From our vantage point on the driveway we were able to see the Great Hall each time the butler opened the door. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the polished floor glowed.
“My, my,” Hawk said. “How the rich folk live.”
“So Masterpiece Theatre,” I said.
“You did say handguns only,” Vinnie asked.
“Yes. And no shooting if we can help it. We want to get Carmen out of there and leave Alvarez for the Feds. No need to do more.”
“And Slide, if he show up,” said Hawk.
“There is that,” I said.
We spread out and made our way to the house. No guards were visible. No more cars came. We could see the guests in a room to the left of the Great Hall, drinking their martinis. I looked at my watch. Ten after seven. I looked back up and saw that the room was emptying out and guests were headed for the dining room. Vinnie moved into position around the back of the house. Hawk and I stayed by the windows to the dining room and watched. The cold and the tension pressed sharply up against me.
The dining room was ornately decorated, with a large oval table in the center. Sixteen guests were seated around it. The walls were covered with textured rose-colored fabric. There were two heavy silver candelabras on the table, each with eight candles. Each place was set with four crystal goblets, and tiers of silverware. Alvarez sat at one end of the table, resplendent in black tie and tails, flanked by two women with expensive faces talking animatedly across him. He was trying to look interested.
Carmen sat at the other end of the table. She glowed in an emerald-green gown, tastefully low cut. She wore diamond drop earrings that swung when she moved her head. There was no trace of the Carmen I knew, the tomboy who bit her fingernails and served tennis balls like bullets. I watched her talk to the man on her right and then after a few minutes turn to the man on her left. She laughed at their jokes and talked to them with ease.
I looked at the guests at the table, remembering that they might not all be guests. Everyone looked prosperous and slightly dowdy, as befitting old Boston money. Which one of these is not like the others, I thought. My gaze picked up on a youngish couple near Carmen’s end of the table. They were in their forties, and they definitely did not fit the mold. Maybe it was the designer clothes, his five-hundred-dollar haircut, and what appeared to be her inability to make conversation with the distinguished older man next to her. They had to be plants.
Hawk slid back to my side. I signaled him and wordlessly pointed out the faux guests. He nodded.
We waited. I could hear footsteps followed by low Spanish-speaking voices coming from the front of the house, and moved down the side of the house to take a look. There were five of them, wearing kerchiefs for masks. Three of them had rifles and two had pistols.
Hawk had moved up behind me.
“Some militia,” Hawk muttered. “Deer hunting.”
They trooped inside. We drew our guns and followed in behind them. They marched directly through the Great Hall and the parlor and into the dining room, and pointed their weapons at the stunned and by this time tipsy guests. We stayed back, at the edge of the parlor, waiting for Vinnie to appear outside the French doors on the other side of the dining room.
One of the women guests giggled. One of the intruders walked over and slapped her across the face. She screamed. The rest of the guests froze, and the room fell silent. Two of the men held canvas bags and went from guest to guest demanding money and jewelry. Everyone complied except Alvarez. He stood and bellowed, “Who are you? Stop this immediately!” His protests had the air of summer-stock theater.
I saw movement outside and hoped it was Vinnie. Another woman screamed as one of the masked men yanked off her necklace. Just then two men dressed like restaurant captains appeared in the entry with guns. “Drop your weapons,” they shouted at the robbers. The men with the rifles threw their weapons on the floor, while the two with pistols stood motionless on either side of the archway.
“Here we go,” Hawk said. He stepped through the archway and put his gun against the neck of the closest gunman. I darted back out to the Great Hall and into the kitchen. The kitchen staff was busy preparing plates when I entered. I put my finger to my lips and waved my gun at them. They froze. I pushed through the door to the dining room just as Vinnie kicked in the French doors and entered, his Glock drawn. The guests were silent with terror. Hawk had moved with his man along the side of the wall, facing the table and the windows and with a clear view of the archway. “Everyone drop their guns or we shoot. Your choice,” I said. The guards were holding their guns on the masked men as well.
Alvarez was trembling. He looked baffled.
“Spenser? What in the world is this?”
For a moment, the air was tight and nothing happened. And then everything happened at once.
One of the restaurant captains raised his pistol and pointed it at Carmen. Vinnie turned and shot him in the chest. The captain crumpled to the floor in front of Alvarez. The man I had pegged as a plant reached under the tablecloth. I saw the glitter of the candlelight on his gun as he trained it on Carmen.
“Carmen!” Slide appeared in the archway and let out a piercing scream.
Before I could shoot, Carmen grabbed a knife from the table and flicked it at the seated assassin. It struck his chest and sent him toppling backward.
The other captain lowered into a crouch and fired at Slide. Hawk pushed his prisoner into the gunman on the other side of the archway, grabbed Slide and yanked him to the floor. Hawk pulled Slide toward him and covered him with his body.
Vinnie shot the second captain in the face, then swung his weapon toward the two gunmen heaped at the right of the archway.
Alvarez reached for the gun dropped by the first captain. I put my foot on the gun and my .44 against his forehead.
“I’ll say this for you, Juan,” I said. “You throw a hell of a party.”
In a moment the room was swarming with state police and guys in flak jackets with automatic weapons. Healy walked through the kitchen.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” I said.
“We came in as soon as we heard the scream,” he said. “It sounded like you.” He looked around.
“Good thing we got here before you shot everybody. Nice to have some witnesses survive, in case we want to bring someone to trial.”
Slide had scrambled over to Carmen, who held him in a tight hug. Hawk stood as Healy and I approached.
In a single move, Healy palmed Hawk’s gun from the floor. His voice was low and even when he spoke.
“You hit anyone with this?” he said to Hawk.
Hawk shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
Healy continued to look at Hawk, but his next question was for me.
“I assume you’ve got a permit for your piece?”
“You know I do,” I said. “Do you want to see it.”
“No,” Healy said. He scratched at his chin.
“Kind of foolish of you, Spenser,” he said, “to let this man walk into a situation like this without a weapon.” He handed me Hawk’s gun. I dropped it in my pocket. “I’m going to have to put that in my report.”
He nodded at Hawk. Hawk nodded back. Healy turned and walked away.
We surveyed the room. The surviving gunmen were being handcuffed, and stretchers were being brought in for the less fortunate. The guests were being questioned, and the bags of loot were being examined and inventoried. A female trooper was speaking with Carmen and Slide, who continued to cling to each other. Healy and a group of men in suits and FBI flak jackets were gathered around a handcuffed Alvarez, who was staring at the chandelier above the table.
Vinnie had vanished.
I SNUCK OUT OF BED at five a.m. Christmas morning, careful not to disturb Susan or Pearl. Susan stirred, briefly, and Pearl’s eyes opened. “Shhhhh,” I whispe
red to her as I got up. She followed.
It was dark out. Pearl and I walked once around the block, while the oven heated to 300 degrees. The air was crisp, and the day promised to be clear and sunny. “Fa la la la,” I said to Pearl. She stopped to sniff something irresistible by a tree trunk before I was able to lure her back inside for her special Christmas breakfast of scrambled egg and cheese.
I opened the refrigerator and removed the turkey, the duck, and the chicken, which if all went according to plan would be transformed into turducken.
Susan and Hawk and I would be joined by Carmen and Slide. We had invited Vinnie but he had declined. I looked at the birds, whose appearance on the counter struck me as somewhat forlorn. I had never made this dish before, but I would persevere. The kitchen clock read five-forty-five. Dinner was at two p.m. The turducken should go into the oven at nine a.m. I had one Christmas Day visit to make, and the timing was tight. I said to Pearl, “Why don’t you make yourself useful? I’ll take the turkey, you take the duck.” She yawned and went to the sofa for her post-breakfast nap.
I got out the metal skewers and the big roasting pan. I made the herb mixture of butter, garlic, sage, and thyme. Then I spread the mixture between the skin and the turkey breast meat, and repeated this with the duck and the chicken.
I made two different stuffings, the turkey getting a mixture of cornbread, pork sausage, chopped onion, celery, olive oil, kosher salt, and fresh ground pepper.
The duck stuffing was made up of fresh and dried cranberries, orange peel, and French bread cubes. The chicken got more of the cornbread stuffing. I skewered the back of the duck closed and the back of the chicken. Then I brought the sides of the duck up to cover the chicken and skewered it closed and repeated it with the turkey. I felt vaguely as if I were on ER.
I turned the turducken over so the breast side was up and removed all the skewers except the one holding the turkey together.
I checked the clock. Seven-thirty. Susan had set her alarm for eight-thirty and had promised to put the monster in the oven at nine. I took a quick shower, shaved, put on some jeans and a heavy sweater and my parka.
I got in my car and drove to St. Bart’s. Father Ahearn was scheduled to say a ten a.m. Mass. Inside the church, I caught sight of him near the altar.
He saw me and smiled. “Merry Christmas, Spenser,” he said in a low voice. “Thank you for coming.”
“Merry Christmas, Father. Thank you for helping Jackie Alvarez and Street Business.”
He nodded and led me to the side of the altar, where we couldn’t be seen from the pews.
“So you have heard.”
“Yes, Father. It sounds like a perfect solution. I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Spenser.” He smiled. “The archdiocese of Boston, and this parish in particular, have a strong reputation in the area of social justice, and a close relationship with the city of Boston. The city is happy to have us take over the work of Street Business, and we are blessed to do so. And we pray for Mr. Alvarez’s swift recovery. When he is healthy, there will be a place for him in our ministry.” His eyes twinkled. “Who knows,” he said. “We may yet have many buildings to manage in that neighborhood.”
We had reached the massive door.
“So, Spenser, will we see you at Christmas Mass this morning?”
“I am afraid not, Father. But believe me, I will be giving thanks.”
“And we will be praying for you. And we will be praying for Juan Alvarez and his family as well. We are all God’s children, regardless of our faith or our deeds.”
“‘Those I fight I do not hate; those I guard I do not love,’” I said.
“‘And say my glory was I had such friends,’” Father Ahearn said, and we walked together toward the front of the church. People were beginning to drift in. “I see you are a Yeats man, too.”
“My father gave me a book of his poetry when I was a boy,” I said.
Father Ahearn shook my hand. “Merry Christmas, Spenser. May God be with you.”
“And also with you, Father.” I said. Some things you just didn’t forget.
SUSAN HAD SET THE TABLE, and it was worthy of a spread in Architectural Digest. First an antique white linen tablecloth, then tall, delicate red wine goblets from a Venetian glassblower. Green linen napkins, big ones, enough to withstand the rigors of the turducken mess, or whatever Pearl didn’t get to first. The silver place settings, the pattern elegant in its simplicity, gleamed.
I poured champagne for all but Slide, who was having orange juice with a big maraschino cherry. We sat in a circle. Carmen and Susan were on the sofa, with Pearl between them. The women were admiring the pin Slide had given Carmen. I sat in an armchair opposite them, Slide on a footstool inspecting the blue Razor that Carmen had given him, and Hawk was in the loveseat opposite me.
I had finished the sweet potatoes, the brussels sprouts with walnuts, and savoy cabbage. The gravy was made. The turducken had come out of the oven and was loosely tented with aluminum foil, waiting for its half-hour before it had rested enough to carve. Pearl’s gaze had not wavered.
Paul had called just before we sat down, and Susan and I took turns talking with him. We would visit him in January, after the debris was cleared from Times Square.
Carmen and Susan were doing most of the talking. Hawk and I were content to look and listen.
“Hawk,” Susan said, “do you have a special holiday tradition, other than spending the day with Spenser and me?”
“Celtics–Lakers game on at four,” he said. “Thought I’d ask if I could watch it here.”
Susan pointed at me. “He seems to know how to get sports on my television.”
Hawk smiled. “I know that’s not the only reason he come over here. Never understood the reason why you let him in.”
“So what do you think Vinnie is doing on Christmas.”
“Vinnie doing the same thing Vinnie do every day,” Hawk said. “Get up, have breakfast. Go practice shooting, have lunch. Go shoot somebody or drink coffee all afternoon. Have dinner, buy some tail, go home and go to sleep.”
Silence filled the room.
“What a delightful Christmas story,” Susan said. “Thank you, Hawk.”
“’Course.” Hawk smiled. “You did ask.”
She lifted her glass to me, and then included all of us. “I think it’s time for a toast. Merry Christmas to all, and how lucky we are to spend it together.”
The dinner was a great success. I carved, and Susan served. The turducken was the center of attention. “Wow!” said Slide, on seeing the layers of turkey, duck, and chicken with stuffing between. “That’s cool!”
“An engineering masterpiece,” Susan said. Carmen raised her glass of champagne. “Are we lucky, or what?”
Hawk took a forkful and said, “I got to admit, I feel sorry for all those folks out there with their little bitty one-bird dinners.”
I dropped a bite on the floor with furtive dexterity so that Pearl could partake. The faces around the table were a little different this year. And that was good.
AFTER DINNER, SUSAN STARTED to clear the table.
“Leave those,” I said. “Hawk and I will take care of the dishes.”
“In that case,” Susan said, “I think I’ll have a quick lie-down. Watching you cook is exhausting.”
I promised to call her in an hour.
Hawk, Carmen, Slide, and I formed a pretty efficient kitchen crew. The dishes were washed and put away, and the kitchen was as spotless as if we’d never been there.
“I think Slide needs to run around outside a little,” Carmen said. “It’s not good for a boy to be stuck inside all day.”
“There’s too much snow to use the Razor,” I said. “I think there’s an old basketball in the closet. There’s a hoop up on the garage door. I brought
it over here once to fool myself into thinking I’d get some exercise. You two can practice.”
“I love a challenge.” Carmen grinned.
“You going to come, too, Hawk?” Slide asked.
“No,” he said. “Game’s about to start. Plus, playing in the snow’s bad for my image.”
Slide and Carmen bundled up against the cold. I rummaged around the closet and found the basketball. We went outside, and Slide started running, tossing it up at the hoop, hitting the rim, the ball falling back into the snowdrift. He ran, picked it up, and tried again.
Carmen and I watched Slide. I said, “You serve a table knife with amazing power. You’re good.”
“Thanks. That’s years of practice. We were so poor back in Puerto Rico, my dad gave me anything handy to practice my serve with. He’d have me toss ’em up in the air over and over again. Then get my racquet back and swing using my wrist.” She paused. “He taught me to defend myself, too. I guess the other night the two came together. Instinct. I saw that gun and grabbed whatever was handy and used everything I had ever learned about speed, accuracy, and power.” She looked up at me. “Lucky, right?”
“Maybe you were lucky he was a slow draw. I’d say it had more to do with courage and talent than luck. Now that you are free of Juan, what are you going to do?” I smiled at her. “You don’t have to look for trouble.”
“I thought I might help Jackie at Street Business. And take Slide to live with me. We both need to go back to school.” She smiled at me.
I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, sport.”
I left them and went back inside.
Hawk was standing by the window in Susan’s living room, watching Slide and Carmen play in the front yard. The NBA pregame show was on the television. Stuart Scott was bantering with Mike Tirico in Los Angeles.
“Well,” I said, “another successful Spenser family Christmas.”
Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel Page 11
