Killing the Blues

by Michael Brandman

  Jesse noticed the two men as soon as he came out of the pet store lugging his newly acquired cat case.

  One of them was leaning against a light pole. The other was lounging against a wall. Although each was as wide as he was tall, their upper torsos were raging with steroid-enhanced musculature. Jesse put the case down.

  The one closest to him, the wall leaner, walked toward him.

  “Mr. Lombardo wants to see you,” he said.

  “I don’t know any Mr. Lombardo,” Jesse said.

  “Makes no matter. You gonna come with us.”

  “Gosh, boys, I’d really love to, but I’m afraid I have other plans.”

  “Hey, you hear that, Frank? Guy says he’s got other plans.”

  The two goons began to laugh.

  Jesse stepped quickly to the talker and kicked him hard in the balls. The guy looked at Jesse for half a moment, then went down, gasping for breath.

  Before Frank could extricate himself from the light pole, Jesse had smashed the bridge of his nose with the edge of his hand. He stepped quickly aside as Frank started to bleed.

  “My nose,” he said, his hands flying to his face in order to gingerly explore the fractured remains of his nose.

  Jesse turned to goon number one, the talker, lying in a fetal position on the ground.

  “Nice work, boys,” he said, as he picked up the cat case and walked to his car.

  Zenith Enterprises,” Healy said, using his cell phone.

  “I’m listening,” Jesse said.

  “Registered under the name of Geoffrey Bedard, a Boston-based attorney whose specialty is corporate law. Which he practices on behalf of certain underworld organizations. Zenith Enterprises is a repository for a number of corporate entities. I’d venture to guess that upon closer scrutiny of these entities, we’d most likely find considerable sums appearing and disappearing like so many magician’s rabbits.”

  “Signifying?”

  “Laundering would be my guess.”

  “So not only is Lombardo selling stolen goods, he’s finding ways to hide the proceeds as well.”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Connected to our friend Mr. Fish?”

  “My guys are saying that although they make a public show of solidarity, there’s no love lost between Gino and Lombardo. Lombardo muscled his way from Fall River to Boston and is brazenly making a play for greater position. He appears to be posing a threat to Gino.”

  “Are the Feds interested?”

  “Interested but inert.”

  “Because?”

  “The story is still unfolding. They have no wish to step on it.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “The information you’ve uncovered won’t sit well with John Lombardo. He thinks of himself as an invisible man. You’ve succeeded in rending his cloak of invisibility.”

  “Rending his cloak of invisibility?”

  “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “Thanks for this.”

  “Service is our middle name,” Healy said.

  Jesse was on the porch, carefully removing a pane of glass from the floor-to-ceiling French door, which consisted of eight separate panes. He was extricating the bottom-right pane. The cat was perched on the love seat, watching him intently.

  He had used a bezel to trim his way around the frame. He had secured the glass with a suction cup, which, when he had completed cutting, he used to pop out the pane.

  He then attached a fringed rubber veil to the inside of the window frame, thereby covering the opening.

  He looked at the cat, who had been looking at him. He walked to the love seat and picked it up. Remarkably, the cat allowed him to do this. Jesse took the cat to the window and showed him the opening. Then he shoved the cat through the rubber veil and into the house.

  The cat immediately turned around and jumped back out.

  “Point made,” Jesse said to the cat, who was now at the far end of the porch, bathing.

  34

  At two a.m., Jesse got out of his Explorer, which was parked down the street from John Lombardo’s house. He walked to the house and rang the bell.

  After a moment an upstairs light went on. Jesse had only a short wait until he saw a downstairs light and heard someone approaching the door. It opened only as far as the security chain would allow. Jesse was standing in the shadows.

  “It’s the middle of the fucking night,” John Lombardo said. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Jesse could see that Lombardo was wearing a bathrobe and slippers, and was unarmed.

  “Neighborhood watch,” Jesse said. “A patrol officer notified us that a suspicious-looking person was seen in the vicinity of your house. We want to confirm that nothing here is awry.”

  “There’s been no disturbance here,” Lombardo said.

  “May I look inside to make certain that you’re under no coercion, sir?”

  “Do I look like I’m under coercion?”

  “My instructions are to make certain that you’re not being held against your will, sir. There have been other incidents in this neighborhood. If you’ll allow me to see that you’re safe, I’ll be on my way. If not, I’m to phone for backup.”

  “All right, all right,” Lombardo said.

  He closed the door, unchained it, and then reopened it so that Jesse could see inside.

  Jesse hit him low, taking his legs out from under him. Lombardo crashed heavily to the floor.

  “What the fuck . . .” Lombardo said.

  “You wanted to see me,” Jesse said, as he stood Lombardo up and slammed him into the wall.

  “You dare to break into my house? My house,” Lombardo said.

  “Insolent of me, isn’t it,” Jesse said. “Why did you send the two goons?”

  “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea who I am?”

  “Listen to me, fat boy,” Jesse said. “One of your associates killed a man in Paradise over a stolen car. I hold you responsible for that killing. Let this be your warning. If you or any of your meatballs show up in Paradise again, I’ll kill you.”

  Lombardo glared at Jesse.

  Jesse smacked him hard in the mouth. Blood appeared on his lower lip.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  “You’ll pay for this,” Lombardo said.

  Jesse smacked him again.

  “Do I make myself clear?”

  Lombardo mumbled his assent.

  Jesse stared at him for several moments.

  Then he walked to the door, opened it, and left the house.

  35

  The next morning, Jesse pulled his cruiser to a stop in front of a commercial building located in the north side of Boston. He parked in front of a fire hydrant and went inside.

  He approached the receptionist’s desk, where he was greeted by a handsome young man wearing a double-breasted blue blazer and a freshly ironed pair of blue jeans. His powder-blue sport shirt was open at the neck. He eyed Jesse warily.

  “I’m here to see Gino Fish,” Jesse said.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Fish isn’t in.”

  “And if I had an appointment?”

  “Who knows.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Steven. What’s yours?”

  “Jesse.”

  “Do you have a last name, Jesse?”

  “Stone.”

  “Does Mr. Fish know you?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Because he’s not in.”

  “Look, Steven, this is an old game. You say Mr. Fish isn’t in. I ask you to tell him I’m here. Again, you say he isn’t in.”

  “I’m following you so far.”

  “But here’s where it gets complicated, so pay close attention. My next line is: If you don’t go inside and tell Mr. Fish that I’m waiting to see him, I’m going to call the state homicide commander, who will in turn send ten sq
uad cars packed with dozens of police personnel right to this very door.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Can we move this along now, Steven?”

  “Jesse Stone, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Steven buzzed himself into Gino’s inner sanctum. Jesse meandered around the office, looking at the various paintings and sculptures that were on display there.

  Steven returned.

  “Mr. Fish is in,” he said.

  As Jesse brushed past Steven on his way inside, he punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Some fun, huh,” he said.

  Gino was seated at his desk, thumbing through a sheaf of papers. Behind him, leaning against a wall, listening through a pair of earbuds to a minuscule iPod, stood Vinnie Morris.

  Jesse approached the desk and waited. When he came to the end of a page, Gino looked up at him.

  “Jesse Stone,” he said, his face breaking into a crooked grin.

  “Ta-da,” Jesse said.

  Jesse looked at Vinnie, who nodded to him.

  “Sit down, Jesse Stone,” Gino said. “It’s so rare we have visitors to our little chapel. What brings you?”

  “The force of your personality.”

  “It is forceful, isn’t it? But then again, so is yours. Or at least that’s what I’m hearing.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “It’s amazing to me how deeply you manage to piss people off,” Gino said.

  “It’s a gift,” Jesse said.

  “One that keeps giving,” Gino said.

  “Can we quit speaking in tongues, Gino? This associate of yours has become a major nuisance.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He not only set up shop in my backyard, but he killed someone in the process. I sent him a warning, which he appears to have ignored. Now it’s become personal.”

  “I would surmise that the feelings are mutual.”

  “This stops now, Gino.”

  “That may be beyond my control.”

  “It’s not beyond mine.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Neutrality.”

  Vinnie Morris appeared not to be listening, but Jesse knew otherwise. Vinnie met Jesse’s gaze with one of his own.

  “I’m going to force the issue,” Jesse said.

  “How uncharacteristic of you.”

  “It may not be pretty.”

  Gino took a cigar from the box on his desk. He offered one to Jesse. They both unwrapped their cigars. Jesse held his out for Gino to clip. Gino did so. He flicked his lighter and held it to Jesse’s cigar. Then he fired up his own.

  The two men smoked in silence.

  “You’re telling me this because . . .” Gino said.

  “Because I like you.”

  “I’m flattered,” Gino said.

  Then he stood up and nodded to Vinnie Morris.

  “It was nice seeing you, Jesse Stone,” he said.

  Vinnie Morris escorted Jesse to the door. Jesse turned back to Gino.

  “Thanks for the cigar,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it,” Gino said.

  Vinnie saw him out.

  36

  It was late afternoon and Jesse was nearing Paradise on his way back from Boston when his cell phone rang.

  “We’ve got a hostage situation at the junior high school,” Molly said.

  “Tell me,” Jesse said.

  “What we know is that an eighth-grader, a girl, has taken the principal hostage. She has a gun and is threatening to shoot.”

  “I’m on my way,” Jesse said.

  He turned on his siren and his light bar, and pressed heavily on the accelerator.

  By the time he arrived at the junior high, several members of the Paradise police force were already there. He found Suitcase at the main entrance. The two men went inside the building.

  “Talk to me,” Jesse said.

  “Fourteen-year-old girl,” Suit said. “She’s in Mrs. Nelson’s office with her.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No,” Suit said. “Classes were finished for the day. There were very few people in the building.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “We’ve kept it under wraps, Jesse. I know how you feel about the media.”

  “Good work, Suit. Take me to the office.”

  “You gonna go in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Girl’s got a gun.”

  “She got a name?”

  “Lisa Barry.”

  Jesse stood at the door to Eleanor Nelson’s office. He knocked on it.

  “Lisa,” he said. “This is Police Chief Stone.”

  After several moments, the girl answered.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “May I come in?”

  “I’ve got a gun.”

  “I heard,” Jesse said.

  “I’m not afraid to use it.”

  “May I come in? I want to talk with you.”

  “I don’t want to talk. If you come in, I’ll shoot the bitch.”

  “At least give me a chance.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “That’s a laugh.”

  “I’m not here to harm you, Lisa. At least hear me out. If you still feel the same way after, then you can shoot.”

  “Like you won’t try to take the gun away from me,” Lisa said.

  “I give you my promise that I will come in unarmed and not make any attempt to take your gun.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because I’m the police chief and I want to help you,” Jesse said.

  Lisa didn’t say anything.

  “Give me a chance, Lisa. I’m not your enemy.”

  After a beat, she said, “Okay.”

  Jesse cautiously opened the door. He stepped slowly into the room. He nudged the door closed with his foot. He held his hands in the air.

  “No gun. See,” he said.

  Lisa was in front of the principal’s desk. She was holding what looked to be a Cobra Derringer automatic. It was pointed at Mrs. Nelson.

  Eleanor Nelson was in her mid-forties. She wore a plain gray suit. Medium-length drab brown hair framed her long, pale face, which was marred by two raw-looking scratches.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Nelson,” Jesse said.

  Mrs. Nelson nodded.

  Jesse turned to Lisa.

  “What’s this about, Lisa,” he said.

  “This bitch doesn’t deserve to live. I’m going to kill her.”

  Lisa leaned across the desk and pressed the pistol into the side of Mrs. Nelson’s head. She raked it along her cheek, causing the woman to cringe.

  “Bitch,” Lisa shouted, in Mrs. Nelson’s face.

  “Talk to me, Lisa. Tell me why you’re doing this,” Jesse said.

  “Because she’s a bitch.”

  Jesse looked at Lisa. Fourteen. Not yet womanly. Slender. Resolute. Stressed.

  “Can you tell me what happened,” he said.

  Lisa relaxed somewhat. She lowered the pistol and moved back.

  “She wouldn’t listen. I told her.”

  “You told her what?”

  “About the girls.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “How they ragged on me. How they wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Which girls?”

  “The Lincoln Village girls. The clique,” Lisa said.

  “What about the Lincoln Village girls?”

  “They’re like a gang. They think they’re better than everybody. They only talk to themselves. They bully people.”

  “How do they bully people?”

  “They torture them. They gang up on them. They punch them.”

  “Did they punch you?”

  “Yes. They would wait for me. After school. Sometimes before school.”

  “And?”

  “And they would take turns sma
cking me around,” Lisa said.

  “How often did this happen?”

  “A lot. Sometimes every day. I told this bitch about it, and she did nothing.”

  “You told Mrs. Nelson?”

  “Yes.”

  Jesse turned to the principal. “Did she tell you about this?”

  “She accosted me in the parking lot one afternoon and started telling me about some girls who were bullying her,” Mrs. Nelson said.

  “And?”

  “I told her that the parking lot was not the place to discuss it.”

  “You didn’t talk to her?”

  “I told her to make an appointment to see me.”

  “Lisa, is this what happened?”

  “She said, ‘Not now.’ Then she got in her car and drove away.”

  “Did she ask you to make an appointment to see her,” Jesse said.

  “She might have.”

  “Did you make an appointment with her?”

  “Her assistant told me the bitch was too busy to see me. She told me to talk to my homeroom teacher.”

  “Do you often see students with problems, Mrs. Nelson?”

  “On occasion.”

  “Were you aware that Lisa was trying to make an appointment with you?”

  “No.”

  “An upset student accosts you in a parking lot. You tell her to make an appointment. None is made. Did you wonder why?”

  “I’m very busy, Chief Stone. I don’t remember ever thinking of the incident again.”

  “Did you speak with your homeroom teacher, Lisa,” Jesse said.

  “Yeah, right. Like that dipshit would give me the time of day.”

  “So you didn’t speak with her?”

  “Him. Mr. Tauber. He doesn’t give a shit about me. He only cares about the Lincoln Village girls. They sit on his lap.”

  Jesse looked at Mrs. Nelson, who looked away.

  “So you didn’t actually speak with anyone about the Lincoln Village girls?”

  “I tried to speak with her again,” Lisa said, pointing at Mrs. Nelson. “Things had gotten worse. They were beating me up every day. Sometimes twice a day.”

  Jesse didn’t say anything.

  “So I waited after school. In the hall. When Miss Shit-for-Brains here came out, I tried to tell her. Again, she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Is this true, Mrs. Nelson?”