“I’ve got a good surgeon that’s a friend of mine,” Doherty said. “Ted Norman, at the New England Medical Center. He’s a thoracic specialist, but I’m sure he could find an orthopedic man for you. When it looked as though I might need a bypass, after the attack, Ted was the man I went to see to set things up for me. He’s very good. Known him for years. Another fan of Vinnie Fahey’s. I must call Ted about this little meeting that I had with Vinnie. Tell him about Vinnie routing the Germans.”
“Some other time,” Riordan said, grimacing slightly as he stretched his leg out. “I’m busy right now. I may need this leg. You find anything out about this Emmett guy from Fahey?”
“Not much I didn’t know already,” Doherty said. “Once Vinnie mentioned him, it all started to come back to me. Emmett’s the power behind the University Club swimming team. Vinnie’s a great swimmer. Emmett, according to Fahey, is as crazy as Fahey is on the IRA stuff. He may be carrying Magro’s water in a bucket to the Council, but he’s not crooked and he’s not intentionally setting out to get Jerry killed. I don’t think. He’s just another dreamer trying to bring back the race of kings. The ones that lived in sod huts, and worshiped mud. I don’t think he’s much to worry about. Hell do it if Fahey asks him, and Fahey has asked him. Don’t misunderstand me, now. I embarrassed Vinnie, and I humiliated him, but I didn’t change his mind one single iota. He’s just as determined to get Magro out today as he was yesterday. And he still doesn’t know why I’m interested. The question’s probably never crossed his mind.”
“Okay,” Riordan said, “let’s think about it. First thing is, we’re not under any immediate pressure. Magro can’t get out this week because the Council has to meet again just to decide whether they should hold a hearing on his petition for commutation. They can’t do that before next Thursday. The earliest the hearing could be would be a week, more likely two, after that. So it’s at least three weeks before Magro could get out under any circumstances, and the Governor’d probably stall around for at least another week before he signed anything if the Council did decide to let Magro out. Make it a month. Magro is the guy you want to stop from killing your brother, and if what I get this afternoon and tonight checks out with what you’ve got, Magro and this character Scanlan are the people who interest me. Not your brother. Therefore were not under any real time pressure.”
“I don’t know as I agree with that,” Doherty said.
“Well,” Riordan said, “I don’t mean we can just sit around and dawdle and wait for something bad to happen. What I mean is, we don’t have to do anything right off the bat. End up making a mistake because we hurried. If Ken Walker’s little gambit to screw up Magro’s recommendation from the corrections department works the way he hopes it will, and we won’t know that until the inmates come in—or don’t come in—from their furloughs this weekend, it could be six months or so that Magro’s got to wait before he even gets so much as another nip at the apple. We’ve got time enough to be sure.”
“In the meantime,” Doherty said, “what’re you going to do?”
“Paul,” Riordan said, “all I can tell you for sure is what I’m going to do today. This afternoon. Seats Lobianco must’ve spent half an hour on the phone with me yesterday. He’s been playing sleuth. He wants me to see a guy named Mattie at the State House this afternoon. I’m going to do that. From what Seats hinted, I’ve got an idea I’m going to have to go out tonight. For what, I don’t know. Until I’ve done those things, I don’t have any idea what I’m going to do next.”
“What about me?” Doherty said. “I’m on a hot roll here. It’s like playing golf and sinking every forty-foot putt you try.”
“What about you?” Riordan said. “Isn’t much more you can do, I can think of.”
“What about Jerry?” Doherty said.
“What about him?” Riordan said. “You say he’s not in it, and yours is the best information I’ve come up with so far. If, as and when Magro looks like he’s maybe getting out, we can decide then what to do. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“No,” Doherty said.
“No?” Riordan said.
“I don’t like it,” Doherty said. “Put yourself in my place. The man is my brother. He’s no good, but he remains my brother. I don’t want him killed. And I’m a priest, too. If any man has an obligation to his brother, a priest does.”
“You want to tell him,” Riordan said.
“I want to tell him,” Doherty said. “I want to tell him tonight. I want to meet him as he closes up the Bright Red and go home with him and tell him. Tonight.”
“Jesus,” Riordan said. “You know what he’ll do, don’t you? Brother or no brother, Paul, the Digger is a decisive man. You convince him that your information’s good, and you know what hell do. You really want that?”
“I think a man has a right to defend himself,” Doherty said. “I’m on firm scriptural ground there. Turning the other cheek is one thing. Getting ambushed’s quite another. Jerry has a family to support. He’s not much of a husband and he stinks as a father, but that family is his responsibility no matter how little attention he pays to them. He won’t even be able to do that, dead, and I don’t want to pick up his burdens for him. I told you that. So I’ve got some rights in this matter too, personal rights. Mine.”
“There’s self-defense and there’s self-defense, Paul,” Riordan said. “The Digger was a boss con. Unusual for a man serving a short stretch. Those gentlemen’re mostly lifers. If Digger was an equal, he was an equal with some guys that’re still in there and haven’t got a thing to lose. They know him. You think of self-defense as shooting back at a guy that’s shooting at you. The Digger may have a more generous definition. He can make arrangements from outside that’ll permanently screw up Monsignor Fahey, Councillor Emmett and maybe even the guy who calls himself Scanlan, but I don’t think that’s self-defense. Not in the usual meaning of the word. I think it’s jailhouse murder. Useful murder, maybe. Save everybody a hell of a lot of annoyance if Magro got dead ’fore he ever got out. But murder just the same. Magro’s no threat to the Digger, long as he’s in. I think you’re jumping the gun, Paul.”
“Do you, now,” Doherty said.
“Actually,” Riordan said, “no. But I had to say so. I can’t endorse it, but I can’t see much difference between Magro planning to kill Digger and Digger planning to kill Magro. The one who gets it done first is a murderer, and the other guy’s a corpse. Other than that, there isn’t much to choose between them. The only advantage that either of them’s got, in my estimation, is that the Digger has you for a brother. He didn’t earn that edge, but he’s got it.”
“Mind you, now,” Doherty said, “I don’t propose to suggest to Jerry that he kill Magro on sight. Or that he have somebody else kill Magro while he’s still in prison. I don’t intend to do anything like that.”
“Paul, Paul,” Riordan said, “this is old Peter, remember? You won’t have to give him any tactical suggestions. You think Jesse James’s mother had to tell him how to rob the trains, once he found out there was payroll gold on them? Split a few hairs if you want, but let’s not go too far here.”
“You’re telling me not to do this,” Doherty said. “That’s maybe the best reason I could give you, Phantom, for starting your own family. You don’t know anything about the sense of responsibility that a man feels. As little as I know, you know less.”
“Wrong on both counts, Paul,” Riordan said. “I am not telling you not to do this. That is your decision, none of mine. And for reasons that I won’t go into, I am not the man who walks alone. That was a lie. I haven’t been for over three years now. I’ve got a woman and her daughter lives with us and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about that, because it’s getting very complicated.” He laughed. “I must be getting old and mellow. I wasn’t ready for all of this. Just sneaked up on me. But don’t kid yourself. I’d kill for either one of those two, and I’ve got a strong notion that I never have to worry about my ba
ck when they’re lined up behind me. So, yeah, I know. I know what you mean.”
“I’m happy for you, Pete,” Doherty said. “How on earth does she stand it, knowing what you do? That you could get killed any minute.”
“She never mentions it,” Riordan said. “And as a matter of fact, the chances’re very damned small. It’s some poor cop in a cruiser that gets it, stopping a speeder on the highway and getting a bellyfull of buckshot when he asks for license, registration. Not guys like me. The only reason we carry guns is to discourage guys that we arrest from using their guns. I haven’t killed a man since Nam.”
“So,” Doherty said, “you understand. I’m going to tell him.”
“Yeah,” Riordan said, “but two, make it three, requests.”
“Shoot,” Doherty said. He grinned.
“First,” Riordan said, “tell me where I can get in touch with you later on this afternoon, after I see Seats. He may have something that could change things. Or maybe this guy Mattie will. I doubt it, but they might.”
“Around three-thirty,” Doherty said, “I’ve got to call the auto body shop in Brighton to see if my car’s ready. If it is, I’ll go in to the rental people and drop off that bucket of bolts I’ve been driving since the Electra went in. My God, how I’ve suffered with that thing.”
“The Avis?” Riordan said.
“You knew it?” Doherty said.
“Had to be yours,” Riordan said. “Can’t picture you in a Cad. You’re not a menopausal suburban matron, so you weren’t driving a Volvo. I saw the little red-and-white sticker on the back window, I came in today. What’d you do, smash up the battleship?”
“No,” Doherty said, “I just decided to keep it. They don’t make those big solid cars anymore, and I don’t want one of the tinny little new ones. All that was wrong with mine was minor dents and scratches, so I decided to have it repaired. Supposed to be ready today. If it is, I’ll pick it up, come home, have some of Mrs. Herlihy’s awful food, get a little rest, and go out to Dorchester tonight in time to meet Jerry when he closes up. If it isn’t, I’ll just stay at the rectory and get some work done, then go out. One way or the other, I’ll be home around dinner.”
“Okay,” Riordan said. “Second: Since neither one of us knows what time he’s going to get home tomorrow morning, why don’t we plan to meet here for lunch again tomorrow? Compare notes. Can’t tell what we might pick up.”
“Good idea,” Doherty said.
“Third thing,” Riordan said. “Is there any chance of a club sandwich and another beer?”
“Very good chance,” Doherty said. “I’ll order two of each.”
RIORDAN PARKED the green Ford on Chestnut Street, to the west of the State House, under a sign that warned of substantial penalties for leaving vehicles unattended without Beacon Hill residential stickers. He walked up the hill and under the canopy between the two buildings of the State House. He went in through the back door and clicked his way down the corridor to Lobianco’s office. There was shouting in the private office. It was just after three o’clock.
Alice had put aside her Rich Man, Poor Man and had gone back to Rona Jaffe. She looked up expectantly. “I’m late,” Riordan said.
“It’s all right,” she said, “sit down and enjoy the fun.”
“What’s going on?” he said.
“The other Reardon’s in there, Ways and Means Reardon. They’re having a fight.”
“Oh,” Riordan said, “well, look, all right? I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass about this, but I did have an appointment which Seats insisted that I make, and I was on kind of a crowded schedule even before that. Think maybe you could buzz him?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You want to go barging in there, you go barging in there. He’s got the other guy in there with him, and the other guy’s not used to having people break in on his meetings. Doesn’t matter whether they were scheduled or not. You want to do it, you do it. You can probably get away with it. I can’t. I have to work in this place. I’ve been here for thirty years, and if I didn’t learn anything else in all that time in this building, I learned you don’t go around pissing off the Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee. Not if you’re sensible.”
“Okay,” Riordan said. He stepped to the door, opened it, and went in.
“—lie to me, you rotten wop son of a bitch,” Seats’s visitor was saying. He was a short man, about a hundred and eighty pounds, dressed in a three-piece blue suit. He wore a pink-and-black necktie. He was gesturing at Lobianco, shaking his forefinger at him. “You know that little bastard Donald did that to my lights on purpose. He did it this week and he did it last week, and he did it two other times since the first of the year, and you probably put him up to it. You got any idea what I got to make people go through, get the insurance, pay for those lights every time that little cocksucker breaks them? They don’t believe it’s street vandalism anymore. You take care of this, Seats, and I mean it, or I’m gonna have your ass six ways to Sunday.”
“Hi, Pete,” Seats said.
The short fat man spun around in the chair and stood up. His face was red and jowly. “Who the fuck’re you?” he said.
“Riordan,” Riordan said.
“Not in this building, you’re not,” Reardon said. “I’m the Reardon in this fucking building. Now get the fuck out of here while I finish getting this bullshit settled with Seats.”
“I told you how to settle it, Jackie,” Seats said gently. “Duke the kid a five or ten. Treat him like something besides a hill of shit. You got to learn, you can’t treat these guys like they were something your cat did onna rug. They don’t like it. They don’t give a shit who you are. They’ve been here longer’n you have. They’ll be here after you’re gone. They’re not impressed with you.”
Reardon whirled on Seats. “Shut up, Seats,” he said. He turned to Riordan again. “I told you, you fuckin’ hippie, you get the hell out of here until I’m finished with this dago bastard that’s getting my new car wrecked for me every chance he gets.”
“And I told you,” Riordan said, “I’ve got an appointment. Ask Seats.”
“I don’t have to ask Seats anything,” Reardon said. “I don’t give a shit about anybody’s appointments. I come before appointments in this building. Anybody’s appointments. I waited around long enough for this day to come, and now I got it and it’s mine. Now you get the fuck out of here or I’ll call the Capitol police and have you thrown out.”
“Really,” Riordan said. He walked toward Reardon, who stood his ground, panting. “Out you go, Mister Chairman,” he said. “Go study your manners someplace.”
“You lay a hand on me,” Reardon said, “and I’ll have you arrested.”
Lobianco sat behind the desk, grinning behind his hand.
“Up you come,” Riordan said, seizing Reardon on the shoulders and clamping down.
“You get your fuckin’ hands offa me,” Reardon yelled. “This is a fuckin’ assault and battery. I’ll have you in court by nightfall. You bastard, you don’t let me go, I’ll have you killed.”
“Aha,” Riordan said, “threatening a federal officer in the course of his official duties. That should give you a certain amount of entertainment down in Post Office Square. Care to come down right now? Come on, I’ll give you a hand. Two of them.” He turned Reardon around, grabbed him under the arms, picked him up two feet off the floor, and said, “Alice, did the rubbish man come yet?”
“What?” she called back.
“Never mind, Alice,” Riordan said, “just open the door if you would.” The door to the outer office opened. Riordan carried the Chairman through the door and raised him another foot off the floor. The Chairman waved his arms helplessly. Diane and the other clerk-typists crowded to their door to watch. Two elevator operators, passing in the corridor, stopped to watch. “Ever see a slam-dunk in the National Basketball Association, Mister Chairman?” Riordan said.
“No,” Reardon said.
> “No?” Riordan said. “I’m surprised. How about a touch-down spike in the NFL, the pro football. Ever see one of those? Lot in common.”
“No,” Reardon said. “Just put me down. Lets forget about it.”
Riordan held him up there. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re probably right. No use in prolonging our little chat, is there, where I’m running late and you’re such a hell of an important guy and all. Just let bygones be bygones.”
“Yeah,” Reardon said, weakly.
Riordan sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay.” He released the Chairman from three feet in the air. The Chairman landed on his left buttock. He sat there on the floor, rubbing it, looking up at Riordan. “For your complaint to the cops, in case you change your mind,” Riordan said, “it’s Agent Peter Riordan, U.S. Inspector General’s Office. The other cops all know where to find me. And, of course, if they do, mine’ll also know where to find you, for a little Q and A in the federal court. Have a pleasant day.” He went back into Seats’s office. He sat down in front of Seats’s desk. “What a fucking zoo this place is, Seats,” he said. “How the hell’ve you stayed sane, all these years?”
Seats was laughing openly now. “Who the fuck says I did?” he said. “There’s a lot of people that’ll tell you that I’m crazier’n a goddamned coot, have been for years. Tell you that’s the only way I could’ve stood it. And there’s others’ll tell you, I came in crazy and made everybody else hoopy. What do I know? They could be right. I’ll tell you something, though: as crazy as everybody is in this joint, if I’d’ve gone around this place yesterday telling people they could see Ways and Means Reardon sitting on his ass in his blue suit on the floor of my outer office at three-fifteen today, I think they would’ve had the guys in the white suits coming in for me this morning.”
“He’s an asshole,” Riordan said.
“Of course he’s an asshole,” Seats said. “Everybody also knows that. Difference is, everybody in here’s afraid of him. He screams and he hollers and nobody wants to take a chance on pissing him off, so he gets away with it. I’d love to be in his office in about fifteen minutes from now, when those elevator guys get through telling the reporters about Ways and Means sitting on his ass outside my office, though.”
The Pariot GAme Page 17
