Killing the Blues

by Michael Brandman

  “Yes.”

  “How do you handle it?”

  “The anxiety?”

  “Yes.”

  “I handle it,” Jesse said.

  “But you’re experiencing a great deal of it,” Dix said.

  “Only on occasion.”

  After a pause, Dix said, “Are you drinking?”

  “Not really.”

  “Are you sticking to your rule?”

  “What rule?”

  “The two-drinks-a-night rule. This is brutal.”

  “Mostly I’m only having one a night.”

  “So you’re not drinking?”

  “I overstepped my limit the one time.”

  “After the parking-lot killing,” Dix said.

  “I couldn’t get the image of the widow out of my mind. She was so grief-stricken. She was trying to hold it together, but the worst was yet to come, and I could see in her eyes that she knew it.”

  “So you got drunk?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you haven’t gotten drunk again?”

  “No.”

  Dix didn’t say anything.

  “I identified with her grief.”

  “Jenn?”

  “Yes.”

  Neither of them said anything.

  “I regretted it,” Jesse said. “I’m determined not to let her get to me again.”

  They sat silently for a while.

  “Is there anything else you want to tell me,” Dix said.

  “I’ve started seeing someone.”

  “Someone other than Sunny Randall?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re not seeing Sunny any longer?”

  “She’s away.”

  “If she were here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “I flew too close to the flame.”

  “Which means?”

  “I like it better where it’s cooler.”

  Dix didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t think I’m ready.”

  They sat quietly for a while.

  “Do you take these sessions seriously,” Dix said.

  “I do,” Jesse said.

  “Do you find them helpful?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Do you reflect on them?”

  “Sometimes. Why?”

  “Because you’re often obtuse.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t want you to wander off the path toward self-realization,” Dix said.

  “It’s when I wander that I come to see you.”

  “Which is a good thing.”

  “If you say so.”

  25

  Jesse returned to the safe house. He parked in the garage and went inside.

  Everything was as it had been except that both Perkins and Suit now had two days’ worth of beard.

  “Anything I should know about,” Jesse said.

  “He’s agitated. He’s been asking for you,” Suitcase said.

  “That’s a start,” Jesse said.

  They went to the door and watched Lopresti for a while.

  He, too, needed a shave. Jesse went into the room.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Where were you? Why in hell did you take so long to come back?”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “Do you have something to tell me?”

  “I might.”

  “I’ll want to know several things, but first I’d like to learn who you’re working for.”

  “How do I know that you’ll let me go if I tell you,” Lopresti said.

  “You don’t.”

  “You said something about verifying what I might tell you. How does that happen?”

  “That’s my concern.”

  “How much information will I have to give you?”

  “Enough to satisfy me.”

  “You don’t give an inch, do you?”

  “Someone has died because of this business, Robert. I intend to put a stop to it. If you help me, you’ll go free. You’ll have to trust in that.”

  Lopresti thought about it. “John Lombardo,” he said.

  “How do I find John Lombardo?”

  “I don’t know. He finds me.”

  “That’s not good enough, Robert.”

  “Listen, I don’t know how to find him. If I need him, I call his cell.”

  “What’s the number?”

  Jesse wrote it down as Lopresti recited it.

  “How did you come to know Mr. Lombardo,” Jesse said.

  “Fall River. I was workin’ the streets. Me and Santino. Every now and then we’d lift a car. Mostly just to see if we could. I knew a guy was interested in parts. We’d sell the cars to him.”

  “And?”

  “And this one time we brought in a car and our friend told us that Mr. Lombardo might have work for us.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “So we met with him. He asked if we’d like to join his operation. The money was good. So we did,” Lopresti said.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Six months or so.”

  “And you’ve been working for him ever since?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “What?”

  “Where have you been working,” Jesse said.

  “Here and there. No one place.”

  “Until you set up shop in Paradise.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which you did because . . . ?”

  “Because Mr. Lombardo said to. He said he wanted to find a new place for a shop. He mentioned Paradise. He purchased the farm and told us to work there.”

  “Where do I find Mr. Lombardo?”

  “I already told you I don’t know.”

  “Did you ever meet him in Boston,” Jesse said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “At a restaurant.”

  “What restaurant?”

  “Some place he likes in Cambridge.”

  “What place?”

  “An Italian place. Il Capriccio. On Ash Street. Go verify this shit, will ya? My wife must be climbin’ the walls.”

  “Who killed Mike Lytell,” Jesse said.

  “Who the fuck is Mike Lytell?”

  “Guy killed in the carjack.”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because you do.”

  Lopresti didn’t say anything.

  “The name of Lytell’s killer,” Jesse said.

  When Lopresti remained silent, Jesse stood up to leave. He walked to the door.

  “Petey Marcovy,” Lopresti said.

  “Russian?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Peter Marcovy?”

  “Pyotr. P-Y-O-T-R. Everyone called him Petey,” Lopresti said.

  “Also from Fall River?”

  “By way of the Ukraine. You won’t find him, though.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not gonna find him. He’s dead.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “Mr. Lombardo had him shot. Petey was a new guy. A hothead. Mr. Lombardo had enough of him.”

  “More likely he didn’t want Petey identifying him,” Jesse said. “Sharks feeding on their young.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m hoping that because of you they don’t start feeding on me.”

  “Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

  26

  Jesse phoned Healy from the car.

  “Bingo,” he said.

  “Gee, and all I needed was N-thirty-five.”

  “You ever hear of a connected guy called John Lombardo?”

  “Not offhand.”

  “Our POW gave him up. Fall River guy.”

  “I’ll check it out. Don’t do anything foolish, Jesse,” Healy said. “Let me at least get the skinny on him.”

  “You know where to find me,” Jesse said, and ended the call.

  Jesse pulled up
in front of the Town Hall and parked in the no-parking zone. He found Carter Hansen in his office, eating a brown-bagged lunch.

  “May I interrupt your lunch,” Jesse said.

  “If I said no?”

  “I’d come in anyway.”

  “Why don’t you come in, then,” Hansen said.

  “I’d like to borrow the services of Alexis Richardson.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You mentioned that she was adroit in the field of public relations.”

  “I can’t remember ever using the word adroit.”

  “Forgive me. I must have you confused with someone else. Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Is she adroit in the field of public relations?”

  “That would depend upon your definition of adroit.”

  “This isn’t going well.”

  “What is it you want, Stone?”

  “I want Ms. Richardson to prepare a press release.”

  “What kind of press release?”

  “One advising the population of Paradise to keep their dogs inside at night.”

  Hansen didn’t say anything.

  “Well?”

  After a moment Hansen picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  “Marilyn,” he said. “Would you ask Alexis if she could step into my office for a moment?”

  The two men sat in silence. Then Alexis Richardson walked in. Jesse stood.

  “You remember Chief Stone, don’t you,” Hansen said.

  “I might,” she said. “Chief Stone.”

  “Jesse.”

  “Jesse. It’s nice to see you again,” she said.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Jesse said.

  “All right,” Hansen said. “We can dispense with the hooyah. Chief Stone wants you to prepare a press release for him.”

  “Regarding?”

  “I’d like to catch the attention of the dog-owning population of Paradise. I want to advise them to keep their dogs inside after dark.”

  “Is this related to the recent dog killings,” Alexis said.

  “You know about the dog killings?”

  “Small town. I’d be happy to help you, Jesse. If it’s all right with you, Unc—uh, Selectman Hansen, perhaps Chief Stone could join me in my office.”

  “Fine. That would be fine. Good day, Chief Stone.”

  Alexis and Jesse left Hansen’s office. Once they were outside, Jesse murmured under his breath, “Good day to you, too, Uncle Carter.”

  Alexis punched him on the arm.

  Once in her office, Jesse closed the door. He took her in his arms and kissed her. She returned the kiss.

  “I suppose doing it on your desk would be out of the question,” Jesse said.

  “Only during business hours,” she said.

  “About the press release,” Jesse said.

  He told her how to word it. He wanted to alert the newspapers, TV and radio stations, and the alternative media. He wanted flyers printed and posted in the library, the supermarkets, the coffee shops, and especially in the pet stores and veterinarians’ offices. He didn’t want to frighten people, just make them aware of a potential danger.

  She promised to attend to it immediately. She hoped to make the evening news and appear in all of the next day’s papers.

  “That kiss was intriguing,” she said. “I was wondering if we might continue it this evening.”

  “I’d have to check my schedule,” he said.

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Should I bring Chinese?”

  “There’s an idea,” Jesse said.

  27

  In the morning, after Alexis had left, Jesse went about his chores, which included feeding the cat. By now an uneasy truce had developed between them. The cat would sit on the love seat, watching as Jesse put out the food. It appeared ready to leap at the slightest provocation. Jesse would pretend to ignore it.

  But on this morning, as Jesse was setting out a bowl of wet cat food, the cat jumped from the love seat and began rubbing itself against Jesse’s legs, its tail standing straight up, shimmying.

  Jesse reached down and ran his hand over the cat’s back. It rubbed itself against him even harder. This went on for several moments, until the cat emitted a throaty croak. It then approached the dish and crouched down to eat.

  Jesse smiled.

  By the time he reached the office, there had been three calls regarding strangled dogs.

  He was sitting in his office, surrounded by Molly Crane, Rich Bauer, Steve Lesnick, and Arthur Angstrom. Everyone but Molly was eating a donut.

  “I want to establish a night patrol,” Jesse said. “I want two units on duty from ten p.m. to six a.m. Unmarked vehicles. Divide the town in half. One half per unit. Circle each half constantly, randomly, always on the lookout for something that appears strange.”

  “Who’s gonna man these patrols,” Molly said.

  “Rich will be in charge. He’ll take the lead vehicle. I want summer hires in the second.”

  “What are we supposed to do if we do notice anything strange,” Bauer said.

  “Bust it,” Jesse said.

  “You mean make an arrest, Skipper,” Bauer said. “Uh, Jesse,” he quickly added.

  “Correct.”

  “What if we’re wrong?”

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” Jesse said. “If a mistake is made, so be it.”

  “When do you want this to start,” Molly said.

  “Tonight.”

  The phone rang, and Molly went to her desk to answer it.

  She called out to Jesse.

  “Captain Healy on two,” she said.

  Jesse looked at her.

  “What happened to ‘I’ll try it,’” Jesse said.

  “Try what,” Molly said.

  “The intercom.”

  “I forgot.”

  “You didn’t forget,” Jesse said.

  “Are you suggesting that I purposely refused to use the intercom?”

  “I am.”

  “Some nerve,” she said.

  The others filed out of his office as Jesse picked up the call.

  “Jesse,” he said.

  “John Lombardo,” Healy said. “Interesting fellow. Definitely on the come. He appears to be connected to Gino Fish. My OC guys tell me he did a number of small jobs for Gino and has since graduated to more important stuff.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was linked to the construction rackets in the southern part of the state. In the Fall River area. We have reason to believe he may have done some wet work there. He seems to have recently moved to the Boston area. He drew attention making collections involving a few high rollers who had reneged on their obligations.”

  “Which entailed?”

  “In one instance, it entailed death. Which appeared enough to frighten the other recalcitrants into paying up,” Healy said.

  “Is there anything to link him to automobile theft?”

  “Not here. At least not yet. But he does have a track record in Fall River, which could indicate that he might be a person of interest.”

  “Any idea where he can be found?”

  “We’re still working on that.”

  “You’ll let me know when you have something?”

  “Top of my list.”

  “That’s hopeful.”

  “This guy is the real deal, Jesse. He’s lethal, and he’s not afraid to let people know it. He’s making a name for himself.”

  “Mr. Lombardo may be misguided if he thinks he can put that name up in lights here in Paradise,” Jesse said.

  “He probably doesn’t know that.”

  “He will.”

  28

  Rollo sensed the change. First there were the stories in the newspapers. On the TV. Then the flyers in the stores. He knew it was time.

  That night, carrying a small bag that he had earlier prepared, Rollo headed for Paradise Harbor. He melted into the shadows whenever
he saw headlights. He had already noticed that the streets were now being patrolled. He took extra precautions to conceal himself.

  Once at the harbor, Rollo made his way to one of the boardwalk refreshment stands. Each of them offered a different kind of fare. One had tacos. One had ice cream and cakes. One had burgers and fries. He had chosen the one that offered the burgers and fries.

  Benny’s Burgers. A shack, really. Wooden. The front end had a service window, which was boarded up at night.

  The back end contained the grills and the fryers and a storage area.

  The front end faced the boardwalk. The back opened onto the ocean.

  There was no one on the boardwalk at two a.m. Just Rollo, standing behind the burger shack.

  A fair amount of detritus had been collected and deposited behind the shack. Large plastic bags filled with garbage were awaiting early-morning pickup. Empty bottles and cans had been collected and stored in recycling bins.

  The shack’s back door did not close properly. It wasn’t flush with the baseboard. Not only was there a gap at the bottom, but the door itself had warped and bowed at the top. It was a suitable target for Rollo.

  First he withdrew two rolls of toilet paper from his bag. Then he took out two large cans of lighter fluid. Placing the nozzle of the first can through the gap at the bottom of the door, he sprayed nearly its entire contents inside the shack.

  Then he unraveled the first roll of toilet paper and shoved as much of it as he could through the gap and into the shack. He then sprayed the remainder of the fluid on the paper and onto the door itself.

  He unraveled the second roll of toilet paper, placing it in strips at the top of the door and also through a small opening that the bowed door provided. Whatever paper remained he placed on top of and below the garbage bags.

  Using the second can of lighter fluid, he sprayed the door and then created a line of fluid trailing from underneath the door to a spot perhaps five feet away from it.

  Satisfied, he wiped the two cans with Kleenex, thereby either smudging or removing any fingerprints. He placed the cans on top of the garbage bags.

  He then pulled out a fireplace lighter. He tested it. It worked. He knelt down and ignited the line.

  The fluid caught, and the fire raced along the line toward the shack. Once it reached the doused toilet paper, it roared into flame.

  Rollo stepped back and watched the flames grow in intensity as they were fed by the fluid and the paper. The fire jumped to the garbage bags. The shack became an inferno.