“Okay,” Cogan said. “Now, here’s the thing: that’s gonna be the guy that knows me. Well, he don’t know me, but he’s one of the few guys that probably knows who I am, all right? He knows me and he knows Dillon, and if he hears anything, he’s gonna figure, he’s gonna be waiting for Dillon or me. So, he’s the one.”
“He got friends?” Mitch said.
“One of the guys that we might do,” Cogan said. “He’s a kid, he could be around. He’s a fairly tough kid, too. The other kid, he’s the guy that’s apparently not around. So, there might be the one.”
“We gonna do anything about him?” Mitch said.
“Right now,” Cogan said, “it depends. I honestly don’t know. See, the other guy, I got him in mind for tonight. And a lot depends, what happens after that.”
“The fuck happened, anyway?” Mitch said.
“One of them fuckin’ things,” Cogan said. “There’s this guy, got a game, all right? And he got some guys, one time, knock it over for him, and then, well, he got away with it. So, and then everybody says: ‘Okay.’ Then this other guy comes along, and he gets these two kids, and they go in and they knock it over again, right? They think he’s gonna get blamed for it again. That’s the guy I’m doing. I’m gonna put his light out tonight, I figure, things go all right.”
“Dumb shit,” Mitch said. He finished the first stein.
“Right,” Cogan said. The waiter brought the check. Cogan paid it.
“On your way back,” Mitch said, “you think you’re gonna be in this neighborhood again this year, you can bring me two more.”
“No, you can’t,” Cogan said to the waiter. He took the second stein. “I’m gonna drink this, even if I don’t want it. He’s drinking coffee. Bring the man nice black coffee.”
“Hey,” Mitch said.
“Hey yourself,” Cogan said. “I’m gonna have to talk to you. I don’t wanna have to go down, see you inna fuckin’ tank. Too many guys around down there, listening to other people’s business. Coffee for you.”
“I won’t be able to sleep,” Mitch said.
“Watch television,” Cogan said.
“I probably won’t,” Mitch said. “You’re gonna line something up for me, instead.”
“You gotta have that?” Cogan said.
“Shit,” Mitch said. “I’m not working tonight, right?”
“Nope,” Cogan said.
“And I’m probably not working tomorrow night, either,” Mitch said. “We got to set this thing up, and all. Who’s gonna help me?”
“I got a kid,” Cogan said. “He’s not the sharpest thing I ever seen, but he’ll do what you tell him. You want him to drive, he’ll drive. Anything.”
“Is he gonna fuck up?” Mitch said. “Never mind what somebody tells him, does he fuck up?”
“Look,” Cogan said, “this kid’d tear a fuckin’ car in half with his bare hands, you asked him. He’s very dependable. But you got to tell him. You tell him, he’ll do it. He’ll go through a fuckin’ building, he’s got to.”
“I personally,” Mitch said, “I’d rather have a guy that’d see the building and go around it. I can’t afford, I don’t want no guy that’s gonna go on no fuckin’ rampage the minute I let him out of my sight. You sure you can’t come in on this?”
“Look,” Cogan said, “the guy’s name’s Johnny Amato. I know him. I did, he wanted Dillon to do something for him once, and Dillon couldn’t do it. So Dillon told him, if it was all right, he’d ask me, and the guy said: ‘Yeah.’ So I did it, and he paid me. He knows me.”
“How much does this kid know?” Mitch said.
“Kenny?” Cogan said. “Kenny knows nothing. I didn’t tell him nothing. He don’t know you’re in town. He knew it, it wouldn’t mean nothing to him.”
“I don’t want him,” Mitch said.
The waiter brought Cogan’s change and the coffee.
“I don’t want that, either,” Mitch said.
The waiter left.
“I didn’t say you wanted it,” Cogan said.
“I don’t want no fuckin’ nutcakes, either,” Mitch said.
“Well,” Cogan said, “look, I mean, you got to tell me what you want, then, right? Because I don’t know.”
“Where is this guy?” Mitch said.
“Quincy,” Cogan said. “Wollaston, actually.”
“I don’t know where the fuck that is,” Mitch said.
“I can show you,” Cogan said.
“But he knows you,” Mitch said. “Great. Look, this other guy, the one you’re doing?”
“Yeah,” Cogan said.
“Do him,” Mitch said, “and the way I get it, that’s gonna do something to the guy I’m supposed to hit.”
“Got to,” Cogan said.
“Gonna make him relax, or something,” Mitch said.
“I think,” Cogan said.
“Okay, then,” Mitch said. “So, we got to give him a chance to relax then, haven’t we? And you got to get me somebody that can drive a car without running into things, and also you got to get me something. You haven’t got anything yet, I assume.”
“I was gonna ask you what you wanted,” Cogan said.
“Good,” Mitch said, “forty-five Military Police. I never use nothing else.”
“Okay,” Cogan said.
“If you’re the guy that’s starting it,” Mitch said, “it’s a great thing. One of them. And a guy that can do things. How long’s that gonna take you?”
“Day or so,” Cogan said.
“And a car,” Mitch said.
“Still a day or so,” Cogan said.
“And where he’s gonna be,” Mitch said.
“Same thing,” Cogan said.
“You know something?” Mitch said. “I don’t think you can do it that fast.”
“I can,” Cogan said.
“Well,” Mitch said, “then I think you’re not gonna and I don’t care if you can or not. Now, this’s, we’re gonna do this, this is Thursday. We’re gonna do him Saturday night. That’s when we’re gonna do it. You guys’re all half-assed up here. You don’t take the time to think about things. I do.”
“Always glad to meet a guy, you can learn something from,” Cogan said.
“I been at this a long time,” Mitch said. “I messed up some things, but never one of these. Now, that leaves me tonight and tomorrow night. Who’s gonna see me tonight?”
“I can’t promise nothing special,” Cogan said.
“Don’t like fuckin’, is that it?” Mitch said.
“Never paid for it, anyway,” Cogan said.
“Well, company’s what I want,” Mitch said. “You get me some company for tonight. I’ll take it from there. Fourteen-o-nine. I’m in the tower, all right?”
“That,” Cogan said, “I’ll do the best I can for you. That’s something you’re gonna have to decide.”
12
“He’s not walking right,” Gill said. He wore a dark blue tanker jacket and sat opposite Cogan in the Hayes Bickford across the street from the Lobster Tail.
“Of course he’s not walking right,” Cogan said. “He’s hurt. He’s all beat to shit.”
“It takes him a long time to do something,” Gill said. “I seen him, he was getting out of his car. It takes him a long time.”
“He’s all taped up,” Cogan said.
“He’s sure slow,” Gill said.
“He don’t feel good,” Cogan said. “You wouldn’t feel good, either.”
“What’re we gonna do, Jack?” Gill said.
“You’re gonna drive the car,” Cogan said. “Never mind thinking about what I’m gonna do. You just think about what you’re gonna do.”
“I’m gonna get some money,” Gill said.
“Five hundred,” Cogan said, “same as always, five hundred. You don’t fuck anything up.”
“I ever fuck anything up with you?” Kenny said.
“Kenny,” Cogan said, “the world’s full of guys that never fucked up, a
nd then they did something and they fucked up once and they’re doing time. So this’s no night to start, not when I’m with you. What’d you get for a car?”
“Olds,” Gill said. “Last year’s Four-four-two. Nice car.”
“Don’t get attached to it,” Cogan said. “You got everything in it, I gave you?”
“Sure,” Gill said.
“The way I gave it to you and all,” Cogan said.
“Yeah,” Gill said.
“Okay,” Cogan said, “all you gotta do is, you got to drive.”
“Who is this guy?” Gill said.
“Don’t matter,” Cogan said.
“No,” Gill said, “I mean, really. Who is this guy? This the guy Steve and Barry beat up?”
“Kenny,” Cogan said.
“I didn’t mean nothing.” Gill said. “I was just wondering. I was, there was this guy, really got beat up, he was running a card game. And this guy, he’s hurt, I was wondering if it was the same guy.”
“Who told you about the guy with the card game, Kenny,” Cogan said.
“Jack,” Gill said, “like I said, I was just wondering. I didn’t mean nothing. What’d he do with the card game?”
“He had a couple guys come in and knock it over,” Cogan said.
“Oh,” Gill said. “See, well, I couldn’t understand it. Steve and Barry.”
“You figured I should’ve asked you,” Cogan said.
“I could’ve used the money, Jack,” Gill said.
“You can always use the money,” Cogan said. “Thing of it is, and I didn’t ask them, incidentally, you got that?”
“Sure,” Gill said.
“The thing needed two guys,” Cogan said. “That’s why you didn’t get called.”
“I could’ve got another guy,” Gill said. “I could’ve got the guy I had with me onna dogs.”
“Uh huh,” Cogan said, “well, okay, Kenny. Next time I need two guys, I’ll call you.”
“He would’ve been all right,” Kenny said. “He’s a good guy. Only, I don’t think he’s gonna hang around much now.”
“Okay, Kenny,” Cogan said, “you just keep things in mind, I need two guys some time, I’ll maybe call you first and if you can get me a guy, I’ll use you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Kenny said. “See, I was just thinking, was all, Jack.”
“That’s your weak spot, Kenny,” Cogan said. “Never mind it. Just do like I tell you, everything’ll be all right.”
“Does he know?” Gill said.
“Nah,” Cogan said, “he oughta, but he probably doesn’t. I don’t think so, no.”
Wearing a gray and red tattersall coat, Mark Trattman, his hands in his pockets, emerged from the Lobster Tail alone. The attendant in the snorkel coat started walking down the street.
“Son of a bitch,” Cogan said. “Didn’t score tonight for a change.”
“He was drinking his drink through them little plastic things you’re supposed to steer them with,” Gill said. “Those little green and white things.”
“Yeah,” Cogan said. He set his coffee cup down. “Where’s the fuckin’ car?”
“Around the side,” Gill said. “I thought you said-”
“Never mind what you thought I said,” Cogan said. “Move your big dumb ass. The guy’s going home.”
“I don’t get it,” Gill said.
“Neither’s he, tonight,” Cogan said. “Never again, either. Come on, for Christ sake, we’re gonna get home early for a change.”
The yellow 4-4-2 trailed Trattman’s tan Coupe de Ville through eight consecutive green lights on Commonwealth Avenue, westbound. Cogan rode in the back, sitting behind the driver’s seat. He kept his hands down, out of sight.
“Jesus,” Gill said, “he’s pretty good at this. He hits them all, just’s they turn.”
“He knows the speed,” Cogan said. “They’re set for nineteen or twenty miles an hour, I think it is. Something like that. He does it all the time, for Christ sake. He oughta.”
“Jack,” Gill said, “what if, what if he hasn’t gotta stop?”
“We’ll take him home and put him to fuckin’ bed then,” Cogan said. “Just keep after him, Kenny, and remember what I told you about thinking. Don’t worry about nothing. Just you change lanes now and then and everything’ll be all right.”
On the long hill at the synagogue, the Cadillac swung into the right lane and the brake lights came on as it approached the intersection of Chestnut Hill Avenue. The traffic light was red. A streetcar moved west toward Lake Street beyond the intersection.
“Middle lane, Kenny,” Cogan said. “There’s three lanes, it goes to three lanes up here. Take the middle.” He began to straighten up in the back seat. He leaned over and cranked down the right rear passenger window with his left hand.
The 4-4-2 approached the Cadillac quickly off the left rear.
“Right up even,” Cogan said, “nice and smooth.”
The traffic light remained red. There were no other cars. The traffic lights on Chestnut Hill Avenue turned yellow.
“Right up next to him,” Cogan said. “Then a little bit ahead. Put me right next to him, Kenny. Atta boy.”
Gill stopped the 4-4-2 with the open right rear window even with the driver’s window of the Cadillac. Trattman looked lazily at the car. He looked back at the traffic light.
Cogan ran the 30–06 Savage semi-automatic rifle out the rear window of the 4-4-2 and fired five times. The first bullet crazed Trattman’s window. Trattman lurched off to the right and was snubbed up abruptly. Cogan said: “Good for you, Markie, always wear your seat belt.”
The Cadillac started to creep forward as Cogan finished firing, Trattman bent forward at an angle over the passenger seat. When Gill swung the 4-4-2 left on Chestnut Hill Avenue, the Cadillac was halfway across; it ran up against the curbstone as the lights in the apartments at the intersection started to come on.
13
Russell, carrying a brown-paper bag, came out of the Arlington Street MBTA station just before six o’clock and turned off Arlington at St. James. At the newsstand on the corner the old man was cutting wire on bundles of the Globe. Two men in business suits waited in a light green Ford sedan at the newsstand, the passenger with his head and left hand out of the window, offering change. The driver watched Russell turn right on St. James. Holding the microphone in his right hand, the driver spoke into it: “All units, this is unit three. He finally made it.”
Russell crossed the street, pausing for a Greyhound bus to pull into the terminal parking lot, in from Bangor. The driver of the third Yellow Cab in line at the terminal spoke into his microphone: “Unit four to all units. I got him now. He’s on the sidewalk. He’s about to enter the station.”
The light green Ford started moving toward the next intersection. It turned right at Stuart Street and went the wrong way up behind the terminal.
In the station a man in a light blue private security force uniform stood at the top of the stairs, his back to the doors, watching the reflection of the entrance doors in the glass of the windows of the lounge. He wore a hearing aid button in his right ear.
Russell came through the doors, into the terminal.
The man in the light blue suit bent his neck to the left and talked out of the left side of his mouth into the small rectangular bulge in his uniform shirt. “This is unit seven. All units converge.”
The two men in business suits left the light green Ford and went to the doors of the terminal on the easterly side. The driver got out of the cab and went to the door on the westerly side. Four men got out of a blue Dodge Polara in front of the terminal. Two moved to the front of the terminal. One went to join the cab driver on the westerly side. One joined the men from the light green Ford on the easterly side. Two baggage handlers, each wearing a hearing aid button, stepped back from the baggage check-in and stood near the doors at the back of the terminal. One of the ticket sellers, in a white shirt, stepped out from behind the counter, moving slowly.
>
Russell paused to let the ticket seller walk in front of him. The ticket seller roused a drunk, asleep on the bench. He began to usher the drunk toward the easterly doors. After Russell had his back to them, the drunk required less assistance.
Russell went to the baggage lockers on the westerly side of the terminal.
The man in the security force uniform watched from the top of the stairs. He spoke again. “Unit seven to all units. West side, west side.”
Russell inserted the key to locker 352 and turned it.
The men from the light green Ford entered the terminal through the easterly doors.
Russell opened the locker and took out a box wrapped in brown paper. He opened the bag and put the box in. Leaving the locker door ajar, he turned toward the front of the terminal. He carried the bag in his left hand.
The driver of the cab entered through the westerly door. The two men in the baggage room went out into the passenger area of the terminal. The men from the Polara came in through the front doors and the man in the security force uniform turned slowly away from the front doors as Russell approached them.
The men from the light green Ford walked up behind Russell, one on each side. When they were half a pace behind him, they took him firmly by the elbows. Russell’s body sagged.
The man on Russell’s right said: “Bureau Narcotics. You’re under arrest.” He had a chrome-plated forty-five automatic in his right hand. He stuck the barrel close to Russell’s face.
The man on Russell’s left had handcuffs in his left hand. He stepped backward without letting go of Russell’s arm and swung it behind Russell. He locked one cuff on Russell’s left wrist and took the bag from him. He pulled Russell’s right arm back and locked the wrist into the cuff. He patted Russell down. He shook his head.
The man with the automatic said: “You’re pretty fuckin’ obvious, my friend. Matter of fact, you’re so fuckin’ obvious I was afraid you’d forget where you left the stuff, or lose the key or something. You’ve got a right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you at a trial in a fuckin’ court of law. You got a right to an attorney, and if you can’t afford an attorney, us long-suffering good and noble taxpayers’ll go out and treat you to the best fuckin’ shyster we can find. I think you also got a right to have your head tested, and in your case, I think you oughta, see if there’s anything in it at all.”
Killing Them Softly Page 15
