Robert B. Parker's Blind Spot

by Reed Farrel Coleman

  She wasn’t pleased about having to turn down Jesse Stone’s dinner invitation. She thought she could get used to living in Paradise as long as Jesse was part of the deal. There was just something about him beyond the fierce sex and the good looks. He was so self-contained, so sure of himself. Yet there was a kind of melancholy in him, a promise unfulfilled, that sang to her. She wondered if he was even aware of it. Why was it that wounded men appealed to women? She couldn’t explain it. But who was she fooling? She had been living behind a veil of lies for so long she had actually started believing them herself. There was no future for her in Paradise. Jesse would find out she’d been lying to him soon enough and then their cozy little romance of omelets and old uniform shirts would collapse under its own weight. She could tell Jesse was no saint, but he was not a man to be lied to. That much was evident. What more, she thought, could sleeping with Vic cost her than the price she was already bound to pay?

  Jesse and Vic would have to wait. For the moment, she was more concerned with the cryptic message she’d received from Abe Rosen. She’d also been a little worried about Kayla and her failure to text or call as she had promised, but her worries about Kayla didn’t run deep. As composed as Kayla had seemed when she drove away from the hotel, it couldn’t have been that easy for her to leave Vic. Regardless of the damage each had done to the other, they had spent twenty years together. You don’t just turn your back on that as if walking out on a bad movie. Our worst habits are the hardest to break. So she guessed she understood how calling could have slipped Kayla’s mind.

  She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and recognized Abraham Rosen’s touch. They had been close and, on more than one occasion, come close to crossing the line, but Abe had stopped them from making that mistake. They had been each other’s only ally back at the Bureau, and an office affair would have complicated that, if not ruined it altogether. But that was before Diana had, to Rosen’s way of thinking, gone mad and set out on her single-minded quest. She was as good as lost to him now.

  “Hello, Diana.”

  Abe Rosen looked the part. He was square-jawed, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, and wore his wavy black hair cropped close to his head. He had hazel eyes that ran to green and a neutral mouth. Even dressed casually as he was in a navy blue blazer, khaki pants, a yellow golf shirt, and deck shoes, he looked like a government agent. He had come to the Bureau the old-fashioned way, out of law school. He had done his time in the field and made some big white-collar cases in Phoenix before getting transferred to headquarters. He had always dreamed of making it to D.C. Since then he had been more judicious in his dreams.

  Diana folded herself into Abe’s arms and sobbed. She had been on an island by herself for so many months that just being next to him overwhelmed her. He let her cry, stroking her hair, but he was careful not to say that everything would be all right. He didn’t believe in lying to friends.

  “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

  They found a bar a few blocks from Fenway. It wasn’t very crowded, as it was a travel day for the Sox. They slid into a back booth and ordered a couple beers.

  “So what are you doing here?” Diana said, taking a sip of her IPA.

  “I took a few days. Figured I’d come see the sights, catch a Sox game.”

  “Bullshit! You grew up a Yankees fan and the Sox are on the road. In any case, you aren’t the type to just take a few days off impulsively.”

  He took a gulp of his lager. “I came to ask you to come back to work, Di. The bosses are getting antsy and I’ve heard rumblings that they’re going to start looking into your leave situation. If they—”

  “No. Not now. I’m close. I can feel it.”

  “You said that eight months ago. Then you said it five months ago and last month. This is crazy,” he said.

  She slid out of the booth and stood over Abe. “I love you for doing this, but I’m not coming back now.”

  “If you won’t do it for yourself, Di, do it for me.”

  She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “I would do almost anything for you, Abe. There was a time I would have done anything for you.”

  He curled up the corners of his lips. “I figured you’d say no. Come on, sit back down. Talk to me for five more minutes. I did come all this way to see you.”

  When she did as he asked, Abe reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a folded brown envelope, and slid it across the table.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  “Probably a mistake.”

  “Abe!”

  “Open it up. It’s some eyes-on stuff from the Boston PD you might find interesting.”

  He sipped his beer as Diana studied the surveillance photos inside the envelope. Her eyes were blank as she scanned the first few photos.

  “So who are these people?” she asked.

  “Keep going.”

  “Holy shit! That’s—”

  “Vic Prado,” he said.

  “Who are these other people?”

  “Here.” He gestured for the photos, which she slid across the tabletop to him. He pointed. “This guy is Mike Frazetta. He’s Boston Mob. Started out in Lowell. Worked his way up. He’s an up-and-comer, but kicks upstairs to Gino Fish. Mostly runs book, some drugs, loan sharking, money laundering.”

  Diana smiled. “Lowell!”

  “That’s right.” Abe nodded. “Lowell, just like Vic Prado.”

  “So that’s Mike. Vic and Kayla sometimes talked about a guy Vic knew named Mike. Kayla hated it when his name came up, but she wouldn’t talk about it. And this guy?”

  “That’s Joe Breen. He’s a bad boy, Joe. Frazetta’s enforcer. Lots of arrests. Done some time. One long bid for assault. Want to guess where he’s from?”

  “Lowell.”

  “Bingo!”

  “And the woman?” Diana said.

  “The wife. Lorraine Frazetta.”

  “Lowell, too, I suppose.”

  “Apparently, they’ve all known each other since they were kids.”

  “Where’d you get this stuff, Abe?”

  “I told you, Boston PD. Guy in the OC division owed me a few favors.”

  “But why now?” she said. “Why haven’t we known about the connection between Frazetta and Vic Prado before this?”

  “Because he hasn’t shown up at Frazetta’s house until now. Twice in the last several days, apparently.”

  “Why does the Boston PD have Frazetta under surveillance?”

  Abe shrugged. “Could be a million reasons. A CI whispered in somebody’s ear. Something Frazetta did tripped a red flag. Who knows?”

  “And why did this friend in the Boston PD give this to you?”

  “For crissakes, Di, stop asking dumb questions.” He finished his beer. “I’m trying to help you here.”

  She smiled at him. “Watch out, Abe, your New York is showing.”

  He laughed. It didn’t last.

  “What do you think it means, Vic showing up at Frazetta’s house like this?” she said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

  She stared at the photos some more, an angry expression on her face.

  “What’s with the face?” he said.

  “If they had only let me follow my gut on Prado. Let me do some digital surveillance on the guy. If they—”

  “But they didn’t, Di!” Abe stood up. “They didn’t, and now you’ve fucked up your career. For what?”

  She waved the photos at him. “For what’s right, Abe. For the truth.”

  “Truth! Whose truth? What truth? Those photos don’t mean anything. They’re evidence of a guy visiting an old friend. I knew this was a mistake.”

  “Then why’d you come?” she said.

  “If you have to ask that question, then I really am wasting my time.”

  She tried handing the
surveillance photos back to him.

  “Keep them,” he said. “Consider them my contribution to your obsession. Use them to build an altar to the guy. Burn some candles at his shrine.”

  “I’m going to get him, Abe. You’ll see.”

  “Maybe you will, Di, but it won’t end well.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Ahab found Moby-Dick. Look how that wound up. Good-bye, Diana.”

  He leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth. He was gone by the time she could make any sense of things. Then she checked her phone. Still no call from Kayla.

  49

  When Jesse heard the knock on his door, he checked his watch. It was pretty late for a social call. He hoped that Dee had changed her mind or that her plans had fallen through. There had been many women in his life before, during, and after Jenn. He had enjoyed his time with most of them, but there were very few that stayed with him throughout his day the way Dee did. He hated to admit to himself that Jenn had been the only woman to ever occupy his mind in an all-consuming way, and she hadn’t been in his life for years. Before Dee, no one had even been in Jenn’s league.

  If it was Dee, Jesse decided, he’d have that talk with her about what he felt she was hiding from him. He would do it if for no other reason than to get Dix’s voice out of his head. Sometimes, Jesse thought, Dix’s purpose in life was to be an irritant. To be that grain of sand in his oyster. Whatever Dix’s intentions, his methods worked. Then, as he put his hand on the doorknob, another less appealing thought crossed his mind. What if it wasn’t Dee? What if it was Kayla again? Although they had all managed to get through the other morning like reasonable adults, Jesse wasn’t up for a repeat. His sleeping with Kayla would probably get to Vic like nothing else could, but using a woman, even one who had dumped him the way Kayla had, wasn’t Jesse’s style. He believed in dealing with things man-to-man and had little respect for people who slinked around in the shadows. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Though Jesse was slow to react to the punch out of confusion at seeing Vic Prado on the other side of his threshold, he jerked his head quickly enough to the left so that Vic’s haymaker didn’t connect squarely. Instead, it was more of a glancing blow to Jesse’s right cheek, a knuckle barely grazing the corner of his eye. The shot stung and the vision in his eye blurred. Unless you’ve ever been hit in the face, you can’t appreciate how painful a blow, even a glancing one, can be. Jesse could deal with the pain. He was more concerned about his eyesight. He wasn’t staggered by the punch, but he retreated a few steps to create some space between himself and Vic, to give himself a chance to regroup. As he moved farther into his house, Jesse used the heel of his right palm to rub the blurriness out of his eye and to wipe away the reflexive tears.

  His retreat barely bought him enough time. Vic launched himself at Jesse through the open door, bulling his way, head down, as he went. That was a mistake. Jesse sidestepped to his left and unleashed a short, chopping left hand across his body that caught Vic flush on the jaw. Prado went sprawling forward, crashing shoulder first into the wall. But if Jesse thought it was going to end there, he was wrong. Vic may have been many years retired, but he kept in shape. He still possessed the gifts—great hand-eye coordination, resilience, strength, determination—that had made him an all-star second baseman. As Jesse approached him, Vic pushed himself away from the wall and got to his feet. He assumed a boxer’s stance and Jesse did the same.

  “Where is she?” Vic said, his voice almost feral.

  Before Jesse could ask who she was, Vic moved in, bobbing and weaving as he came forward. He feigned throwing a left jab and threw a right hook to Jesse’s ribs instead. This time Vic’s punch hit with full force. Jesse winced in pain, struggling to keep his dinner down. He decided he’d had enough. Jesse moved a step back, inviting Vic to come at him again. Vic took the bait. This time Vic threw that left jab as he came. Jesse swatted it away with his right forearm and, in one deft motion, spun on his heel and buried his right elbow in Vic’s solar plexus. The wind came out of Prado in a sickening rush. Jesse raised up his right arm and, using the back of his fist, smacked Prado right in the nose. Vic collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath and bleeding all over the hardwood floor. With the sound of Julio Blanco’s voice ringing in his ears, Jesse was tempted to deliver a finishing blow that would either have dislocated Vic’s jaw or broken a few of his ribs. Instead, he laid Prado on his back, stretched out his legs.

  “Lay there and take it easy,” Jesse said. “I’m going to get us both some ice.”

  Jesse returned, carrying two evidence bags full of ice and several dish towels. “What the hell was that about?”

  “When I got to the hotel today after I came in to see you, Kayla had checked out. There was a letter waiting for me at the desk. She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “She left me.”

  “You probably deserved it. Here.” Jesse handed him the towels and an ice bag. “What made you think she would come here?”

  “I’m not blind. I saw the way she was looking at you in New York. You’re her big-fish story.”

  Jesse pressed the other ice bag to the right side of his face. “Huh?”

  “You’re the one that got away,” Vic said.

  “That’s not how I remember it. I seem to recall that when I got back to Albuquerque, my girlfriend and my roommate were shacked up.”

  “We didn’t mean for it to happen, Jesse.”

  “Sure.”

  “Anyways, it did happen. So you’ve always been the big ‘what if’ in Kayla’s life. What if Jesse hadn’t gotten hurt? What if I had stayed with him? What if he still wants me?”

  “She’s not here,” Jesse said. “Go check under the mattresses.”

  “No, that’s okay. You going to arrest me or what?”

  “Assaulting a police officer is serious. Assaulting the chief . . . that’s a hanging offense.”

  “But you’re not going to arrest me?”

  Jesse took the ice bag away from his face and shook his head. “Not unless you want to go another round.”

  “No, thanks. Your shoulder may be fucked up, but there’s nothing wrong with the rest of you.”

  50

  Vic Prado’s nose had since stopped bleeding, though it was already swollen and bruised. The right side of Jesse’s face wasn’t as bad, but he’d have some explaining to do for a few days to come. They were both working on their second ice bags and second glasses of scotch as they settled into the Adirondack chairs on Jesse’s deck. It was a comfortable night, early enough in spring so that insects weren’t an issue. Late enough in the season so that jackets weren’t required.

  “Nice out here,” Vic said just to say something.

  “I like it.”

  A few minutes of uneasy silence followed. Uneasy for Vic, not for Jesse. Jesse was good with silence. There were many months, especially after his marriage had fallen apart and his L.A.P.D. career was going down the tubes, when silence had been his only friend. He thought back to that long drive from L.A. to Paradise when the only words he’d spoken were to gas station attendants and truck stop waitresses.

  “I guess I knew she was going to leave me someday,” Vic said, “but you never think the day it happens is that someday.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “She’s been so unhappy for so long. Maybe if we had had some kids . . . who knows? But neither one of us was unselfish enough for kids.”

  Jesse said, “Probably better you didn’t have any. My job, I deal with the kids people had for the wrong reasons or for no reasons at all. Those kids grow up, sometimes into very bad people.”

  “You were right before. I deserved it. I’ve never been able to keep it in my pants. I had women in every major-league city, different ones on every road trip.”

 
“I wouldn’t know about that. I never got the chance to find out.”

  “What, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? I’m the one whose wife just left him.”

  Jesse kept quiet for several more minutes after that.

  “All right, Jesse. Okay. You’re right. You got hurt. I got Kayla. I got to go to the show, but it’s not like you’ve had a bad life. I mean, did you see those other guys we played with? Losers, cons, and holy rollers. You got a good gig here.”

  “It isn’t Dodger Stadium.”

  Vic downed his drink and reached for the bottle on the deck between their chairs. He thought about pouring himself another, but didn’t, not immediately.

  “I saw that Ozzie Smith poster you got inside there. What the fuck is that all about? You were good, Jesse, maybe the most talented shortstop I ever played with. You definitely had the best arm, but the bigs ain’t like you think.”

  “Same answer as before, Vic. I wouldn’t know.”

  Now Vic was agitated. He turned in his chair to face Jesse. “But I do know,” he said, pounding his chest. “I know. You’re in the minors, you think just getting to the bigs is the end, the goal. Nah. It’s the beginning. Every day all you’re thinking about is how you got to do something, anything, to stay there. You never want to get back on those damned buses or stay in another cheap motel room or rented apartment in some guy’s basement. It eats at you, the nerves, the insecurity. You don’t know how hard that is, and it never goes away. Never. Every slump you go in, every error you make . . . it all feels like it’s going to disappear.”

  “I would have liked to have found out.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that, but that poster in there, that’s nuts. What do you do, drink with the Wizard of Oz and tell him how good you would have been?”

  “Sometimes.”