Robert B. Parker's Lullaby

by Ace Atkins

  I followed the frozen river up to the Longfellow. The streetlamps along the bridge clicked on in the early night. The sedan drove off, and I turned back. I missed the rowers and kids playing Frisbee by the Shell. They were a lot more fun.

  I took the footbridge over Storrow Drive toward the Public Garden. I watched for cloven footprints in the snow and ice. Over the thoroughfare, the bridge twisted up and under itself.

  When I looped around the next curve, I saw a large man in a heavy overcoat leaning over a railing. He stood staring through Beacon Hill at the gold dome of the State House.

  I reached under my sweatshirt for my pistol.

  He turned. It was Connor.

  He flicked the cigarette over the railing. “You keep in shape for an old fighter,” he said.

  “Shucks,” I said.

  We stood maybe six feet apart under the covered walkway. A cold wind blew off the river. The white and red lights of commuter traffic blurred into the gray afternoon.

  “A couple of your guys seemed winded,” I said. “Don’t G-men have to pass a physical anymore?”

  “It’s all computers,” Connor said with a shrug. He tucked another cigarette in his mouth and cupped his hand around a lighter. “It’s not the same as when we got into this.”

  “What are we into?” I asked.

  “The game,” Connor said. “You like the game same as me.”

  “Games are more fun to play when you don’t cheat.”

  Connor shrugged. He smoked.

  “Have you brought my car back?” I asked.

  “You’ll get it back,” Connor said, smiling. “We just have to put it back together first. Lot of shit gets lost when that happens.”

  “I’ll inform my attorney.”

  “She’s some piece of tail,” Connor said. Smoke leaked from the corner of his mouth. “Give me a redhead every time. The problem is getting them to shut up when you’re doing it.”

  “You know, Epstein said you were a great asset to the Bureau, but I guess he could’ve been off a couple letters.”

  “You’re a funny guy, Spenser,” Connor said. “Amazing you’ve lived this long.”

  “I’m a people person,” I said. “Meeting guys like you makes it all worth it.”

  Connor shrugged and smoked. “Just seems like you piss off the wrong people. I’ve checked into your past. Killed a lot of people, too. Some of the shootings seemed suspicious to me.”

  “If you want to keep leaning on me, Connor, you mind if we set up an appointment?” I asked. “Jeopardy! comes on at seven.”

  “You’re fucking up a beautiful investigation,” Connor said. “You shot down two key players in a big fucking syndicate. You’ve destroyed nearly three years of investigative work.”

  “My condolences.”

  “You’re a real prick,” Connor said. “You know that?”

  I shrugged. I walked toward him.

  Connor puffed up. I shouldered past him, artfully knocking him back a step.

  He gripped my arm. I looked down at his fingers on my biceps.

  Connor gritted his teeth. More cold wind scattered the snow and ice off the bridge’s ledge.

  “I don’t like to lose,” Connor said.

  “Federal agent or not, I will toss your ass off this bridge and down into rush hour if you don’t let go of my arm.”

  Connor’s eyes shifted across my face. He let go. He snorted and smiled.

  “You killed two government witnesses,” Connor said. “You’ve hoodwinked a couple drinking-buddy cops, but you’re fucked with us, pal.”

  “‘To weep is to make less the depth of grief,’” I said. I kept walking.

  “You’re fucked,” Connor said, yelling down the curving bridge. “You’re fucked.”

  More cold wind blew off the river as I crossed the street to the Garden and then turned right onto Marlborough Street.

  51

  Agent Connor does not sound like a very nice man,” Susan said.

  “No,” I said. “He’s not. He needs to first love himself in order to love others.”

  “Do you think he’ll try to bring charges against you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Rita will get them dropped?”

  “She will.”

  I nodded and drank some Ellie’s Brown Ale I’d stocked at her place. Susan and I were on the opposite ends of a large claw-foot bathtub. My legs were sore from the run. My ass was sore from all the sitting in cars. The warm water felt great.

  “What will you do about the girl who saw the killing?” Susan asked.

  “She’s safe.”

  “But for how long?”

  “Hawk is watching her.”

  Susan nodded. “Who’s watching Mattie?”

  “Boston PD,” I said. “Quirk made sure it happened.”

  “Have you told Quirk what you know?”

  I shook my head. I drank more beer. I had to lean up as I did. Some water sloshed out of the tub and onto Pearl, who lay on a bath mat.

  Pearl wobbled onto her legs and shook her coat.

  “I think she feels left out,” Susan said.

  “Have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “This is nice.”

  “Thank you for not lighting any scented candles,” I said.

  “A warm bath is good for the soul,” she said.

  “Even better with a cold beer.”

  “When will you tell Quirk about the witness?”

  “I’m waiting to hear back from Rita,” I said. “I’ll bring her in tonight if everything lines up with the DA.”

  “And then what?” Susan asked.

  “Depends on Quirk.” I finished the beer. “Depends on Rita and the DA.”

  It had grown very dark outside on Linnaean Street.

  “Are you mad about your car?”

  “I never liked it,” I said. “I’m thinking about getting another Jeep.”

  “I liked your Jeep.”

  “You never know when you’ll need four-wheel drive,” I said.

  “Necking adventures?” Susan asked.

  “The kids don’t call it ‘necking’ anymore,” I said. “It makes me sad.”

  “What do they call it?” Susan asked.

  “You would know better than me,” I said. “What do your young patients call it?”

  “Lots of things. ‘Hooking up.’ ‘Doing it.’”

  I nodded.

  “I would like another cold beer, and then I propose that we ‘do it.’”

  Susan nodded. She stood. I am not ashamed to admit that the bath had been filled with many bubbles. I am equally not ashamed to say they did not hide Susan’s nakedness.

  Her body was very taut. Her dark hair had been wrapped up in a bun.

  “Yowzah,” I said.

  She stepped out from the bath and wrapped the towel around herself. “What if Rita calls you?”

  “I may have to delay our plans. But only because I’m steadfast in my loyalties.”

  “She hasn’t called yet.”

  “Nope.”

  “And you could be steadfast in other ways.”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, goody.”

  52

  Early the next morning, Belson and I met at a boutique hotel across the street from Copley Place. Some local uniform guys joined us and waited outside in their prowl cars. We didn’t expect trouble. I had taken great care in hiding Theresa Donovan.

  Hawk had been watching her. One does not question Hawk’s abilities.

  Hawk sat cross-legged in the lobby. He was reading the arts section of the New York Times and drinking coffee from a tiny cup. He put down the coffee, folded the newspaper, and stood. His chair was purplish velvet with a bright red leather pillow.

  The walls were draped in gray curtains. The light was very dim and low.

  Belson nodded at Hawk. Hawk nodded at Belson.

  “We usually stash witnesses at the Quality Inn in Brookline,” Belson said, an unlit cigar clamped in his teeth.<
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  “This is close to my office,” I said.

  “Bullshit,” Belson said. “You’re a sucker for a sob story.”

  Hawk nodded in agreement. “Drinks at the bar cost twenty bucks.”

  “How’s she doing?” I asked.

  “Took a shower,” he said. “Watchin’ a movie on cable. Ordered up some breakfast.”

  “You check the room-service guy?” Belson asked. He took a cigar out of the corner of his mouth and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

  “Nah, man,” Hawk said. “I too busy kickin’ it with all this ambiance. You notice those candles smell like lavender?”

  “Well, get her dressed,” Belson said. “I’d prefer to do this at headquarters. Places like this make me uneasy. They charge you every time you fart.”

  “I did not intend to expense the department,” I said.

  Belson looked at me with a sideways glance.

  “Besides, with all these scented candles, who could tell?” I said.

  All three of us rode up in a very old, very cramped elevator. The air did smell of lavender.

  We knocked on the door. It took a moment, but Theresa answered.

  She was dressed in the same clothes as the night before. I introduced her to Belson. She nodded.

  She looked very nervous as she gathered a couple T-shirts, pants, her toothbrush, and a bunch of little shampoos into a paper bag. A plate of half-eaten scrambled eggs, two links of sausage, and toast sat cold on a wheeled cart in the corner.

  My stomach grumbled. I had not eaten breakfast. Susan did not stock breakfast food. On the other hand, I was very clean.

  We took the elevator back down to the lobby. Belson and Hawk waited for her outside by Belson’s cruiser and two marked units.

  “You’re safe,” I said. “Just tell Belson what you told me.”

  She looked at the elegant carpet. Her face had been scrubbed clean of any makeup. Her hair was again in a ponytail. Theresa Donovan looked about twelve.

  “You’re stand-up,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Flynn can’t walk on this.”

  She nodded. I touched her arm.

  But she still wouldn’t look at me. I caught the eye of the bellhop. He smiled. I’m pretty sure he thought we were in a lover’s quarrel. Or that maybe I was her dad. I preferred the former.

  “The guys in Homicide will make sure you’re safe,” I said. “Belson is a good man.”

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “Hawk and I can help.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “I can’t live in a hotel my whole freakin’ life. I got to go back to my family.”

  “Flynn will be in jail.”

  She looked up at me. Her eyes were so clear and blue. She shook her head with a lot of sadness. “Ain’t you the dreamer.”

  53

  You gonna tell Mattie it’s over?” Hawk asked.

  “Is it over?” I asked.

  “You tell me.”

  “Quirk said they have a pickup order for Flynn,” I said. “Looks like he bolted.”

  “They need to put that motherfucker in the zoo,” Hawk said. “His kind should be extinct.”

  “With a sign reading ‘Old School Hood.’”

  Hawk drove me in his Jag. We waited like a nice couple of very large dads in the long pickup line outside Mattie’s middle school. The principal had even given us a rearview-mirror tag. It was green with a pink flower.

  “Got to at least tell her about Theresa being a witness,” Hawk said. “Girl like Mattie will hear it anyway.”

  “With some details left out.”

  “I’d tell her word for word.”

  “Hate for her to grow up hard,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Hawk said, driving up into the next slot. “Hate to break down that dream world she livin’ in, all full of sunshine and light.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  “She a fighter,” Hawk said. “Got my respect.”

  “But she fights everything,” I said. “Makes her life harder than it is.”

  “Can’t go back to bein’ a kid.”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t know if I ever was a kid,” Hawk said.

  I nodded. “She can’t be Hawk.”

  “She too short and white.”

  “Maybe she could be like me?”

  “She ain’t that ugly.”

  “Life is not always tough.”

  “That what you want to teach her?” Hawk asked.

  “Maybe get Susan to help her with some things,” I said. “Mainly that her mother’s death does not have to define her.”

  “And that she can set her own rules, older she get.”

  I nodded.

  We wound our way into the slot by the steps leading down from the front of the school. Mattie wore her blue parka over a school uniform. No Sox cap today. Her reddish hair blew in the cold wind as she stepped up and crawled in back. She again kept the backpack in her lap.

  “Where to, missy?” Hawk said.

  “Disney World,” Mattie said.

  “Say the word,” Hawk said.

  “You want to eat?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “We can grab a burger,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Spenser ain’t bein’ nice,” Hawk said. “He just like to eat.”

  “I’ve got homework,” Mattie said. “The girls will be home, too. I need to make dinner. I got laundry.”

  “You need more groceries?”

  “We’re fine,” Mattie said. “My grandma went to the store. You believe that?”

  I nodded. We drove south.

  Hawk kept his eyes on the road. I felt his silence as he drummed his fingers on the wheel.

  “I have some news,” I said.

  I told her a PG-13 version of what I learned. Mattie stayed silent as she listened to what Theresa Donovan had witnessed. She stayed silent for a few minutes beyond that, too.

  “She’s known all this time?” Mattie asked.

  “Yep.”

  “What a freakin’ bitch,” Mattie said. “Goddamn her.”

  “She was pretty scared,” I said. “But she’s doing the right thing now. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “She coulda done the right thing four years ago and not left Mickey’s ass in the wind.”

  “Girl got a point,” Hawk said.

  Hawk took D Street over to Dorchester Avenue, and Dorchester Avenue south. Kemp over to Monsignor O’Callaghan Way. We parked. Hawk shut off the engine. No one moved. The light outside was a pale gray. Everything around us seemed washed of color.

  Mattie stayed put.

  She was crying. Hawk and I were frozen.

  I stared straight ahead out of the windshield. The two- and three-story red-brick buildings surrounded us. There was a lot of chain link and wrought iron. Lots of twisting paths that hadn’t been cleared of snow and ice. I watched an old woman in a housecoat and tall rubber boots taking out her trash.

  The Jag was very quiet except for Mattie. Hawk’s hands remained on the wheel. He had on his sunglasses. I did not turn around. I placed my leather gloves on top of each other on my right leg.

  Mattie’s crying came up from somewhere deep. It was so private that I felt a deep shame for hearing it. I just breathed.

  The old woman in boots walked back inside. Two teenage boys strolled by, craning their heads to look in the car. I gave them a look to let them know that this wasn’t their business. They complied.

  After a few minutes, the deep choking wails stopped. There was snuffling and wiping. Mattie opened the car door and without a word got out onto the sidewalk. She closed the door with a light click.

  “You want to walk her in?” Hawk said.

  “Not much I can do.”

  “You Irish are softhearted,” Hawk said. “You think of somethin’.”

  “I did what she hired me to do.”

  “All for a donut,” Hawk said.
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  “A dozen,” I said.

  “Softhearted.” Hawk nodded.

  Hawk started the Jag and wheeled around. I told him to wait and reached for the handle to go after Mattie. “Give me a minute.”

  A white van whipped around the corner and blocked our way. I heard a car behind us. I turned and saw a black SUV zip up within an inch of Hawk’s bumper. Hawk jumped out of the car, pulling his .44 Magnum. I followed, drawing the .40-caliber. Everything came in the slow whir of a kaleidoscope. Three men from the van had weapons aimed at me. Two of the men were the guys who chased me into the T station. A heavyset Hispanic in an Army coat and a skinny Anglo with thinning hair and stubbled beard.

  The third man was Jack Flynn.

  I could take out Flynn. But also Flynn could take me out. Therein lies the rub.

  Even if he only winged me, his duo of flunkies were probably decent enough shots at ten feet.

  Hawk stood tall in my peripheral vision. He faced worse odds with four boys from the SUV. The ambush was a good one, and the only way out was bloody and ugly. Two men carried Mattie down a slushy path. She was kicking, punching, clawing at their faces. One man’s cheek was bleeding. She was screaming. Wind rustled Flynn’s camel-hair coat as he gripped a .45 automatic. His ruddy Irish face glowed with the cold, his eyes full of heat. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word from that Donovan girl,” he said.

  I kept the .40-caliber aimed right for his well-sized Irish head.

  He smiled at me as if he felt sorry for me. “Give me one reason I don’t kill you both right now.”

  “Because we have such a swell history together,” I said.

  “Put down your gun, asshole.”

  “I’d rather not,” I said. “No offense. If I’m unarmed, you’ll probably shoot me.”

  “You don’t lay down your gun, and we’ll shoot the girl.”

  I didn’t like him. But he offered some solid logic.

  I did not take my eyes off Flynn as I squatted to the ground and laid my beautiful new Smith & Wesson .40-caliber in the crisp but dirty snow. I stood slowly, hands raised.

  We all heard Mattie scream. One of the hoods from the SUV struck her, and you could hear the slap across her face like a rifle shot.