So how were you able to avoid getting involved in the hard crimes, the felonies?”

  “A little luck, to be honest.” Twisting his torso to the left, which made his leather coat crumple under a load of pressure, Jerry checked his blind spot as he veered the car into the right lane, preparing for our exit into Malden.

  “You are Irish. So that’s not surprising.”

  “Nice one, Alex.”

  I shrugged my shoulders while pulling out my phone. Nothing from Nick. Even though I knew I needed to be riding shotgun with Jerry, my desire was to be with Nick and SWAT in Lynn as they searched through the home of Leonardo Pescatore. Patience wasn’t my strong suit.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jerry lean his oversized arm against the window and rub his expansive forehead. I could feel his underlying layer of stress, even after we’d talked about old times. I wondered about the source of his anxiety. If he was truly stressed by the pressure from his boss about not having arrested a suspect in these priest bombings, then I couldn’t see there was any way that he was involved with a terrorist. He either care
d about the security of the country—maybe far too much—or he didn’t.

  Unless this was all an act.

  I recalled my studies in Quantico, where we learned about the most notorious spies who had betrayed the United States. Robert Hanssen and Aldrich Ames rewrote the history books on espionage, handing over countless secrets and sources to the Soviet Union. There wasn’t one person in my class who wasn’t sickened by the acts of betrayal. Ames reportedly passed two polygraph exams during the time he was a suspect.

  But I felt like I knew Jerry, what he was all about. I’d never once heard him say a disparaging word about the country. Of course, he’d said plenty about individual people. He had a sharp tongue, but I guess that’s how he’d survived his youth in Southie, which got me thinking.

  “So if it wasn’t your Irish blood that kept you out of trouble, what was it?” I asked.

  “A saint from heaven above.” He pointed straight up while taking an exit into the teeth of Malden.

  “Really, Jerry?”

  “I’m not kidding. Well, he wasn’t a saint, only because the Pope never got around to giving him that title.”

  “You’re speaking in tongues, Jerry.”

  He chuckled so hard his belly jiggled.

  “Okay, his name was Father Mulcahey.”

  “You went to church?”

  “Eh, not really. Ma didn’t like it much, and I wasn’t one for sitting on those hard pews and following all those rules. I was far too antsy for that.”

  “So how did you get to know the Father?”

  “He found me.”

  “How?”

  “I was playing stickball in the street, and it was getting dark one night. I hit this moonshot deep into left field…which happened to also be Patti’s Flower Shop. Right in the front window.”

  “Did you make a run for it?”

  He chortled. “I took two steps and ran into the chest of Father Mulcahey. It felt like a brick wall.” He rubbed the side of his head.

  “I guess he made you pay back Ms. Patti?”

  “You could say that.”

  I twisted my head, unsure where he was going with his story.

  “Father Mulcahey was a gentle man, but he didn’t mince words. He took me by the collar and walked me down to Ms. Patti’s apartment. First, he made me promise that I would help her clean up the mess. Then, I had to go to her shop every day after school for a month to work off my debt.”