by Ace Atkins
“Oh,” he said. “Jackie’s gonna hop right up when he hears Spenser needs his help working a case. Maybe you can get him some kind of junior detective badge.”
“Why not,” I said. “It’ll look great on his track suit.”
“Hey,” Vinnie said. “Don’t knock the track suit.”
“What’s that you got on now?”
“Ralph Lauren,” he said. “Pants and shirt. Purple Label. Cole Haan loafers. Alligator belt.”
“You could be a mannequin on Newbury Street.”
“I ain’t making no promises, Spenser.”
“Of course.”
“And if you turn up dead, I’m not speaking at your wake.”
“I prefer you sing,” I said. “Perhaps ‘Danny Boy’?”
“The fucking lead pipes are calling for your head,” he said.
“Public space,” I said. “Just him.”
“And no Hawk,” he said. “Or fucking Zebulon Sixkill. Or any of the damn Village People you hang out with.”
“You, sir, are an honorary member.”
“Christ,” Vinnie said. “I hope not.”
We stopped at Charles Street. The fat guy from the bowling alley stood by a black BMW sedan. He had on a loose Hawaiian shirt with palm trees and macaws. But I could still spot the big gun he wore on his right hip.
“Don’t call me,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”
“No problem.”
“And I’ll let you know where.”
“Perhaps Jackie and I could go for an ice-cream cone,” I said. “Or ride a bicycle built for two.”
“Nothing about this situation is funny, Spenser,” Vinnie said. “Those days are long over. Get with the fucking times or they’re gonna get with you.”
48
Bright and early the next morning, I waited in the stands of Harvard Stadium. I had on a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt, and Nikes. I wore a brand-new zip-up Adidas hoodie over my .357. Not that I didn’t trust Jackie DeMarco. It just helped me feel slightly more secure.
When he arrived, he was thirty minutes late. And had brought two men, my friends from the Greenway market. Davey Stefanakos and his wild-eyed pal waited at an entrance to the stadium while Jackie walked up to me two steps at a time. Stefanakos looked as if he was prepped to tangle with a matador. His eye was still swollen.
“We were supposed to be alone,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot. Where’s my fucking money?”
“And guns,” I said. “I took some nice pieces off your guys.”
DeMarco was a little shorter than me, with a barrel-shaped torso and stubby legs. He had a big head with a lot of black hair and a dominant nose. He wore track pants and a black T-shirt that read DEMARCO TOWING. Probably put his company on his shirts so he could remember one of his legit jobs. Keep his story straight.
“You really want to fuck around?” he said. “Now? I had to feed Davey a sedative before we drove over here. He wants to tear your freakin’ head off.”
“Might try a chain and choke collar,” I said. “It creates a bond between beast and master.”
“You ain’t getting outta here in once piece,” he said. “You know that. This meet. Coming here was dumb.”
“But you would have come to me.”
“Sure,” he said. “Only you seem to got no place to live. You got a lot of enemies, Spenser. Never heard anything like it.”
“And a few friends.”
I motioned to the opposite side of the stadium where a muscular guy in workout gear stood. I saluted him with my coffee. Z waved back. Hawk was around, too. But one does not see Hawk.
“Doesn’t matter.”
I shrugged. “We’ll see,” I said. “We can all fight later. If Davey has a problem with me, I’m happy to settle it. But in the meantime, I wish to appeal to your better nature. If such a thing actually exists.”
“If you’re talking about me giving up my security tapes, you are seriously fucked in the head,” DeMarco said. “I know what kind of arrangement you had with the old man, Fish. You’d stroke him a little under the table and he’d let you do what you want. Or Tony Marcus and all those blacks. But let me deliver some bad news to you. Those fuckers are old. They’re as outta date as my dad’s Sunday ties. You fucked with me in business that was none of your concern. You fucked with me again about that church fire. And just to top it off, you ambush my guys and take my money. How’s it gonna look to people if I don’t just shoot you right now?”
“A few witnesses,” I said. “And besides, my friends would shoot you first and then shoot your men. It’d be a pretty messy package. And you wouldn’t have a chance to march in the Columbus Day Parade this year.”
“Eat shit.”
“You bring the discs?”
“They’re not discs,” he said. “It’s a whole fucking server. I can’t just yank it out and walk around with it. I don’t know what you’re looking for or where to find it.”
“You know about the fire?”
Jackie nodded. As his head bobbed, a thick gold rope chain around his neck bounced up and down.
“Three Boston firefighters got killed by these guys, Jackie,” I said. “And this week two more nearly died by your so-called flower shop. Surely you would like to see justice done. These guys are authentic psychos.”
“That sucks,” he said. “But I don’t want to end up in Walpole like my old man. How do you even know my camera caught a fucking thing that night?”
“I don’t.”
“And I’m supposed to just hand it over and let you sort it out?”
“That’s the plan.”
I patted two large shopping bags I’d borrowed from Susan. Classics from Filene’s Basement. I was surprised how well they supported the weight of the guns. No pride left in newfangled shopping bags. Probably made in China.
“Suck it, Spenser,” DeMarco said. He reached over in an attempt to take back his money.
I pushed him hard in the chest. He fell heavy against the concrete steps. His boys came running. Z tried to head them off. Hawk walked out of a tunnel, hoisting a 12-gauge, moving fast and fluid down the steps.
Jackie DeMarco began to laugh as he righted himself on the steps and stood. He shook his head. “Know what?” he said. “I changed my mind. Keep it. Keep the money. Keep the guns. You know why?”
“I’m guessing because I won’t live to spend it.”
“Goddamn right.”
“Too clever, Jackie.”
Davey Stefanakos came running up, breathing hard but easy. He had on a white silk T-shirt and gray pants. He gave me a hard, flat look, breathing in and out of his nose. It felt a little like being at a weigh-in. I tried to think of something really offensive to say about his mother.
But before I could, Stefanakos reached behind his back. He stopped in mid-motion.
“Hands up, Zorba,” Hawk said. “Or you’ll be picking buckshot out your asshole.”
Stefanakos showed his skillet-sized hands. As did the other man, who Z had met on the field.
I had yet to move from my seat. It had a terrific view of the field and the stadium. “Sorry about the trade, Jackie,” I said. “You know the night I’m looking for. I need an ID.”
Jackie shook his head in disappointment. “Your buddies can’t be everywhere, Spenser,” he said. “Just for the record? You’ve really fucked up this time.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “At least I always try and do my best.”
49
After my meet and greet with DeMarco, I returned to my office.
I had barely had time to go through my bills when Belson and Captain Glass walked through the door. Belson sat down in a client’s chair while Glass glanced around the room. It was her first visit and I noted the admiration in her eyes. I think she appreciated the feng
shui arrangement of my desk, couch, client chairs, and filing cabinets. Or perhaps it was the Vermeer prints hanging on the walls.
“I do all the decorating myself,” I said. “The file cabinets really set off the rug.”
Glass just stared at me. She leaned against the wall and looked to Belson.
“Tag on the sedan that belongs to your third man goes back to the police department in Blackburn,” Belson said.
“Terrific,” I said. “They love me up there.”
“I bet,” Belson said. “I made some calls, and it turns out the last one to check out the vehicle was a cop named Ray Zucco. Every heard of Big Ray Zucco?”
“Nope,” I said. “Should I have?”
“Quite the whackjob,” Belson said. “He’s been suspended twice for gross unprofessionalism.”
“In Blackburn, I thought that’d earn a promotion.”
“He lives out in Brighton but couldn’t get on with us,” Glass said. “You know where else he applied five years ago?”
“Boston Fire.”
“Right you are,” Belson said. “Why the hell anyone would want to be a fireman is beyond me.”
“Firefighter,” Glass said. “They have seventeen women on in Boston now, Frank.”
I raised my eyebrows. Belson shrugged and scratched his five-o’clock shadow even through it was only two.
Glass pushed off the wall and placed a hand on her hip. She wore pleated black slacks and a white silk top. She had on a small silver bracelet and a Glock 9 on her hip. Very stylish.
“So tell us what you know,” Glass said. “I understand you and Quirk would often share any information. I hope we can continue an amicable relationship.”
I put my feet up on my desk. “Amicable means nice, Frank.”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigar. He lit up, knowing how much I disliked the smoke. I reached over and opened a window.
“I thought you said he couldn’t smoke?” I said. I looked to Glass.
“In the car,” she said. “We’re in your office.”
Belson grinned and puffed out a big batch from his fifty-cent cigar. I reached over and turned on my desk fan.
“Three men,” I said. “My associate and I watched film for so long we could’ve seen a double feature of Fanny and Alexander.”
Glass looked to Belson. “That’s a Swedish movie, Frank. It runs long.”
Belson smoked his cigar and ignored us.
“Young guy named Kevin Teehan,” I said. “He’s a part-timer with the fire department in Blackburn. And an older guy, another fire nut named Johnny Donovan. Donovan is self-employed. He was fired from his last job at a private school for theft and for slapping a kid. The kid’s parents filed charges, and a short time later, their house just happened to catch on fire.”
“And now we have Big Ray,” Glass said.
“The Three Caballeros.”
Belson puffed on his cigar and the smoke scattered in the fan on my desk. “Donald Duck,” he said. “I seen that one.”
I pointed to him with my index finger and dropped my thumb.
“We’ll bring in Zucco for an unofficial talk,” Glass said. “Maybe just ask him a few questions about Rob Featherstone? Talk to him as one cop to another about Donovan and Teehan. Make these guys a little nervous. I think you’re right, Spenser, but it’s not enough for a warrant.”
“I thought I had something.”
“What happened?” Glass said.
“Turns out the owner of that something wasn’t a fan of mine.”
“Now, that’s a shock,” Belson said.
I stretched my legs and recrossed them at the ankle. “What about Donovan?” I said.
Belson and Glass exchanged glances. Belson nodded. “We’ll bring him, too.”
“Any chance you might put that off for a few hours?” I said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Donovan in person and get a feel for his stellar personality.”
Glass thought on it and nodded. “I’m really sorry about your building,” she said. “But if you kick the crap out of him, he might grow uncooperative. I wouldn’t push him too far.”
“Belson can vouch for my occasional subtlety and restraint.”
She looked to Belson and Belson reached up and crushed the end of the cigar in a coffee mug on my desk. He flicked off the ash with his thumb and blew out any remnants of smoke. Satisfied it was out, he tucked it back into his pocket.
“You squeeze Donovan and we’ll work on Ray Zucco,” Belson said. He turned to Glass. “Don’t worry. Spenser will do what he says.”
“I started to control my impulses just as soon as my knuckles stopped dragging on the ground.”
“These are our guys?” Glass said.
I nodded.
“Maybe if we make them nervous, at least they’ll stop burning the city,” Glass said.
“One would hope,” I said.
50
I caught Johnny Donovan at his office trailer in Southie, where he was polishing his cherry-red Chevy Blazer. I parked outside the meager gates and walked into the lot. He was wearing knee-high rubber boots and holding a dirty rag. Two teenage boys worked on the chrome wheels.
As I got closer, I noticed they were identical twins with blond hair and freckled faces. One of them toted a dirty bucket of suds. They looked up at me but continued to polish the chief’s vehicle. Nice to see dedication to such a good man like Johnny.
“Missed a spot, Johnny,” I said. “There’s bird crap on your windshield.”
Donovan just stood there, staring at me. He tossed the dirty rag onto the hood of the car and walked off into a tiny metal building. I looked at the boys. They continued to ignore me and furiously worked on the wheels. Spit and polish.
I followed Donovan into the trailer. He met me halfway, with maybe a foot between us.
“Get the fuck outta here or I’m calling the cops.”
“I think that’s a grand idea,” I said. “Call them.”
His eyes flicked up and down. He didn’t say anything. I could hear the ragged breathing of a man not in very good shape. His skin was pasty and he had an unpleasant odor about him. Standing toe to toe made his troll-like features even more pronounced.
“My name is Spenser,” I said.
“I know who you are,” he said. “And what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do?”
“You’re trying to frame me for burning that church,” he said. “You took the word of Featherstone before he killed himself. Guy had mental problems. Maybe you need to take a look at him. What kind of grown man plays with fucking trains like some retard?”
“Hard to shoot yourself in the back of the head,” I said. “Twice.”
“Huh?”
“And I never said I was asking about the church.”
“You went out to bother Kevin Teehan at his place of work,” he said. “Featherstone never liked either of us. He couldn’t stand that we didn’t want to be Sparks. That we knew more than all those freaks combined. We support the firefighters on our own without all that silly club they’re into.”
“Teehan said he never met you.”
“That’s bullshit,” he said. “He never said that.”
“Yeah, I guess he needed help torching my building on Marlborough,” I said. “You set the alley while he set the fire by my door. Or was it the other way around? Maybe Zucco drove that white van?”
It was brief. But Donovan couldn’t help but grin. “You’re crazy,” he said. “Get outta my fucking office.”
I looked out his small window to the concrete lot. The boys were working to clean off the windshield. They had a squeegee and Donovan’s dirty rag working over the glass. Their blond hair stuck up like straw, and they looked as if they’d arrived from Ireland a hundred years ago. The shirts and
shorts they wore were threadbare. Their faces were filthy.
“Nice to have good help,” I said.
“So whatta you have?” Donovan said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his cut-off khakis. His V-neck white shirt rode up over his fattened, hairy belly. “Fucking nothing. Show me some evidence if you’re so damn good.”
“Nah, Mr. Firebug is too smart,” I said. “He’s a coward and crazy, but pretty smart. I just don’t know what’s in it for the three amigos. Fame and fortune?”
Something changed in his face. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. One of the twin boys ran into the office and told Donovan they were finished. Donovan reached into his pants and handed him a few bucks. The boy turned and left. I noted he was wearing a T-shirt that simply read FIRE RESCUE with a shamrock logo but no city and no department.
“You’ll never catch him,” Donovan said. “You or anyone in Arson. Damn right. This guy is good and he’s fucking smart. He’ll keep burning this city until he gets the power people to pay attention. If you’d get your head outta your ass, you’ll see that we are all trying to help and find him.”
“Boston Fire doesn’t want your help.”
“They don’t want anyone’s help,” he said. He said it with so much force the veins bulged in his neck. “That’s their fucking problem. They can’t see two feet in front of them. All that smoke has screwed up their vision.”
“Aha.”
He shook his head. “You’re looking at the wrong person,” he said. “I’d bleed for those guys.”
“I heard they reopened the case in Newton,” I said. “That family’s home you burned after you slapped a kid? I guess that was a misunderstanding, too.”
“You keep on pushing. This is fucking harassment.”
“Where are those boys’ parents?” I said, nodding outside.
