The Hard Bounce

by Todd Robinson

  “I don’t want to watch it,” he said. “And it’s not up to you or me to decide. Get this guy. Turn him in. You’ve got evidence.”

  “No way. No way am I trusting this guy to the system.”

  “Bullshit, Boo! Bullshit! More often than not, it does work.”

  “But sometimes it doesn’t.”

  Dog sighed and turned away from me. “If the law is so ass-backward in your estimation, if we’re such fuck-ups on my side of the fence, what do you want from me?”

  “If push comes to shove? I want your alibi.”

  Underdog huffed a short, sharp laugh, but he still didn’t look at me. “Why? Because my alibi just might hold a little weight because I’m a cop?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Dog turned his head slightly to me, but he was still unable or unwilling to look at me. “You are some piece of work, Boo Malone. Really. A piece of work.” With that, he walked off.

  I’d gambled on Underdog. On his support. I was a fool to do so. But it still didn’t change a thing.

  As I walked back toward Haymarket and the Green T line, a movement caught my attention out the corner of my eye.

  Deep in shadow, stood The Boy.

  He looked up, one small hand touching the dolphin sculpture.

  Chapter Fourteen

  How the hell was I supposed to see Kelly again and not tell her what we’d seen? How could we face Barnes, much less Donnelly? “Hi. Didn’t find your daughter, but I have a video of her being raped and stuck like a piglet. Can we have some money now?”

  Not to mention Emily, and all that the information on her could have represented—even though I still wasn’t positive I wanted it.

  So I walked. I walked past Faneuil Hall. The evening fog swirled in the low walk lights as small groups of tourists milled about. A few couples on romantic strolls, holding hands. I was the only solo pedestrian in the area.

  Being alone was a set of feelings I’d long come to terms with. But this was a new kind of alone for me. I don’t know. It hurt. It hurt me in places I didn’t know were still wired into my nervous system.

  I didn’t know what I thought Underdog would say. Maybe a part of me wanted him to try and talk me out of it.

  So I wandered. I didn’t feel like hanging at The Cellar. It was too easy there. I would start drinking again, and drunk was a comfortable womb I’d been finding my way into far too often lately.

  Another hour and a half of wandering, and I was standing in front of the coffee shop I’d gone to after corralling Kelly home. It was almost 1 A.M. As far as ideas went, it seemed like my least stupid of the week, at least. I retraced my steps to her door and rang the buzzer before reason and common sense could lead me elsewhere. I wound up there for a purpose, though I’d be damned if I could name it.

  I gave myself fifty-fifty odds that Kelly would even answer the buzzer. Something in me desperately needed to see her, to see this woman I barely knew, while another, smaller piece wanted to run away and hide in a corner.

  To my surprise, the door just buzzed open and I walked in. At the apartment door, Kelly peeked out from behind the security chain. The one eye I could see widened in surprise when it saw me.

  “Boo?” She said it in a hushed, curious tone. Like she was expecting someone else.

  Maybe she was.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Did I wake you?” She had on a pair of light blue pajamas and horn-rimmed granny glasses, so she was obviously in bed. I just didn’t have much else to say. I still wasn’t sure why I’d shown up.

  She shook her head. “Uh, no.” She took the security chain off and opened the door. “I had to get up to open my door.”

  “I’m sorry… I’ll go…”

  I turned, but she reached out and tenderly touched my bruised face with her fingertips. “What happened?”

  Until she pointed it out, I hadn’t realized I still looked as bad as I felt. “There was this pack of dingos, an orphan…”

  She smirked, rolled her eyes. “Nobody likes a smartass, Boo.”

  “Really? I’ve spent my life counting on somebody appreciating that quality in me.”

  “Never mind. Get in here.”

  “Were you expecting someone else?” I had to ask.

  “Yeah. Occasional booty call. Likes to show up unannounced right about now,” she said, smirk widening a touch. She must have seen something in my face that said I wasn’t sure whether she was kidding or not. “I’m kidding.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. “Nobody likes a smartass, Reese.”

  “Heard that.”

  “The way you buzzed me in, you’re lucky I wasn’t some wacko.”

  “Remains to be seen. Besides, I had Spike at the ready.” She held up her left hand. A spectacular pair of modified brass knuckles engulfed her small fist. At the strike point sat four nasty, inch-long spikes. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get hit with them, even if it was by a girl. “Present from Daddy before I moved to the big, scary city,” she said as she walked back into her bedroom.

  Kelly dropped Spike onto her night table with a thump and jumped into her bed, yawning deeply. “So, what’s going on?”

  “I… um, was in the neighborhood.” It was true. Still sounded wicked retarded.

  “What time is it, anyway?”

  I didn’t bother looking at my watch. “It’s late. Too late for me to be stopping in. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re already here. I’m already awake, and I’m not mad. I’ve been trying to reach you again. Got a present for you.”

  She stood up and leaned over to her purse on her bureau. She pulled out a cell phone. “Here.”

  “Present from the boss?”

  “Present from me. Getting tired of calling all around town looking for you. It’s prepaid and all set up. I even programmed a couple numbers for you.” She tumbled into bed again and patted the space next to her. “C’mere.”

  I sat next to her on the bed. She leaned over and kissed me right on the point of the jaw where Sid’s fist had nearly removed it from my melon a day earlier. The blood in my veins stopped dead for a second, confused as to where to go. “What was that for?” I asked.

  “That was for taking care of me the other night. I’m sorry it was so awkward in the morning.” She moved her lips a little higher and softly kissed my busted lip.

  “What was that one for?”

  “That was because I wanted to.” She wrapped herself around me in a warm embrace. “To let you know I still think you’re an attractive man, even when I’m sober.”

  “Hmm,” was all I managed banter-wise.

  “This isn’t, you know, bothering you, is it?”

  Bothering me was the last thing it was doing. “No. It’s fine.” My voice sounded flat in my ears.

  She let me go and turned my face to hers. “What’s wrong?” she asked firmly. “Is it me?”

  “No… listen. I… I think you’re very attractive, but…”

  I wanted to kiss her, badly. I wanted to lose myself in a simple act of physical intimacy.

  Flashing knife.

  A touch that wasn’t violent. That didn’t hurt. That wouldn’t make me bleed.

  APA PANA

  The softness of her pajamas against my fingers.

  Clothes torn off.

  Hair, smelling of vanilla shampoo.

  Cut off.

  An inch of smooth white skin, bellybutton underneath her pajama top.

  Red.

  I stood up, gasping, my breath struggling inside my tightened chest. “I think I should go.”

  Kelly drew her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. Quietly, she said, “Maybe you should.”

  I took a step. Stopped and just blurted, “I don’t think we’re going to find Cassandra.” It was the truth. Just not the whole truth. It was the first time I’d vocalized it, and the twinge of accompanying guilt rocked me.

  Kelly didn’t say anything. I let my last sentence
hang in the air. Finally, she said, “Did you get close?”

  “Close enough. As close as we’re gonna get.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s a tough girl. If Mr. Donnelly has to go to the police, he’ll go to the police.”

  “I…” I wanted to scream. She’s not fine! I failed! I fucking failed her! I clamped my jaw tight and put my face in my hands, massaging my temples.

  “Hey,” she said as she stood up from the bed. She lifted my chin with her fingers. I let her. Her lips curled in a small, sad pout as she looked me in the eyes. “It’ll be fine.”

  Softly, she pressed her lips to my mouth again. Her kisses became firmer as she slid me back onto the bed. I moved my hands down to the small of her back and pulled her to me, pressed her tight against me.

  She traced her hands under my shirt, fingers working their way up my stomach to the mass of scar tissue on my chest. I tensed self-consciously. She paused when she reached the lumpy concave over my heart.

  I waited, eyes closed.

  She didn’t ask.

  Instead, she kissed me even harder as she pulled my shirt over my head.

  My hands explored the soft skin under her clothes. For the first time in days, the rot in my heart and mind was melting away rather than building. The ache in my spirit washing away, overwhelmed by want… by my need for her.

  No dead girls.

  No knives.

  No bad things.

  The phone on her nightstand rang.

  “Don’t answer it,” I said, hoping it wasn’t the booty call she said she was kidding about. When the answering machine clicked on, I almost wished it was.

  It was motherfucking Junior.

  “Boo? You there? If you’re there, pick up the goddamn phone. This is important. Kelly? If he’s not there, I apologize. If you’re there, pick up the fucking phone!”

  I cursed and grabbed the phone before he could continue. “What?” I hollered into the mouthpiece.

  “Ah-ha! Busted!”

  I swallowed a big gulp of murderous intent. “Three questions, Junior. One, how did you know I was here?” I’d never said a word to him about the other night or the kiss. And bar gossip (Audrey leapt to mind) would only have taken him so far. “Two, how did you get this number? Three, you’re an asshole. And four, what the fuck do you want?”

  “You said only three questions.”

  “Three wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.”

  “Okay, Mr. Grumpypants. One, you must think I’m a moron. Two, you left her card on the desk. Three, you wouldn’t have me any other way. And four, we might have the son of a bitch.”

  Ice water trickled down the back of my neck I spoke very slowly. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think we got him, Boo.”

  “Please tell me he’s not at The Cellar.”

  Kelly put her hand on my shoulder. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

  I answered her with a quick thumb-to-forefinger okay, even though I was light-headed, near hyperventilation. “Junior, please, please tell me he’s not there right now.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the nutsack? No, but we got a line, brother.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Get back here and find out.”

  “Tell me, Junior.”

  “I have to leave some mystery, don’t I, player? Stuff your blue balls back in your Dickies and get over here.”

  Click.

  The phone went dead in my hand.

  I’m gonna kill that little Irish fucker one day.

  All in one blazing series of motions, I called for a cab, apologized to Kelly, then kissed her with a passion and energy I didn’t have five minutes before the phone call. After the longest ride of my life, I threw some money at the driver and hustled myself, blue balls and all, into The Cellar.

  G.G. stood at the door with Junior. When he spotted me, Junior grinned like the dog that ate the cat that ate the canary. He opened his arms wide. “We got a clue!”

  Without breaking stride, I kicked Junior square in the nuts. The top of my sneaker smacked with a pop against his crotch.

  Junior groaned and flopped over.

  “Damn!” G.G. jumped back, reflexively covering his own junk.

  Junior rolled back and forth on the ground in a fetal position.

  “Help me get him downstairs,” I said to G.G. We each hooked an arm under Junior and dragged him down the flight. The bands were done for the night, so we had the space to ourselves.

  I went into the walk-in beer cooler and cracked myself a Boddingtons can. I didn’t really want to drink, but I was cotton-mouthed from the adrenaline dump. I also hoped the frigid air would bring down my half-erection still clinging to life and repress any urges to kick Junior’s package again. G.G. knocked on the door.

  “I think he’s able to talk now. He stopped dry heaving.”

  I walked out into night air that felt hotter than before. Junior sat atop the bar, jeans around his ankles and a bar rag filled with ice on his lap. He scowled at me and inhaled deep, slow breaths. “That was low, man.”

  “You know what’s low, Junior? That fucking phone call.”

  “But I had a clue.” He really sounded hurt.

  “A clue could have waited until morning. Or at least an hour.”

  G.G. spat a sunflower shell into a barrel. “Have you hit it yet?”

  “That falls under none of your goddamn business, but no.”

  “Were you about to?” He spat another shell and raised an eyebrow at me.

  I shot him a scathing look. “The only fucking I got was from Junior when he called.”

  The eyebrow went higher.

  Junior threw his hands in the air. “So no blood, no foul. Jesus, you’ve been a sensitive bitch lately.”

  “How did you even know I was there?”

  “What am I, an asshole?” I had an answer, but he went on. “Every time her name comes up, your brain drifts off into Loveland. Doesn’t take Spenser to figure that much out, jackass.”

  G.G. chuckled. “You do get all sparkly-eyed and shit when her name comes up.”

  “Shut it.”

  Junior continued. “So when you wasn’t nowhere else, I figured I’d give her number a try. And I was right.” His smug satisfaction was irritating.

  “Yeah. You’re a fucking genius.”

  “You were just about to get a lap dance on the Maloney Pony, weren’t ya?”

  “I can kick you again, Junior.”

  G.G. waved his hands in horror. “Aw, hell no. Not booty interruptus. Kick him again.”

  “Hey!” Junior folded up defensively.

  “What is this shit all about? That is if you two clowns are through fucking with me.”

  Junior held his palms out, setting the moment. “Okay, so I come in and G.G. here is eating his dinner, this thing that looks like some kinda dog-food croissant.”

  “Hey, man,” G.G. said, “that’s my culture you’re fucking with.”

  “That wasn’t no soul food I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s Colombian, you moron.”

  “Yo, G.G.? I don’t want to bust your cultural bubble, but you’re black.”

  “You ignorant little potato-fucker. Ever heard of the Moors?”

  “That’s like a field in England, right?”

  G.G. gave me a “you believe this shit?” face. “In case you didn’t know, the second G in G.G. is for Gonzalez.”

  “Sorry,” Junior sang sarcastically. He turned back to me. “So anyway, G.G. is munching on this hideous looking thing.”

  “It’s called an empanada.”

  “I’m getting to that! Christ!” Junior shook his head in exasperation.

  “This does go somewhere, right?” I said. “Like somewhere close to a point?”

  Junior smiled. “Papa makes ’em.”

  “What?”

  Junior went into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crinkled yellow wrappe
r. He unfolded the grease-smeared wax paper and held it up for me to see.

  My mouth went dry. “How many of these are in the city?”

  Junior grinned. “I gave them a call while you were limping down here.”

  “And?”

  “Only one, my brother. Only one.”

  The wax paper read PAPA’S EMPANADAS in bright red letters. Junior moved his hands over select letters to drive his point home. I didn’t need the visual. I already saw the letters in the logo. I recognized them from the neon image that was burned into my mind.

  APA and PANA.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Stakeout #2.

  We were better prepared for a long night in the car the second time around. First, we went to Junior’s and filled two thermoses with his famous home brew. Coffee is the closest Junior comes to cooking. That said, the man knows how to make a great goddamn cuppa joe. He uses only the finest grounds and, I believe, strains it through old sweat socks.

  Once we’d stockpiled the caffeine and picked up a couple grinders at an all-night packie, we chucked it all into a disposable cooler on Miss Kitty’s backseat. Junior pulled an empty gas can from the trunk for when the coffee punched its way out of our bladders.

  It was close to three in the morning by the time we got to Papa’s and got a parking space. As luck would have it, there was a Store 24 right next to the restaurant. I slipped the clerk a twenty and guaranteed myself use of the bathroom. It was better than sticking my dick in a rusty gas can.

  Junior chose to continue using the gas can. “Meh,” he said, “stuck my dick in worse.”

  Papa’s Empanadas sat on Washington Street, right off Blue Hill Avenue, smack dab between Roxbury and Dorchester. For some people, not the safest place to park and stare. Roxbury is what many of the more polite Bostonians refer to as an “ethnic” neighborhood, while Dorchester is where the working-class Irish migrated generations ago—not the two most compatible cultures. Heaven help any man, woman, or child who accidentally stumbled one block too far. The neighborhood’s inhabitants were tough enough on themselves. They were worse if you didn’t belong there. Above and beyond our lookout for Snake, we had to keep our urban radar set on high for any roving Irish, Puerto Rican, or Black gangs that might want to test our cultural allegiances.